karlamoonmusic

[karlamoonmusic]

🪨🌸 why i collect weird rocks and why u should too: a manifesto 🌸🪨

so here’s the thing.

i don’t collect rocks because they’re pretty.

i collect them because they’ve seen things.

i pick them up off sidewalks, gutters, outside dive bars, near haunted Waffle Houses...

they got texture. they got baggage.

they hold ✨vibes✨.

some of these rocks are shiny. some are sad. some look like they just came back from a breakup and listened to too much Sade.

i keep them in a little tray on my altar next to dried petals and broken earrings i refuse to throw out.

every rock has a mood.

every mood has a purpose.

and sometimes… that purpose is throwing it at a man who said something stupid.

💅💥 get hit with a rock carrying the weight of betrayal, generational grief, and also it matches my outfit.

i call that balance.

i call that decorative emotional warfare.

i call that ✨karla’s mood minerals.✨

do i cleanse them under a full moon?

no. i charge them with pettiness and leftover eyeliner energy.

🖤🧿 start collecting. name them. vibe with them.

or don’t. but if i see you in my comments saying “it’s just a rock”

just know one of mine has your name on it.

with love & violence,

[karlamoonmusic]

Title: Can You Sleep With It Tho?

Genre: Erotic Horror | Smut-Fantasy | Monsterf**k Mayhem

MC: Rian Voss – a cocky insomniac with a monster kink and no sense of self-preservation

---

✦ PREMISE ✦

Rian doesn’t dream.

He feeds them.

Cursed since birth, his body radiates a forbidden lure to monsters who cross through the Dreamveil — the crack between sleep and shadow. For most people, nightmares chase. For Rian? They come.

Literally.

Every night, a new being creeps into his bed — shadow-laced succubi, flesh-slicked horrors, horned tricksters with forked tongues and too many hands. Some want to devour him, some want to worship him, some want to break him in half (with affection), and some… just want to be held after.

Rian’s learned to survive the night by doing the one thing no hunter expects:

Fk. Them. Back.

But the Dreamveil is thinning. Creatures are starting to linger. Names are being whispered. And one ancient being, older than sin and stitched from stardust and rot, doesn’t just want to sleep with him.

It wants to mate.

Permanently.

---

✦ VIBES ✦

🛏️ Smut-first, plot-later

🐉 Everything from slinky demons to eldritch beasts that moan in languages older than Latin

💋 MC is cocky, bisexual, and reckless with his libido

🖤 Consent is kinky, communication is hot, and trauma is flirted with (respectfully)

🤍 "You can’t be serious—" / "I literally let a dream-eating wolf-thing rail me last Tuesday, I can’t go back to dating humans, sorry."

🐾 “If it growls, slithers, or hisses, I probably already hit it.”

😈 One monster gets jealous. It’s the end of the world.

Noted:

I'm bored 🥱

[karlamoonmusic]

They ain't know I get down like this —

Snap like this —

Revenge of the Sith?

Nah, Revenge of the Petty Bitch.

Feed the fam with spite, serve it hot on plates,

Turn a bitch-ass Negga into chart-topped fates.

Hand me a Grammy —

Shit on it —

Hand it back like:

"Y'all really proud of this counterfeit?"

[karlamoonmusic]

"Tumblr Noted" is for every heartbreak we didn’t post about.

For the love letters that stayed in drafts. For the messages we deleted before sending. For the versions of ourselves we only lived in our heads.

[karlamoonmusic]

Star wars is dead to me, corporate greed killed it

So....

yes. i’m a huge Star Wars nerd.

not even in a cute “i like Baby Yoda” way.

i mean i grew up watching lightsaber duels like they were ballet,

memorized Sith lore like it was scripture,

and built my goth aesthetic off cloaks and inner rage.

it was literally the only thing me and my douchebag older brother Joseph agreed on.

he sucked.

but when it came to Star Wars?

we were united.

(in darkness. obviously.)

yes. we even loved the prequels.

YES. even Jar Jar. shut up.

Darth Maul is my forever fave.

red and black face, tragic background, parkour rage?? ICON.

followed by Asajj Ventress — bald, bitter, and beautiful.

and then Ahsoka Tano — the definition of ✨character development✨.

but like… let’s talk about the mouse in the room.

disney.

disney didn’t just fumble the bag.

they lit it on fire, tripped over it, fell down a flight of stairs,

then blamed the Force for it.

not even slightly ruining Star Wars.

they’re crashing the whole damn IP like Anakin in a podracer with emotional trauma.

every trilogy post-Lucas feels like it was written in a boardroom by executives

whose only reference was "pew pew and lights go brrr."

emotion? dropped.

character arcs? flattened.

lore? repackaged and resold like expired cereal.

and don’t get me started on the soulless remixing of everything.

you can smell the merchandise pitch before the end credits even roll.

i miss when Star Wars felt mythic.

when it was about pain, prophecy, balance, and inner war —

not just digital cameos and algorithm-approved fan service.

still.

i’ll watch it.

i’m sick like that.

[karlamoonmusic]

so the other day

someone told me I look like a pornstar.

and instead of being defensive like a normal, mentally balanced person,

i said:

“which one?”

like. be specific.

are we talkin’ high-end, luxe lighting, custom lingerie, glow-up level pornstar

or

low-budget basement cam, i made terrible choices and now my uncle won’t make eye contact with me at family dinners pornstar?

‘cause there’s a range, babe.

a taxonomy.

pornstars are like Pokémon evolutions and i need to know where you see me on that chart.

anyway i told David.

and he tried to act like he’s never watched porn before.

like this man didn’t just give me a blank stare and sip his water like it’s holy.

sir.

i’ve seen your search history.

not on purpose.

(it was an accident. okay? maybe. whatever.)

and he had the nerve to be embarrassed.

you better own it, sweetboy dave.

if i’m getting compared to a pornstar, the least you can do is admit you know the reference material.

[karlamoonmusic]

okay but why does this actually make sense???

you—loyal badass lesbian bodyguard.

Dave—god of monkeys with questionable ethics and jungle tax policy.

me—feral jungle witch in a sheer robe made of moss and bad decisions.

the trio? unstoppable.

the energy? unholy.

you protect him.

he rules the monkeys.

i hex anyone who tries to unionize the bananas.

it’s giving:

“Mad Max: Jungle Edition”

meets

“Planet of the Apes but make it ✨queer and emotionally unstable✨.”

i’ll bring snacks.

you bring weapons.

he brings… charisma and simian politics.

let’s go.

spending time with my partner — his name is David.

sweet boy Dave. (he hates when I call him Dave.)

he’s a cinnamon roll laced with toxic fumes and generational insecurities.

but he’s my sassy little bitch with mommy issues.

that’s what you get when you date a Sagittarius.

i’m not into astrology.

but i’m also not gonna lie like i don’t know his moon sign, rising, and emotional trauma pattern.

anyway.

we’re watching Animal Planet.

and i looked at him mid-doc and said:

“if we were dropped in the Amazon rainforest… how are you surviving?”

his answer?

“i’d meet with the natives, become a god to monkeys.”

like??? sir???

not a single hesitation. truly unhinged. i respect it.

mine was also feral but in a poetic chaos survival way.

we match.

energy vibin’.

but now i’m curious.

if you were dropped in the middle of the Amazon jungle — no warning, no gear, just vibes —

how are you surviving?

no wrong answers.

(just know the monkeys are already loyal to Dave.)

[karlamoonmusic]

update:

i forgot about socialism.

like entirely.

just… slipped right past my brain cell as i was going off about how everything is just capitalism in drag.

now i'm standing in the kitchen, holding a cold spoon and reevaluating my entire TED Talk.

David walked by and said, “so where does socialism fit, prophet?”

with the SMUGGEST Sagittarius face i’ve ever seen.

boy had the audacity to air-quote me.

i told him to go commune with his monkey army again.

but now i’m spiraling.

because… is socialism just emotionally intelligent capitalism?

is it capitalism’s crunchy granola twin?

is it the group project version where everyone suffers equally but still hates the leader?

i don’t know.

i’m tired.

i’m gonna go google Marx but like, aesthetically.

[karlamoonmusic]

so today i had a really productive conversation with my boyfriend

(and by productive i mean i caused psychological damage with my mouth words)

it started simple.

i said: everything is just capitalism with extra steps.

vibes. truth. bars.

he, being the impulsive sweet cinnamon roll Sagittarius agent of chaos that he is,

tried to counter with:

“what about fascism? communism? dictatorship? monarchy?”

like he pulled out a whole damn PowerPoint in his tone.

but i said what i said.

because those are just ✨alternate fonts✨

of capitalism.

aesthetic tweaks on the same pyramid scheme.

he gave me the sigh.

you know the one.

that long, disappointed, “i love you but i want to throw you into the sun” exhale.

translation:

“you unhinged little gremlin, stop making sense in a way that makes no sense.”

we didn’t finish the convo.

but we will.

it’s never really over.

every love story has a Cold War subplot. ours is this.

[karlamoonmusic]

Ti Ki Da by Karla Moon (official video)

Produce by K_Moon © TM

I wrote Ti Ki Da for every soul who ever danced their pain out under a neon lie.

It’s a satirical celebration.

A middle finger in a sequin glove.

A beat that moves like hips on fire but speaks like someone who’s seen too much.

It’s not just a song—it’s a spell.

Mocking hookup culture, mirror selfies, and curated emptiness.

My abuela didn’t raise no hollow girl.

I light up the floor with ancestral heat and sarcasm.

Ti Ki Da ain’t just rhythm—it’s resistance.

https://x.com/KarlaaaMoon?t=b9Q9wLU2RhEKkqhjBBxaUw&s=09

https://www.tiktok.com/@_k_moon?_t=ZP-8wXeYJSWely&_r=1

https://www.instagram.com/karlam00n_?igsh=ZzF4YTFmcnd6OXdk

https://music.youtube.com/channel/UCcvfnn-b1X58DiZ__JcIzLw?si=h_16OOwXZm_xPruM

[karlamoonmusic]

it’s 2 a.m.

you know what time it is.

unhinged thoughts o’clock.

what if soulmates are just people who owe each other emotional debt from a past life?

i think my anxiety is bilingual. it speaks in both logic and delusion.

i don’t believe in ghosts but i am haunted.

being in love feels like holding a knife gently by the blade.

one day i will become a villain solely because i was left on read during a mental spiral.

i trust animals more than i trust people and i say that as someone who’s been attacked by both.

sometimes i flirt just to study power dynamics. don’t test me.

if you’re gonna lie to me, lie like a poet. make it artful.

sleep is just a soft death rehearsal and i keep missing it.

i think the moon pities me. she’s always watching. always full. never helping.

i would thrive in a morally ambiguous witch coven with questionable fashion sense and knives.

ok goodnight. or whatever.

[karlamoonmusic]

okay so i need to clarify something.

because when i said his answer was unhinged,

i mean UNHINGED.

this man — the love of my life, my little spoon, my emotional support chaos demon —

looks me dead in the eye

and says:

> “i’d find the nearest monkey troop, fight the alpha,

win their respect,

become their leader,

declare myself jungle royalty,

establish a barter system with stolen fruit,

and slowly teach them capitalism and taxes so i remain in power forever.

maybe get them little spears.”

sir.

this is not survivor.

this is Planet of the Apes directed by Quentin Tarantino.

he said that with conviction.

like he’s been waiting for this moment.

like this is his villain origin story.

like the monkey coup has already begun and he’s their CFO.

and i was like—

“so... no water purification tablets? no shelter plan??”

he just shrugged.

"monkey loyalty."

i hate him.

i love him.

send help.

[karlamoonmusic]

spending time with my partner — his name is David.

sweet boy Dave. (he hates when I call him Dave.)

he’s a cinnamon roll laced with toxic fumes and generational insecurities.

but he’s my sassy little bitch with mommy issues.

that’s what you get when you date a Sagittarius.

i’m not into astrology.

but i’m also not gonna lie like i don’t know his moon sign, rising, and emotional trauma pattern.

anyway.

we’re watching Animal Planet.

and i looked at him mid-doc and said:

“if we were dropped in the Amazon rainforest… how are you surviving?”

his answer?

“i’d meet with the natives, become a god to monkeys.”

like??? sir???

not a single hesitation. truly unhinged. i respect it.

mine was also feral but in a poetic chaos survival way.

we match.

energy vibin’.

but now i’m curious.

if you were dropped in the middle of the Amazon jungle — no warning, no gear, just vibes —

how are you surviving?

no wrong answers.

(just know the monkeys are already loyal to Dave.)

[karlamoonmusic]

Was allegedly watching Project Runway.

Could’ve been Hell’s Kitchen for all I know—ADHD picked the channel, not me.

Just needed background noise while I procrastinate making a new beat.

Anyway, I got halfway into the melody…

Looked up—suddenly the episode got spicy??

Like, why is Dimitri reading someone with tears in his eyes?

Cancer behavior. Sassy, sensitive, unstoppable.

Then I blinked, got distracted again, and lost the whole damn file.

Art.

[karlamoonmusic]

me: peacefully sipping tea at 2am

also me: “okay, hypothetically, if one were to dispose of a body… what’s the cleanest, most untraceable way to do it without tripping any federal surveillance systems?”

like i’m not gonna do it.

but it’s good to have a plan.

—

first off, no phones. no texts. no searches. no witnesses.

we’re talking zero digital footprint.

you'd need bleach, gloves, and a complete understanding of decomposition rates across multiple climates.

maybe pigs. maybe acid. maybe both.

definitely no rivers—people always go for rivers. get more creative.

i’m not saying i’ve researched this.

but i am saying if i disappeared tomorrow… don’t check my notes app.

don’t check the second folder labeled “grocery list (2).”

i’m just a girl with anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and a highly cinematic imagination.

homeland security, if you’re reading this — this is a joke.

a bit.

a theoretical creative writing exercise.

(i'm a musician, i swear.)

but if it ever comes down to it...

i’m choosing cremation.

mine or theirs. depends on the day.

[karlamoonmusic]

I went on a walk today — don’t clap, it wasn’t for fitness, it was for rage management.

Anyway, I pass this pigeon. Regular lookin’ bird. But he stared at me. Like, really stared.

Not a twitch. Not a flutter. Just full eye contact like we had beef in another life.

I keep walking. He turns his whole neck to follow.

No flinch. No coo. Just pure judgment.

Tell me why I turned the corner, walked ten minutes, and this bird is somehow waiting on the next block?

Like—sir.

I don’t know what deal you made with time but I’m unsettled.

You ever meet an animal that clearly knows something about you?

Not something generic. I mean knows your past life sins.

That pigeon saw my 3rd reincarnation and did not like what he found.

I swear on every half-written lyric in my notes app...

That pigeon?

He knows things.

[karlamoonmusic]

I’m not overthinking. I’m just rehearsing pain before it shows up again.