I'm just a girl from Northwest Ohio

    Ever since I was a wee one, I always held to the core of my being particularly inspiring ideals proposed by some admirable few.
    Today is January 20, 2012.
    Some people believe the world is going to end this year.
    I am not one of those people.  My approach to anything considering the nature of mortality is I'd rather just be occupied with it.
    That doesn't change the "electricity in the air," as a dear friend of mine put into words.
    He's absolutely right.  The electricity was in the air since before we were born.  It's been in the mix since the dawn of the social movements of the 60s.  And if you don't feel it, look around you.  It's become difficult to not notice the after-effects, thus, the signs.  One thing always leads to another?
   "Your generation will bare witness to some big changes."  That is already so true.  Do we really think it's over?  It's only the beginning.
    To quote Radiohead; however, "...Just because you feel it, doesn't mean it's there..."  Is this just every generation's predisposition to believe such fantastical romanticism?  History happens.  Not all happen to history.
 
    Does it make you nervous, excited?

    Out of everything that has happened in my relatively short duration here on Earth, Y2K, 9-11, George W. Bush... never before have I felt so anxious, so ready, so aware, so... angry.

    Am I just that age?  The archetype, young and outspoken, female artist?

    Perhaps.

    But, I'm also a huge supporter of non-confrontational methods.  If I'm telling you, confrontation may be necessary... the force is not in balance with the galaxy.
    You know times are changing when the notion of a 23-year old, cross-dressing artist running for president as a gag sounds like a less insane idea... even if only to a small handful of individuals on an insignificant niche of the internet.

(No offense to my fans, by any means. <3)

5 seconds

Something snapped in me.

I'm about 5 seconds away from telling the whole world what I think of it.

It makes me feel like I'm going to die.



I know a lot of people read this.  Hardly any of them come out and say it.  It's okay.  Generally, I write it because I feel like there's something for anyone.  I try to make it relate-able at the very least.  I'm just fucking pissed off with my (__________).  I always am.

I feel like I can't even write this journal as passionately as I would like to.  I can't even point out specifically who I'm frustrated with, thus leaving people who aren't the subject of my frustration in the wake.

Ugh, I told myself I wasn't going to care.  My husband did.  Why can't I?

I like honesty.  I like the truth.  I can't function well without it.

It just frustrates me that the people closest to you are the ones that will be least likely to listen to what you have to say.  No amount of truth, passion, conviction, or hell... premonition would convince the people I want to express something to that I know what I know.    The feeling is impending.  You feel like you can't save them.  Not that it's my mission... necessarily...

Our relationships could be so much more... then again, the same could be said as mere individuals.

If anyone reads this and you feel personally offended, here's a suggestion, talk to me.  I'm pretty much blatantly coming out and saying it.

Alas, I know I'll be disappointed.  I always am.

So be afraid of me... then you'll never know.

Fair warning, I've had exceptional difficulty biting my tongue recently.  That comes with plenty of good on the positive side... of course, there is always that other hand...

Or do me the better favor and instead of pointing out my passive-aggressive hypocrisy, leave me be.   You can know no real thing about me and it will be equally our fault (lie).  I don't want to hear how this is upsetting.  In truth, I keep coming back to this... because I have fucking nothing else.

I keep adding to it.

Whatever.

Just what am I? Melo-dramatic? A continuous flux of hormones?  No.  I'm not.  I express emotion.  Crying is not a sign of weakness, just as much as excessive laughter is not a guise for intelligence.  Assessing me in truth... it's really hard to keep expressing myself to the void.

The most evil void.  Sometimes, it responds to me.  Most of the time it doesn't though, as I wait in limbo for something.  It makes me say things like,

"I hate everyone."

And sometimes I really do.

I'm so sick of stupid.
I'm sick of people who can't be honest with themselves.
I'm sick of repeating myself.

I'm just sick of it.  I want to fall off the face of the earth, do something ludicris, and never tell anyone who thinks they deserve to know.  Actually, I've done plenty of that already.  Still am.  I wish I could say I'm doing it to see if (you) notice... but I'm happy to report that's not why I do it.

Why? Why go on this way?  Because I'm constantly trying to prove myself... not that this matters... what vanity.  What a spectacular waste of fucking time.  I think I will just plunge into a place where no one can find me.  It should be easy.  Even if you do call, I probably won't answer.  I quit.

Destroying preconceptions scares people apparently.

Discovery

Over the course of the past several, seemingly, non-linear days I have discovered something.

When I am right, I know nothing.

If She could have one last word.

What would Christine Karamol say?

As an artist, I exhaust all efforts and means to utilize art as a tool to experience on a level not privy to many.
As much as I know it will never fail to exhaust the minds and frustrations of others, for those that it brings me to, the people I meet, the places I go.  That's what my art is about.  That's what it will always be about... until I let you know otherwise.

Chow

-Christine a.k.a. Christine "Fucking" Karamol, Kaiser, Ken Adams