Monday, 25 March 2013

Rolling allostasis -iv)


She was in her twenties, when she surfaced from the midsection of an iceberg, the frozen contents of some formerly fluid collective subconscious experience. In the middle of nowhere, mind you. A slow drip of unhappening. Congealed into living memories (consistency of molasses).  So she thawed from her heart out, and the ice around her began to soften in her light and heat, and collect supine at her feet. Aqua devotion. If water had hands... then prayer beneath her dry eyes. So rare did this sorta manifestation occur. The glaciers melt in their natural way before her. And she takes her damn time. You don’t hurry a glacier. You age it, like wine. Or wait for her to melt, to reference empirical evidence of global warming. Melting butter at room temperature. She never left the kitchen table. Painting her daily bread. Turning and turning yellow over time with the wallpaper. Gotta get worse before she gets better. Baby blue with white flowers, soft and malleable. Almost vulnerable, fallible – almost human again. As she wishes. As they want her. Sorry says the fight inside her, delivering the roundhouse Queen Anne Victorian style. Round one...TKO. From a frozen warrior #2 asana. Feel the heat. Sauna.


Friday, 22 March 2013

votive free of motive -ii)


We flipped a bitch after we passed the ethereal fields. We lay on that plane for consecutive hours. Then we sailed due north, cranked the crankshaft, released the nitrous oxide, dropped in the half and half. We sweated out our pores, and the perspiration thickened to consistency like glue. Deceased lay the toxic in the flower beds soaking.

We poured out all our liquor at the site. Our immune systems sent white blood cells, to seal in the heat. We burned the white sage, and the ceremony was alright. The spirit agonists and antagonists came out of the shadows. Volatile, caustic energy was dispersed. All energies and vibrations came together in mixed signal. The candles, they flickered and danced. Just a little.

The earthbound ones brought their demands. And the otherwise unidentified trio dissembled -- into innumerable grains of sand. Into parts and human hearts. To be ID' D or dare i say carded, by the keepers of the trees who suddenly started to sway. They leaned into the wind. They stayed like that, all fucking day long. Swaying and dancing and flexing their roots. Swan song. Suddenly started blossoming like apple bottom jeans on the strip. Shooting out shoots. Scoring pharmaceuticals on every corner. What a trip.


Saturday, 16 March 2013

Saturday november two thousand nine special

Nonfiction: (for more nonfiction, 
go to kissilent.wordpress.com )

All i got this morning, i hope to give. i might be runnin on fumes, but i wanna live. Here comes Carlos, to bless us with egg mcmuffin. A crystal clear morning. The saturday november two thousand nine special. Corner of macarthur and telegraph. Real time. Seven hours nineteen minutes and who knows how many seconds accumulate like pennies in my change purse.

Cold. The mufflers give away ignitions in the silence behind double pane imperial motel glass. We sit by the single window. The aircon, crankin' heat. My ass warms the seat. Two gentle men, my friends, my mechanics. Carlos and Freddie. We let the nutritional statistics fall away. Throw some lil wayne in the frying pan. Rip out and hand you the shit. A dreamy date with an egg mcmuffin, on a cloud. Damn! you the shit. Fast food morning with fab 4 Freddie. Out on the back of the harley, headin home to get ready. Gotta go to work, no brakes. Kick that shit into fifth. Fabulous! Feel the torque as she takes.

Insane or sane, the world she's just the same. We are the ones who need to change. Learn how to manage and balance energy. Take the basics: energy 101. I saw and tried to catch her there. Happened somewhere between 7th street san francisco and oakland, downtown. Somewhere near the civic center. Somewhere underground. Relegated to some subway station lost and found. I got adrenaline cause i have 4 days wide open here and the biggest heart to share. Plenty of time to heat up and cool down. Plenty of time 2 find the right split of antifreeze and H2O. Plenty of time to care.

Leaves you wholly satiated, these cool urban mornings. Ready for the hunger strike. Heart calibrated to hold center. Beat rock solid and rock steady. Unfaded. Underestimated. Ready. All i got left in me after a couple hard days getting harder, current of feeling getting stronger, up higher and maintained: self-centered and contained.

Still drops off to face the other side of reality. All the sadness, the fatalities. All the tears angels ever cried in a rainy day on International Boulevard. East Oakland. Count rising into triple digits this year. I swear... the painful seeing what i seen, being where i been, doing what i do...like gettin' lucky to catch the sun on the rise. Taste the morning dew. I am full with all that i'm always craving. I am mad to the furthest you can extend. I am mad! 2  point of raving.

I am alone and going inward. Contract and then expand. Like lungs like breath like life. Now i'm going outward. What i say to you, what i say to self-- now now now it's not always the case. You offer what u can. You build your skills in the community. You try and ask for space. I have no motive to change the communique; i take it, no hesitation. Not always pretty, not always nice.Whats gotta be said, is what i gotta say. Realtime with no delay. A window into the moment, and hopefully no pain.



by Katya Mills 
November, 2009
Creative Commons licensed

Friday, 15 March 2013

Rolling Allostasis Revisited -iii)

Shaking hands while shaking hands for votes of approval. What got overlooked: trash removal. On the other side of the trax, the real suffer the facts. Streets we cannot walk, hardly even drive. Cause our sense of reality got wedged between the seats, somewhere back in ‘85. One would statistically be wondering, how we're even alive. Check the pulse. Nothing there. The world under siege by an ergonomic chair. Lots of media distraction still keeps us at bay. Expecting, demanding conscious or unconscious reaction.  Poor self kept immobile. Poor spirit. In traction. A quick study, in quicksand. We need a bubble bath. Dear Calgon! Take me away! 

So we pray for you. And we pray for me. To get well and get conscious. Paradigmically free. Because it's hard every day. We fall back in odd patterns. Relearning our rings, all the way out to our Saturns. Whoops. There's another infraction: for shooting your mouth, your gun-- or your plan to extend nafta  further south. Like to yucatan peninsula. Somewhere most US Americans cannot locate on a map.

The media takes a nap on the reporting of corporate rule of one-star countries. Per Zagat new rating. Comp the countries like comparing motels. So offensive and intended, cause lord knows that shit sells. Controversy creation  a frequent occupation; if the interview for the position ends in controversy... you're hired. The placating drone in some den of iniquity down the street, getting wired. Lets pray another drone will not be sired. One model getting old? have it retired. Controversy prevention must be hardwired.

But what can we tell you about the one going sideways? The one whose engineering was perfectly misdirected. The one who took the controls away from the autopilot? The curiosity to all? The female Nietzche down the way? The fascinating one down the hall?

We could say chosen one, not for wanting to mislead. We can tell you for sure she was easy to love as the female lead. We learned to care about her, respect her, feeling her. Connecting on non-verbal levels. Collaborating on astral planes. Jumping the devil. Or 1940's era trains. The beat signature line. Ooh la la! She’s a part of you, a part of me. She may be difficult to see. She will get us out of our really tight spot. Shes the fancy persuasion. She's your connect. You're liaison. When she walks the street these days. Let's put it this way: its en masse, an Occasion...

[to be continued]

Thursday, 14 March 2013

She got more high than school (a chemical romance -1)

She was a dandelion chewin, flatbed lyin, urban cowboy screwin, truant from way way back. Like high school. She got more high than school. He was a youngbood creepin' west-side posturin' punk from Detroit, and he must of run game on her cause she thought he was the shit. She called him the m.o.a.b. thats the mother of all bombs. He called her the m.o.a.b. too. Mother of all bitches.

Her friends sought out to neutralize his fake ass masquerade, and win her back like a scratcher recompense for a month long losing streak. Her friends lacked mercy. Here it gets worse, see. Their connection grew more intimate, exclusive and chronic. He had stepped out upon her moonscape. She revolved around his planet.

Little did she know the gravity of his influence: demonic, sideways, maybe halfway satanic. Her tides came in rushes, in spurts, twice a day now. She was emotionally rewired to his synthetic new standard. He watched her do dishes, he watched her ass move. He lay listless in bed, like nothing to prove. The only extension he gave to support her? A bourgeouise yawn, with laisssez faire torture...

to be continued



Wednesday, 13 March 2013

Rolling Allostasis Revisited

Then as life goes you find you get into something so completely, your persona, you know, what you do, maybe it's also your purpose. You are flooded by it, simply deluged by something no matter how big or small, valuable or cheap, honest or sold... then you look around and find that many people know more than they let on, maybe more than they think they know anyway. Maybe they act like they know. Maybe they know how to act like they know. Maybe they know nothing. Maybe they know they know nothing.

Maybe you're in trouble. Maybe in need of ssris or deficiency restorative vitamin shots. Maybe you need a friend. Maybe you have been befriended, but befriended's not enough. Maybe you must be be witched. Maybe you need to eat a sandwhich. Maybe you need a who, what, when, where, or which? Maybe you do not know how. Maybe you tipped a cow. Maybe you need to stuff your face with facebook friends. Maybe not.

Did you include your exclusive in your earthquake kit? Tape your affirmation tape to your thigh? Or maybe they have been overdone, your fears and worries.What if theres nothing the hell wrong with you, anyway? Just experiencing lots of feelings, every day, just feeling your way into life? What if good news ceded from a thorough understanding? What if you can take those worries and put those fears in the archive; zipped, compressed, silenced.

You become salt.You become larger than your sediment trail. You travel horizontal, vertical, and your journey loses steam but gathers momentum. You are way off track. The meaning increases strength on the y-variable continuum. The x-variable gets jealous and steals percentage. The z-constant puts x in chex. Accepts no substitute. Tastes best with y and x. Don't ask why, go on to the next.

Truth with truth. A wholesome meal. More than a steal. Always relative, sometimes changing, hard to define, exacerbating cultures dis ease, serves her right, culture! With a side of yogurt for acidophilus contagion. Served on a platter to memorialize the cajun. Always tryin to come off as ‘fine’. Fucked up, insane, numb, emotionless. Probably headed to the liquor store to check out again on wine. Achilles heel you cant smother under that blanket of persona perfecta you present to the world...gotta be your shaking hands.

You're Shaking hands-- with your divine.

By Katya W. Mills
03/13/2013
http://katyamills.com
http://kissilent.wordpress.com

Tuesday, 12 March 2013

Dedicated to Occupy Oakland. 2011 -i-

Then as life goes you find you get into something so completely, what you do, your purpose, you get flooded by it, simply deluged. No matter how big or small, valuable or cheap, honest or sold... warm or frigid cold. You join a movement. Or maybe you just cheerlead.


Now you may be the one to yell out in pain of the betrayal, when injustice strikes you in the head and puts you in critical condition. Like on that cool Fall evening in Oakland, California, twenty eleven. The Occupy Occupation. The supporters of Oscar Grant. The soldier who went down that way, with a head injury.

The source of pain is not always physical. Yet completely personal. We get to thinking and we float. We don’t feel grounded. We get anxious. We see the river but do not want to confluence with her.

Unnecessary
Apartments get neglected
Androids are selected
Relationships hit the rocks
No more watches on the wrist
We cannot synch our mp4s
Or patch things up with a kiss
No more clubs. No more country
Everything in spade
No more dinners
Just pharmaceuticals
Lost your lucky jade


Then might you wonder, what must I do to survive?...
sit my ass down
 open my ears
occupy space
express shit needs expressing
stand head to head with riot police
gripping their tear gas guns
their stun guns
their revolvers
lets hope they aren't dyslexic
when the draw comes...

Oscar Grant lives!
tagged on walls all over Oakland
well into the occupation
of the plazas and the squares
ninety-nine percenters
everywhere

 Releasing a new kinda mix, from urban to the styx. Back on Broadway in the States. Class.
Not afraid to bare its lovely working ass.
Without judgment without question and without answers.

Then arrested
 atleast four score of them
Willing to go to jail
Excommunicate fear
Bucket head a canister and line it with baking soda
Breaking codependency with status quo
Laugh until your laughter turns to wet dew of tears
Fall then to the ground and be received with great thirst
Take a route down a root
Deeper

deeper deeper
deeper deeper

Moisture and humidity
feeling all life
holding it closer
to you

closer closer
closer closer

right up against yourself
right on

Into the company of
hundreds of thousands
of mostly decent honest peoples
representing even those
who were ordered
to stop them
and came
right

right up against themselves
right on
right up against ourselves exactly
where we
must
be

Monday, 11 March 2013

11.11.11. (st8 of shock)

11.11.11 (st8 of shock)
by Katya Mills 

written on 11.11.11
kissilent.wordpress.com

This version of our global state of earthen affairs in oakland of alameda of california of united states of america of pan-asian of northern hemisphere of caucasian of indigenous peoples of egyptian-descended of one common descendant of sapiens of homo of mammal of water, element of air, element of atmosphere, of carbon of familiar of greater universal, foreign, of spiral of vortex of black hole of tangible space, of vacuum of void of emptiness, never forgotten otherworld of unknown of infinite of celestial of solar, of andromeda, of not of andromeda, of love, compassion and deep respect of universal communication, today, gregorian. 11.11.11. morse code until we grow old, holding cards stubbornly until the inevitable cash-in, i.o.u's pencilled on trees. folded over. staying in town tonight, baby? please!

Sunday, 10 March 2013

votive free of motive

We hit redwood forest
the trail became arduous
we struck sacred ground
out of breath
just the three of us

The czech was independent
the german, creative
 the native...
 native

We were three natural forces
with our inherited powers
forgetting the seconds
the minutes
the hours

Forgetful non-selectively
 within the span of one day
to give space for whatever...
to get out of our way

lighting one single candle
flame red and blue
dancing
at nightfall

generation of shadows
signed off by
a votive

the whole essence of the scene
free from all motive

we looked into our eyes
transparency level
raised high
where all became possible
 to live free or
 die

by Katya W Mills
kissilent.wordpress.com


Saturday, 9 March 2013

Resist your retina (iii)

The company reiterated being on task through mouthpieces through media to phase out said products, undesirables du jour! per legal reforms as planned and certainly no sooner unless new product lines could cement profit margins and hyper phase out any non-impact to quarterly bottom lines (less muni code violations) aka state fines or earnings before interest taxes depreciation and amortization aka e.b.i.t.d.a. L

Listen, some really high fucker began to passion preach: life don't repeat...anyone who so much as challenges what i'm saying we gotta somehow somewhere stop, discounting the nuance the gradations the tonality....indiviuadation must be discounted for economic growth to hit the fifth gear and tax the cylinders to milk the most out of the socio-cow!

We gotta stop short circuiting
the evolution
the changes
the process
of life

Slugging along
at
banana slip
slug
sluggish ass
pace
of her

that neutral gear
stuck up bitch! 

When every emergency demands more life, she means less to more, she offsets your every anxious angle
the once described as a cock block whore. Hey, its helpful, for the lineup: descriptive-riche. the nouveau bitch.


Open-mic-air
thick hung with pause
late-term pregnant
with waiting

demands words
offers silence

demands action
don't move

demands proof
what does it prove?



(allows self to throw glass of root beer)
(glass inadvertently strikes respondents door)
(glass shatters and lays like a crime scene)
(untouched for 48 hours)
(perpetrator sees self as victim)
(this type of shit)(incident) (happens every day)

what was the problem
 was there one at all?
standing up against the wall
 about six feet or so tall?


what happened when the sword
 came up to your neck?
 did you put that ho in check?
did it make you feel proud?
did it come off
bass boomtown
very fucking loud?

 with your girl in the pen
 you are more than just free
 got out on billy's holiday
changed your clothes into
something u-nique
 sleek

not every damn nothing
not every at all
grown up 2 exactly
 unheard of height
maybe nine feet tall

Friday, 8 March 2013

32-bit clerk in 16-thread scrubs


32-bit clerk in 16-thread scrubs

I feel 100% reconstituted
singular
organic
uncompromised
of unknown
ethnic
origin

Tabula Rasa
GPS: Oregon


I feel bulletproof
the steelydan of
application protected
 custody

I feel whole again
datastream disabled
chatroom cloaked
system setting
 reset

I feel
anonymized
island-du-jour


Imagine my disturbance
when i tried to buy my daily
99cent AZ ice-T
at the quikstop

and got the goddamn
heisman
from some teenage
generation why
32-bit clerk in
16-thread scrubs

calling me out
off my new home
in the pink cloud
brigade

I felt my
tertiary-processed
 64-bit
personally-themed
self-served
limousine-scene
ego state
blister....

lick
and
sizzzzzle!

Thursday, 7 March 2013

Resist your retina -i-


Every time
(and there were many times already)
i fell into the rapids
i dropped down sick
to hug my knees


I wanted these emotions coursing through me thrown off the stage like some talk show's next predator caught by the lie detector. Self-reflection was non-directive. Yet passive aggressive. The line of monosyllabic words might seem flat. Yet considered from many angles, provoked the eye like a solar eclipse. You could not resist your retina. You had to burn right into it, indelibly. And that was just the appetizer.

Entree:  seared solar rings
with a side of blind-eyed potatoes

Lick your memory clean
 for dessert

Wednesday, 6 March 2013

fuck around (a little light to your fright night)

Fuck around, live life high, live life clean, just do not live a lie!
Do not live a lie.

Fuck around,  a little light to you're fright night.
Add a little light to your life, by way of affirmations.
Let people see your aura and come close.
Give away the light.

Fuck around but do not live closed.
Stay away from the tunnel vision.
Steer your boat through the narrows.
But only out to open water.

Fuck around and do not dare to do less.
Do not dare.

Fuck around.
Live life high.
Live life clear.
Live life like life is you're lover.

Fuck around.
Get inside of it.
Do not go around.

Fuck around.
Take no shortcuts.
Take no prisoners.

Fuck around like you mean it.
You gotta want it.
You need it.

Fuck around.
Measure up.
Pound for pound.

Fuck around!
It's the only way!
Take it!
Flaunt it!

Fuck around!
It's okay to be who you are!
We need you authentic!
We need you, really real!

Fuck around, baby.
You know the truth!
There's only one life!

Fuck around and
Feel freedom
Right now!

Tuesday, 5 March 2013

Life come out tattered


Life comes out tattered
worn and worn on

Suffering like healing
will process through many reframes

Verses must be sacred
Heat must be acrid like earth

Future yet known....clearly foretold
Divine must come through
not just across

Source flows unfiltered, flows through me.
Flows to me like fluid the senses turn to stone.
like water poured through magazine folded up in glossy paper wave snow cone.

Molecules ceased to behave.
Etiquette got a tourniquet
but still bled out.

And life?
Life went on like usual
Juicy
like centrally banked
to the core
honeydew
apples

Monday, 4 March 2013

What Gives (dedicated to K+K)

Yesterday i was half.... today i am whole.... being with you babe made it so, you made me so. i was really sitting pretty on the front porch calling you. the immediate downcast when you did not call back made me soft. the stone under my behind chilled me cold like a front. i took down my guard and got my credit card, hit the atm for some retail therapy. pulled myself up a little taller on the sidewalks. i thirsted for you. you made me tremble. the chills ran up my legs and down my arms. so deep was the feeling. when you looked down at me from above; blurred out of my focus was the ceiling.

In my mind i remember so clear. Yesterday you were there. In my mind, you are here.  As i looked up, daydreaming of you, you tumbled away. I what the fucks up? why cannot i locate your dangerous self in the streets? when can we again roll comfortably between the sheets? the wave of your passion riding over me. the latest fashion you peeled away from me. the whole day long the music....you and me. And close to one another, we had another way to use it. To ask the kinds of questions you ask when you desire. in your eyes i witness fear and great excitement. Reflections of my own.

Stone to stone, we rocked the house. You rocked me over on the bed and fucked me pretty well... the ten minute tremor is how i could tell. i fade into your spirals, I drop into your pattern. The music of your soul, well, your music squares my saturn, my ruling planet of aquarius. fresh marked parameters. i love us all around. Up through our solar powered chakras. down the whole united states of soul. You make everything i bought into turn over. I am sold. you cost a lot less than holding. possession charge? i guess i'm guilty. the weight of evidence, ice cold. all the way down the block. you are the puppet in my sock.  i'm losing energy to the thoughts, without you i may be nothing. you come from the past and scramble my ass. bringing me to some progression on my knees. Our hearts in two beat out one  pattern so bold and true. a place where all choices get lost in the fold, the K-crew. some complicated simplicity, some droolin fools gold. im really wrapped up in your mystery. i love you.

Saturday, 2 March 2013

cobwebbed in corners (living life lavishly)

She was
Calmly pronounced a communist
She was
Only nineteen and reading Marx
She was
Crunching on Pringles
Turning to Engels

 She laughed so hard. sent into rare fits
 Taken 2 the ground. unable to breathe
 Circa 1986 (or seven). inverted hair weave

B4 girls finishing school
B4 armadas of treasuries
B4 living life leisurely
B4 living life lavishly

Her gf was
bending over and under oily cars, greasy pipes
frazzled cutting wires
cobwebbed and cornered
blackened by chimneys...

on break
smoking snipes

the only crack she was exposed to
was plumbers
the only oil they got on their hands
offshore drilling companies stock

the only wired they knew was
ten cups of coffee deep
 over morning newspapers
they often fell asleep

Shhh
dont mention the powder coke
hid behind a classy term
screened by smoke
like designer drug

Shhh!
keep the whole thing
under the oriental rug

matter of fact
keep your whole life
on the down low...

flattened in lines
patterned. deceptive
hieroglyphic designs

Only divining rods
can find us
Only symbols will
define us

Divination
our birthright
Deaf people
can sign us

Then when
we come out
to shine
all your shoes

the light
will be clear...
the choices
we choose

at the top
of our lungs
at the top
of the stairs
leading down
to our subway
we sing
the same songs
we sing

we sing blues


-  Katya W Mills 
03.02.2013
dedicated to KaliKila