The most important thing you need to know about Poptart is that he is imaginary. He is an imaginary character that was once used to fill the storyline needs of a particular group of girls in the midst of middle school. We called ourselves TKO.
This is it folks
The old man who I never really knew and yet for years after his death I aided in cleaning the house he nearly suffocated with hoarding. Like sifting through sand for gold I dug through countless boxes of junk that he had held precious and priceless. Stacks of newspapers and empty cereal boxes reached near to the ceiling creating a chaotic city of rubbish. And did you know he had a sister? How appropriate to be named after her. This Katherine was a smart woman who lived to be 96 If I’m not mistaken. I recall visiting her in at the old folk’s home in Florida. A small room featuring one window open to a view of the tropical garden. Stacks of books in large print spines cracked and torn from the rough love of reading. Books full of crosswords and various paper puzzles lay in a wicker basket by her bed. And did I mention Katherine was always happy to see us? Did I mention that she spelled her name K-A-T-H-Y-R-N? Thus provoking the spelling of Katy to end with a Y. Why indeed because my mother put K-A-T-H-E-R-I-N-E on my birth certificate so according to the government that is my name.
I do know it’s been a while.
I have been quite busy.
On behalf of Kate E Lore as an independent freelance writer for Dayton City Paper I would like to make a formal retraction and sincerest apology to Folks of Dayton Music Festival to whom I have greatly wronged in my error a few weeks ago.
I cannot think of anything that happened on Tuesday so my only conclusion can be that nothing happened on Tuesday at all. Twas a negative void in all the universe in which nothing occurred and some vast intergalactic being gained so so many days from living creatures that he added onto his own life certain immortality. This unknown supreme being stole everyone’s Tuesday and thanks to it shall eventually out live the universe itself. His curse shall be to sit alone and bored in the leftovers of all that was; cosmic stew and space decay shall stain his sneakers a nasty yellow brown.
I’m listening to Kveikur by Sigur Ros and there couldn’t be a better thing to be playing right now. Keep in mind this is my first time listening to this particular album. I’m drawn in initially by the pulsating bloodstream beat. The digital cords wash over and crash against the rocks as the vocals sail overhead in the open air above it all. The vocals swoop down then ride gracefully just above the waters glittery but stormy surface. It sinks and slowly dissolves into a fragment of a tune.
To my right is the wall covered in drawing paper -well half covered. I expected this to be covered in drawings and explosions of self expression, release of tensions, and various memorials to various adventures. Instead this wall so far has mostly messages. Scribbled to do lists, forced motivation and encouragements. I miss the comfort and familiar setting of being at home. I miss knowing exactly what was going on with all my people in Dayton. I miss having so many friends that there was always somebody I could invite to go with me some place. I miss Zell.
For any writer you may feel at times like you are standing alone on a rock off the coast of a jagged shore. The water is turbulent and it is constantly crashing at the limestone under your feet with the fury of raging bull. You may wonder how much longer this weak stone can continue to hold you up. And what are you doing here anyway? You are standing here making things on paper forming and shaping these creations that you feel are art. You spend hours and hours creating this thing which is to you a magical wonderful world, it is a glimpse of something more from inside you. This art, this magnificent creation, you set it upon the water and it sinks slowly before you. It disappears below the surface like it never was at all. You realize what you did wrong. You know you can do better so you start all a new. Sometimes it is reworking the same idea and sometimes it is an all new creation. Whatever this may be the result is always the same.
My home is a hobbit hole in the ground buried into the far right corner of a labyrinth. I’m serious the twists and turns of the Fox and Hound apartments are easy to get lost within. There are hidden surprises like a clear swimming hole, running wheels and stones to lift so you might increase your strength and agility. There is also a gathering place where you’ll find machines filled with various cakes and snacks easily taken with you on any adventures you my take on. And maybe there are some stinky monster dumpsters and maybe a brave dog in passing off to run some quest thanks to the aid of his loyal human so pathetically dim witted he must follow along tied to his dog champion by a string.