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photography, Kitti, art, me, kink

Kitti, the Unstoppable Hex Machine

...and a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries...

On Death and Dying
Moving away from the ocean hasn't diminished the call.

All I seem to crave is pain, complete and total, self-indulgent abuse; self, or otherwise. No day has passed in which I haven't dreamed of passing into sweet eternal sleep. I know that when this happens, it will not be my choice, even if it is at my own hand that my life ends. Currently I'm still needed here, so I have no choice but to hang on and wait to be rewarded.

I've become almost completely disinterested in human interaction and sex, unless coupled with a decent helping of abuse from someone tall, strong, and articulate. I have begun a love affair with extremely sharp things, as well as rope, again. I'm planning on buying some heavy chain when I can get hold of some cash, and seeing what kind of colours I can turn my flesh.

I'm also becoming increasingly disgusted with myself. My body hair is promptly shaved at least every other day, although in a bizarre contradiction I'm growing out my undercut. We'll see how long it gets over Autumn and Winter, maybe I can have proper hair again and maybe I could look a little less conspicuous? More and more every day, I want the plebs, work, etc to pay less and less attention to me... I'm also craving attention from the select few people I can stomach (mostly the afforementioned tall, dark sadists)

It never goes away, you know. The call of the ocean, just begging me to walk right into her folds and fade away into her freezing blackness.

That would be too easy though, wouldn't it?
A wise Master of mine once remarked that any easy task will never reap any good reward.

Kit. xxxx