My Scent

I will be wearing my Victoria’s Secret Amber Romance body lotion and spray until they are finished, then I will move on to my Wings body lotion and perfume. Time to start using things up. I’ve been using up my makeup and skincare samples this past week. God my eyes are so sore, I’ve had to wear cucumber slices on them for a half hour every day.

I’m getting rid of all my skincare items and buying gentler products next month. I know that they say that there’s no gain without pain, but I don’t need my skin to be all red and tight and patchy. I’m going with First Aid Beauty and a nice Moroccan rosewater toner. No more of this pores be gone, anti-wrinkle serum, skin tightening shit. I want luxurious moisturized skin.


My blog beat me up in my dream last night.

And Satan can be unbearably good looking, but he usually has really bad hair. I don’t know what’s up with him and his hair styles.

That stupid demon that likes to make out with me was in my dream again. Whatever.


I guess the world is overpopulated? It seems to me that very many souls have wanted to have this human experience, and that is why there are so many of us. If you don’t want a bunch of poor people, embrace birth control, and implement programs that dispense it freely throughout the world. Fuck Rome!

Abstinence doesn’t work. Humans are animals, and animals will always have the urge to mate.


When I was suicidal and hospitalized, there was this Death Metal asshole who kept getting people to play a card game called Suicide in there. Unfortunately, it turned out that I was wearing that puppet’s old shoes.

That was a weird puppet show in there. I saw the whole thing in a series of dreams when I was quite young, as a television show, and a couple of people were a booklet of comics. My whole life prepared me for that ordeal. Everybody synced up and came together at one time in the same ward. It was my first interaction with black folk in a long time and I finally felt at ease, even though I was still super tense. I was a lioness in there. I guarded my den from any fools who tried to get in.

Now I will finish coloring the pages that have come back to me, and read the books that Dune sent me on a hunt for.


I don’t know why I’m attracted to Satan. *sigh* I shouldn’t be, but I am. It’s one of my biggest problems. It’s just, well, so tempting to see the world as something to play with, and he is a kindred spirit in that. Plus he has these pheremones that affect me. And this aura that my eye is directed towards. I don’t worship him, however. What I really want to do is get him in a ball gag and tie the fucker up.


I honestly don’t know what I am other than Katherine.

Don’t Make Any Mistake

Satan is very good looking. Unbearably so. He showed up ugly for me once, and only once, because he though it would tempt me.

I have dreamed the life of Jesus. I have felt the pain of the whips, the pain of the cross, but it was only in the in between. I am not Him. He allowed me to feel Him.

I had been orbiting this planet for some time before I was born. In the shadows between wake and sleep, I have been here. I chose my parents for a reason. They were the best lesson for me to be truly human in this world. An American.

I am American to the Core of my Being. I am disgusted by these people who would merge Church and State for their false profits, The Illuminati. My soul is Black, though I am white. I am both male and female, though I was born in a Woman’s body. I am The Oppressed.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

The Shroud of Turin is a fake. The way the cloth would fall on Jesus’ face does not mark the pattern on the shroud.

This One is Great!!

I love this one! Very dramatic! lol

God taught me the hard way to not make fun of people, to not be proud, to be humble, to live in my pure strength. The lessons have been harsh. I turned into a cutter for a while there. But it was Good.

One of the most important elements of my majik is the blending of opposites—black and white, male and female, hot and cold—in order to create change.

I’m white, so I choose to see the world as black… because, well, I’ll let you in on a secret… it is. There, I’ve said it. The world is Black, and there won’t be true Peace on Earth until everybody realizes that EVERYBODY is Black. And that’s the truth that I have discovered on this journey through life.


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