'Who am I' she asks : A creative explosion of paradoxical remarks the student replied.



For Purity’s Sake!

The week has been uneventful mind for having attended a Holocaust seminar and hearing and witnessing live a survivor was quite astonishing. What more, was his belligerent sense of humor. (Age 86) “If I repeat certain things, I apologize in advance. You know when you reach a certain age, your memory starts playing with you, and I am now over 29, so..” Aside from petty questions at such events, one other thing that kills is always the cheapening of the entire experience with the deathly dreadful speech at the end – “We extend our thanks to blahblah , and also to bleh bleh, and to blurp …” – Humble bumble little man wiggles up out of his seat to go receive his flowers… Oh, not yet? Well, it must be soon, I’ll just stay standing. “…want to commemorate this moment and say that this room is just entirely too full of bullshit life…” -stays standing- “…and to all of you who came out here today, thank you..” -bows with hands clasped together- “ we want to express our thank you to Chaim Kornfeld, the survivor….” -bumbles on over in a rush with stiff little legs- “Oh, I get a hug?” Laughter. -receives and smells flowers in silence- “Work hard, stay in school kids. (Cheers)”.

Absolutely adorable. One thing that I can say out of everything I took away from this is only that I’m too glad someone from that time period survived to see the changes in our multicultural society and how we’ve all come such a long way to accepting people of all racial, ethical, religious, and whatever else I’m not fancy enough to include’s background. Big smiles.

On an ending note, the Duck is still as inappropriately in love with her cat as ever. When out of inspiration in writing class, always go back to your cat..

Thoughts, that are scattered and can be gathered, if only,
They were the loose strands of your cat’s fur,
Where, though a thousand grows each day
A thousand more is lost
Upon your dining table,
Embedded between the snug cushions of your couch,
So that one night you lay awake in bed to discover this one bothersome idea
Pluck it from the sheets underneath you and,
Before you throw it away, ponder it…

Thoughts, that at times of whimsical nature
Decides to wrestle
And the stairway landing is the battleground,
Madly sweeping with challenged grace
To win just, oh, don’t fly away!
Brief scarcity to rummage through your mind
Matted, tangled, a handful of…Thoughts
When elusive, leaves me to watch it sort itself out
Patient groomsmanship that I’m sure touches the secrets of knowledge;
the entity of thoughts

Sometimes, I distract the creature of thoughts with a piece of red string,
The oldest trick in the book,
But thoughts is the silent medium
Of fluffy white fur, you gather and throw
Hoping it will all fall in place.
It won’t speak to tell you
Which strand is great,
Then one chances upon the surface of your coffee or tea
And that’s what they mean when they say,
“I choked on my thoughts.”

When Dreaming in Colors…

I tell myself I was half asleep when this occurred. I say I was a little delusional, and that the saying about sleeping with too full a stomach does in fact give you funny weird dreams. I’m not weird though, because we all make out with our same-sexed friends in dreams. Right?

Maybe it developed from the bad habit of the two of us leaning towards each other (in real life) pretending to be lovers. Or maybe, according to this specified friend, I am just inexplicably irrevocably attracted to her. I concur with the ladder. Mainly because I don’t want to stop my awful perverse practice of flipping out my other, less than flattered friend when I did actually kiss her on her birthday.

Muah. Your first and only innocent sweet one. Wait though, my Casanova status continues to rise –

The dream was actually as interesting and impossible as dreams do happen. There was a hotel room – not in the slightest romantic as it was compacted with other females, none of whom were sadly of potential kissing partner quality, as none of them had a physical body in my realm of subconscious. Yes, that’s right, I do think my girl friend is my one and only more and more.

At first, it had been just an accident derived from our habit mentioned above, and we laughed about it. Then with a whirlwind of events, I was all snuggled up with my thick blankets when whomever, I’ll say nerd-girl cause she sounds like one and not because she has glasses, right beside me got annoyed with my friend’s and my tactics. Hence my friend and I proposed to make out. And voila. Life fulfilled. Just until the mean old woman that I would supposed to have been a maid/nanny/housekeeper of sorts barged in and separated all of us into new rooms. Good stuff for a 9am wake up call.

I still attribute it to my other asshole friend (other than previous mentioned in last post) who called at 4am. There are studies that you shouldn’t disturb someone in deep sleep. REM and all. Or maybe it was watching We’re the Millers and laughing a little too much at its inappropriate-ity.. Hm. It’s a 50/50 shot I think.

Or Duck, maybe it’s just you. Maybe.

In real life though, I know my one true love is only this guy.

Doesn't budge an inch for flash photography. My kind of man.
Doesn’t budge an inch for flash photography. My kind of man

Reminisce of fateful first times..

For those who remember
Their very first meeting
I remember mine,
April 17th

My mother urged me to go
None too alike a bad match maker,
Towards someone who was waiting, supposedly,
Dearly behind the closed bathroom door

She slowly opened the door ajar
And I verified she has finally accepted alas
My imaginary boyfriend
For there was nothing reflected
In the mirror of human features

Slowly it came together
The plump shape of a furry round romp
Snugged on the floor,
Round eyes of sapphire blue
Perked ears of an attentive partner;
My cat and I lived happily ever after.

Ca-Ca-Ca-Ca-Cater Me

I often get a lot of questions about what I like once people find out my favorite music artist isn’t a beaver. So here I am to explain something. No? You didn’t ask? You probably didn’t even bother reading the title.

However, this indulgence in occasional narcissism is allowed because…

Of this beautiful baby
Of this beautiful baby

First, I’m going to give great cheerios for the woman who nominated me. Such sweet words. Visit her at

And no, I can’t shorten the link name cause if you haven’t already read the reason why my web link doesn’t make sense in Excessive Thoughts..well you don’t deserve to know now the short way.

Now I’m going to break some rules here and make things interesting. The last time I poured my heart out on surprisingly, another version of the Liebster award, well… I guess some people just don’t know beauty when they see it. Therefore, allow me the privilege to give you a walk through of a series of photos that represent me.

Trent Reznor
Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails)

The sweet perversion of older men.
Older by more than 25 years.
Guess I’m a backwards cougar?

Sigh. Handsome lads. They just don’t make vocal cords like that anymore.

Maynard James Keenan
Maynard James Keenan

Maynard James Keenan

Perfect Circle
The Puscifer

Might I add as an honorable mention:

Reeve Carney
Reeve Carney

Young one, you’re only 30. Give it 20 more years until you reach the epitome of orgasmic voices.



Bunkering down and reading a book with a cup of tea.

Orange Pekoe
Orange Pekoe

Just like an old woman.

Might I also add with a shit load of sugar and condensed milk.

So a TOOTHLESS old woman.


Love Interest:      

Milo (My-low)
Milo (My-low)

Most of you already know.

If there’s any brave soul of a woman out there who dares put her meat on the market, you’ll understand my pain when I tell you this. Chasing after one who’s as capricious as the wind is a hard life. But it’s worth it.

Also, note worthy, am obviously an aspiring artist if you haven’t gotten that through yet. Taking photos of my cat’s crouch is my calling.


Pervert + TOOTHLESS old woman + rejected romantic = It’s a wonder I have friends.

Now was that not interesting?                                     cinderella

No? Did I say this would be fun for you?

Well, who were we kidding. This was all for me.

Oh yeah. And for the nominees.

I’m Not Weird to Smell My Cat

It’s preposterous that people have all these apprehensions as to how I bully/rape adore my cat. I simply see no fault in me pressing my face against the fur that has probably rubbed against all the nooks and crannies of my carpet and is slicked with his saliva. Don’t even get me started with his love for sniffing his litter box. His face is a prize to kiss.

and this shall forever bless the pages of the laughing duck
and this shall forever bless the pages of the laughing duck

Not to conform to what had gone viral since the appearance of facebook and such – the ‘duck face’. Before all else, please do not make a connection with me and this face. Now, in the future, or ever. Having said that, I find myself making that face everytime I jumble sweet nothings to my baby.

Somehow I suspect this is how he views my face.

For all the pet owners out there, other than birds, cause those are mean suckers that once pooped in my hand and pecked at me. Not because I woke it up in the middle of the night or anything, which had nothing to do with watching ‘The Mummy’ before bed. This excludes all fish owners obviously; if you’re asian you’d probably eat them the moment you finally got it in your hands, bones and eggs and everything. It’s a delicacy. This does not even apply to dog owners. Who wants to kiss a rascal that has all the contamination of the outside air. It isn’t our fault we polluted it.

No, this is strictly stretching out to the feline owners. Unless you own a Sphinx cat, then I’m half wary and half about 10 feet away. No offence.

Finally, for those who share my experience, there’s nothing else like rubbing your face into a mat of soft fur – who may I gloat, sheds a thousand fur per day – then leave with a furry facial. If you’re a female, then you may also share with me the feeling of trying to carefully, but always failing to not slap wipe half your make up off cause you realize it isn’t sexy to have white fur up your nose.

Not that we’ve established how wonderful cat-smelling is, here’s a few tips for those with a new feisty feline who does not liked to be violated given so much attention…

First. Every time you return home you go hug that little fur ball. Praising it with oohs and ahhs of how much you’re enjoying their touch. Simultaneously inducing the same comfort of closeness for them; they might as well get used to it.

Second, if he/she happens to dare and run away – playing the hard ball here cause they aren’t just going to settle to be anyone’s pet (also meaning you must triumph, that way you’re not only going to be able to smell them, you can brag about how special you are and of all the hardships the two of you went through before you came about permanent paradise. Cause that’s how all relationships goes). In case you forgot the point – GIVE IT A GOOD CHASE. Nothing flatters a egotists (which I could stand for are applicable to all cats), more than being relentlessly chased after. Unless you live in a palace, it won’t take long before your limbs catch on to the urgency of the brain.

If anyone asks, scoff – You both need that sense of comfort. It’s mutual. 

If it happens that you’re super lucky and your kitten trusts you to enter your domain – the bed – you immediately grasp onto them and fall asleep happily ever after. Taking one big whiff after another of their sensory smell.

If it happens you’re one of the poor souls that has never gotten this experience, you’re missing out pal.

It’s a combination of scentless kitty saliva, a dosage of poopoo’s and (if your litter box is scented) the mingling of number 1’s&2’s with the scented lavender gravel trying to do it’s job. There’s also the undertone that tells you how clean your carpet is and how wonderful it smells after you’ve walked on it day after day.

What can I say, it’s a kitty smell. You gotta try it.

As for me, my baby always greets me in the morning with a few trickles of drool down my neck (on weekends). On week days he loves delivering a loud meow – which my sister argues to be a human cry – and then giving me a love bite to the ankle because I’m taking too long admiring myself in the mirror.

When I return home he’d lazily scratch/stretch at his cat post and then swiftly run off when I go near him. Obviously I catch him in mere seconds with expertise, we then engage in one-sided, mutual lust in which I bury my face within his soft belly fat pouch and duck face him – telling him how much I’ve he’s missed me.

It’s really the perfect relationship, and I think it’s going to last me quite a while.

Tribute : Milo (my-low)

drinking from my straw cause equality is the thing in a relationship
drinking from my straw cause equality is the thing in a relationship
oh saturday mornings. you're up babe? give me a tummy rub
oh saturday mornings. you’re up babe? give me a tummy rub







damn, just look at that profile. might I mention that ass also.
damn, just look at that profile. might I mention that ass also.

The Stuff Of Legends

From the time we were young we’ve been told repeatedly of certain things. Like getting your baby cheeks pinched to S&M levels were a mandatory custom procedure every time you greeted your grandparents. Or matter of fact any relative that’s older than you. Stuff like being gullible isn’t exactly taught, but just a given for me.

Therefore here I am to relief all fellow trickees of bad myths:

1. My father used to tell me all variations of stories where you wake up at 2-3am and stand in front of a bathroom mirror with the lights off. You have to peel an orange in circular motion without ever breaking the skin from beginning to end and never once looking at it.
The perk of doing something so ridiculous is that you may witness the apparition of an old hag who will either show you your future spouse or you in 50 years.

peeled orange
My solution is simple. This is how I peel an orange.

Take it or leave it, I actually did try.

False? I’m not quite qualified to say.. but speaking of future spouses…
2. All my friends tell me that I am going to abuse my future husband one way or another because I can’t cook. And if he happens to be invalid too we’re both screwed and I’d probably skewer him. They worry.

Once again, let my validate my strength to everyone.

did they really have to specify it was for children?
did they really have to specify it was for children?

The other day my sister and her boyfriend brought me to bowling. I hated whoever suggested that dumb idea me.

– Broke a nail with the lightest ball in the house and lost three times. What a hipster. Obviously I let them win. Yes yes, definitely that malicious killer that seduces their prey before I murder them. My days of being stronger than all the boys are long gone.
Where did they get that aggressive impression of me? Well…

3. I’ve made a rabbit scream, lost a turtle in my backyard, picked a puppy up by it’s tail, had a baby dalmatian drag me on my bike with his leash, killed all 15 of my goldfish in the first month…Diagnosed : Animal Abuser. 

Let me just begin with, there once was girl, who was not so strong (as you can see above), but was also so benevolent that she decided to single-handedly bring her 15 pet rabbits out to her backyard. Then she realized they do not coincide to munch grass in the same direction so she lifted their single large cage, and well, heard a scream. And there her rabbit laid with it’s rear and top end separated by the metal bar. The ending is a happy one – he survived.
The turtle? The same little girl got bored of teasing her baby turtle atop a water bottle while it flapped helplessly with its four pudgy appendages and decided to put it down for a nap. She flipped him over and sprinkled him in pieces of grass.  Said goodnight for the last time and forgot until her mother mentioned at dinner. Oops. Let’s just say the turtle did survive and wasn’t eaten by a stray cat.
The puppy? Well, blame its submissive behavior. Who tolerates it when someone picks them up by their tail? Stupid.
As for my free ride; The dalmatian just happened to be attached to my bike, my friend happened to catch a plastic bag on her ankle, things just happened so that my pet chased after her, and I just so very happened to be enjoying the ride.
Lastly, all goldfishes hate me. The 20 year old one my friend has is nonexistence. Bullshit.

Animal abuse?  Absolutely false.

Everyday I come home to an abusive relationship. There is no longer any beloved greeting as there had been when things just begun. In the morning there is no longer sweet nothings in my ear but more interest in my garbage can. Instead of encouraging me to work for my education, he delays and distracts me so that even if he were a valid excuse I’d sound like an ass for saying so the next day. My every attempt of affection is brushed aside until he comes around on his own schedule, and being attached as I am, I welcome with open arms. Even so each day he looks at me with that face of condescension, and without a word I understand him exactly.

actions speaks more than words clearly.
actions speaks more than words clearly.

But the thing is, he is not a husky. They at least work daily to impress you. Even after the honeymoon phase.

Though as all abusive relationships go, I cannot let go of his quirky love bites I initially fell in love with, which turns more and more towards animalistic intents of frustration.

As I’ve long known, I am not good enough.

Instead everyday I am relegated to serenade this whenever he shows a slight bit more of affection with other people.

Who is this handsome lad you say?

my big lump of fat loving.
my big lump of fat loving.                                                                                                    

No sir, the myth is false. I am most definitely the one abused.                                                                                      

Just A Bag of Kittens

So, I’ll admit it. I miss you mom. Yea sorta, something like that. Ye know, the way you clean up after me and my sister so the water bottles magically disappear into the recycling bin in the morning, and there’s food in the fridge when I come home.

Well, it’s only been two weeks.

Past all the cleaning (up after my sister) There’s something else I learned, beside the terrible dawning that I’m becoming like my mother. Lord the curse for all girls. Today I sat and told myself I would start preparing dinner at half past 4. Get a head start because I probably don’t know what the hell I’m doing. And I don’t. But it’s always fun to sprinkle a little bit of everything – with enough time to rummage through all the cabinets, make little discoveries and feel a bit snappy. They’re edible so I’m not complaining. But since my social suicide yesterday by falling asleep at 9 pm on a friday pro-d day – knitting – I’ve got to spend some personal time at home and realized how my cat beats me by a mile getting everything out of his life.

Now, sometimes I do feel sorry for my baby who is basically looking forward to a life of confinement inside a home. No I’m not horrible, my friends cat got run over, so maybe a bit paranoid, but you’re staying in. Plus you sleep on my bed, and I don’t enjoy dead birds of any kind. But whilst I stayed home and worked on my little project of knitting myself a circle scarf (applause for breaking the stereotypes that metal heads can’t knit), which my cat has no qualms in continuously attempting to rip apart, much as I chastise him for it. Damn the kitty just goes after it.

So is there perhaps a lacking of perseverance or attention-span (compared to a cat)  or plain laziness that we, oh so sophisticated humans do not go after all those little loopholes, chase after that darnest dangling end, constantly taunting you and unravel that large ball of yarn, ( even if you make a fool of yourself in the process, like when the mastermind – moi – or in the worldly sense, the universe starts playing double with you ) Be stubborn and strewn it across the floor and call it a life well lived. Or for him, a day well spent. Now I could apply this knowledge in a variety of ways to myself. Like not being such a junkie and thanking the faeries that I have a high metabolism (If you get to read this Evan Sanders, your post really got to me – I feel quite guilty.) But I’ll just start with finishing that scarf. So let’s start with you first.

And this thought entered my mind when I finally got to starting my dinner at 7:30 pm, when I was hungry. Now my dinner is cooked, resting on the kitchen island, and I’m loaded on those ‘healthy’ popper chips and hot chocolate. At least I’m set for tomorrow.


Does nobody else see the turkey in him? Might I coax him into being soup one day – Casually lounging about on my dining table, right in the center of the table cloth. Really, right when I was cooking dinner.

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celeste lee cloud

writer & artist

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