Wednesday, 31 December 2014

goodbye. 2014

i get into bed
under three layer

new year's eve

a kitten darts
into the mitten
goes under

with me
we hide from
wind storms

never get
cold never grow

god blowin' giant
fronds off
the palms

loves me
loves me not

tree cartilage
almost murdered

in twenty

Monday, 29 December 2014

get real. 2015

gonna love
for who I

the way I love myself
get real

i wanna be celebrated
   anywhere i go
 anything i want!

say anything!
     do anything!
  get real

i am gonna settle down. meditate
have a family. support
                     some kids!
                  sweet as candy!

            a bank account!
             in the black!
                get real

my partner
       will satisfy me around
               the clock!

    every way
          get real

i will find
the special place
where my secrets are safe

where no one
hurt me

get real

get a cell phone get
a tablet. get

get a clue
on the cloud. and
get real

Saturday, 27 December 2014

last ache. 2014

eye - eye
- eye

there it is again
some sorta pain

no need to ask
god why

listen to the wind

listen to mister coffee
brewing 4

away from the pain
away! (the pain)

(somethin' about they don't understand)
(somethin' about what i did not or could not do)

about hopeless
about helpless somethin' about
less and less


what a word
what a dream...

what a day i had

fallen asleep by the kitten
to end it

wishing i knew
how to curl
round my


poem © Katya Mills
photo © Katya Mills

Friday, 26 December 2014

blue. isolated

the blue
  of the blue



 the blue bird gave
 its blue

gave it away
to the sky

so can you

give your blue
to the

so can

Thursday, 25 December 2014


Wax pools
on windowsills

roasted chestnut
pine burning
turkey roasting
and dripping

coffee and cream
awoken from dream
to dream

sight of snow
or wreath and
bow. and lights
like stars

sound of bells
ringing. nat king cole
singing through the point
of a needle on vinyl
to you

laughing and jumping
for joy

smiling christians
at the dawn
of day

the kids take the stairs
three or four at a time
to the tree
and gifts

grandparents moved
and moving real

may saint nick
ride his sleigh on

eight or more
magical flying reindeer

to all the homes of all
the bad children

to see the no good ones
to forgive them

may saint nick
ride the magic on
to the east

to the islamic children
the buddhist children
the hindu children
the hebrew children

so all
of all faiths
feel loved

big and little children alike
on christmas day

good and the bad
naughty and nice
ones who eat meat
ones who eat rice

ones who never seen
the sparkle of ice

and may we learn a thing
from our imagination
this Xmas

and learn to love
more easily

Monday, 22 December 2014

the turnaround

i crash and burn
my world falls
i get right up
then turn

a letter from a jailhouse
tries to work behind
the tired eyes

take me down
from Dubai heights

strip my inhibition
stark naked

from sunlight

to depths below
the dolomites

in death's sincere sound
of silence

pervasive and persuasive
fears of senseless

i'm lost already
in tomorrow's retribution

the fantasy labyrinthine
of my furious

Saturday, 20 December 2014

enveloped in media glaze - fin

There i am
lagging realtime...

red is now blue
and blue is now green is
 now gold is now

silver surfing
edged off a

separated from the sugar
the lemons turn

there i am
doing the dishes
with my eyes closed

day-trading milliseconds
making a moment
per trade

sometimes life feels like
convincing a pig being hammed
was a cure

there we are
we need another miracle
one was not enough

mother nature
on a rampage
the killing kind

there we are
renewal in the rain
refilling a prescription
for affliction

sensation of merlot
down the gullet
some sorta warmth

there it is
the opiated vision
tele path
tele vision sets
a course for

i used to tell myself
you are just plain rotten
the best in me
i had downright


another fifth of a second
time traded away

there we are
our gps in

we are the echo
of a sliver
of a moment
in time

promoted unconditionally

it is so sad to watch her unfold
fate. nostalgic

like a carpet
stashed away in the back of your closet
you see all the old stains
and remember
and unravel

this is why i roll it up
and choose

Thursday, 18 December 2014

enveloped in media glaze - v

there we are
the us in nostradamus
under the bridge of celebrity

drinking coffee
eating the media glazed

promising each other miracles
just to stay sane

there we are
lacing and weaving
the words
some of the dopest beats
just to stay sane

you and me
took the same classes
on different streets

hell razors
on a cold day. indeed

internally enveloped
not yet delivered
preoccupied with raising hell

a roll of the thumb
carries the imprint of culture

we made some premonitions
and put them in the freezer
no problem at all
to thaw

with the orange juice
on the counter
mix with water
then drink

effing with the time-space

Wednesday, 17 December 2014

forecast. partly sunny to breakthrough of light

Listen my friend, you will do well today to simply approach your interests, wherever you may find yourself. Your environment need not stop you today, from following your attention where it leads you. All you gotta do, my friend, is breathe in and out, carry yourself as best you know how, love yourself a little or alot, be courageous and immerse yourself in the moment. Allow for silences to fill up the room. Look anyone you want in the eye. If difficulty arises, have confidence you can bring your light into the dark places where others may very well reside, this holiday season. Immerse yourself in your felt senses, and let your intuition be your guide today. Follow your heart towards its passion, even if it is unfamiliar exploration of any given situation. Have gratitude. You are right where you oughta be, okay? Loving you today, if you cannot love yourself. You will find a way. xo - K.

Monday, 15 December 2014

journal entry. date unknown. (performance)

journal entry. date unknown.
Posted on December 4, 2014 by KatYa

And suddenly the long uneven thickening and thinning motion which we followed for days, to some terrifying expanse of the same substance, which slipped through our hands and burrowed easily into earth, endless before us; suddenly jumped up into the air, unseen, and immersed us, standing there. We tried to take cover, yet still could not escape it. I shivered so long. I knew not would we survive. One of us took on a strange chill, became quiet and very hot to touch. Then ceased to be anymore. Another one then began to shake and call. Overtaken by the bitter salty substance fell out the eyes for days on end. They, too, would soon cease to be. The rest of us finally understood. We fell down before the mighty moving creature. We prayed. Then cupped our hands around it, breaking some off from the whole (though appeared unbroken), and looked at one another one last time; then took it to the lips and raised our eyes to the sky, open pale of neck, and let the substance seep into ourselves! A most unusual feeling as it reached down into me! Further! We waited. We then fell one at a time, to earth, and fell asleep awaiting.Then rose I know not when or how! And smiled! And embraced one another! For we were still alive! From this moment forward, we drank and followed the uneven line of this great, mysterious, borderless, lightness of mass. Trusting. Cupping it in our hands and hollowed tree limbs. It led us to verdant wonders never before seen, or known! We listened and the sound, once frightful, was now soothing us to sleep. The air was fresh, and colorful at times! And in the mornings, sometimes, as light awakened life… we immersed ourselves entire, in cool and friendly waters still. Life would never be the same.

enveloped in media glaze -iv

Ghost train slides down
the wet rails
up the coast

i heard its rumble
i saw its dreary cars
burdened by a sagging

patience has run out on itself
life becomes the wait so
everything is now

there i am being
grinding my teeth. waiting 
nerves frayed
at both ends. turbulent
like each and every loss of each and every one of my friends
my gems

love got conditional on us. fast
for sures into maybes
impending silence...


i listen to the rain

in each drop
i am

Sunday, 14 December 2014


© katya mills

i cannot be fragile anymore
'cause i will break!
i will lose it!
you won't know me!

instead i am
a twig
a dancer
a yogi
a paperback

following my rituals
a turtle
an ascetic
a mailman

a homeless woman
recycling her cans before

can i live
any other way?

letting some in
and letting some go

some relationships
ex-lovers and

fall away

and another
  and another
    and another

my heart wants to break
but can
only shed skins
like a white snake

leaving wax paper
shells in the dust
blown by the wind
as it must
  as it must

a-tumblin' on outta
here to god only knows!

god only knows
  god only knows

Saturday, 13 December 2014

enveloped in media glaze -iii

There we were
beyond irreverence
plain old sick with inherited inattention and hate
the litany of bitter recall
transformed by psychosocial maybe
magical means

our loyalty to us
our caring for us
our sheltering us

into a white

we now hold a reception to
culturally-sanctioned pissing
on modern artists
modern art

on ourselves
because it's hot
and steamy
and toxic

everyone's invited and no one comes

sex with us is asexual
fighting us ... (at best) ineffectual
believing in us (good) for the karma
without us (there is) no tension
no dharma

i'm gonna jump in anyway
disappear into it. let it absorb me
that's what i am gonna do!

comfort is manufactured. right here in America.
we won't ever outsource comfort. we like riding
on suspension braking on
air floating in
water softens the
earth for building a

Friday, 12 December 2014

enveloped in media glaze -ii

There i was
shoelaces untied
hair untied
falling down
unmade up

there i was again hoping
to be myself to
find my way out
of my act

waiting in long lines
making friends
either side of me
leaking subconscious
on a drowning day

there i was
a poached egg
trying to get back to scrambled
or even better
broken fresh over fried rice

there i was again
precise GPS unknown
no reservations at anyone's table
these holidays
Just the way I like it

visions of skaters
fat laces, boards and ink
just shining and breaking
out the dirt... a gem of a

there we were hanging out, loitering
falling, receding....

someone was trying to talk me out of something
who, i don't know. the law?
i don't care

ride a rail outta

Wednesday, 10 December 2014

vodka sun tonics

vodka sun tonics
Posted on December 10, 2014 
by KatYa

Living gave meaning and giving made meaning, as youth abandoned themselves lightly to the falls.

I felt blue and cried the color out of itself, unbearable facing the east at sunset.

Military drilling cost a heavy shilling, when shelling lobbed over the land. The purple hearts they would sink, into a deep pink, like olives in set vodka sun tonics.

You watch! you said, watching me, watching youth, themselves, abandoned lightly to the falls.

Tuesday, 9 December 2014

enveloped in media glaze

they crowned Miss Fortune, year unknown. The whole pageantry was born to fail. But it would die a planned and perfect death. Lots of young girls crying. Lots of false smiles turning real and upside down. Right up on the stage for all to see. A real corporate-sponsored mess. That's what they say happens when you let them take your heart. Or did you package it up, and give it to them? No I would never accuse you of that, no more than I might casually ask you over coffee, do you like bestiality? No, some things should no more be thrown out for public consumption than road kills, however fresh. No matter if the killer was your new Dodge Charger, freshly detailed. Not even if your buying lunch, or you somehow got it expensed off somebody's corporate card or your own. Not even! Not even by text message. No. Not even laundered through social media. Perhaps, and only unlikely, with God's will, through instagram: offensive images attached.

the watchers, the witnesses, half of them for rent on that very evening (whichever one it was), often found the edge where light and shadow spar. Out on the edge where lines got real sharp, in bitter contrast. They weren't surprised. Half of them were convinced they had orchestrated the movement, from the rows of seats around our giant battle cage half- full of feathers. They would take anything on. But we knew. Somewhere behind our shrimp cocktails, beneath our anchovy wafers, over the steam rising off our bavarian sausages rolled in bacon blankets and impaled on wooden picks, we carried this honest truth. No, it did not sit well. The load was unbalanced all the time, spilling over like our martinis those days. Whatever days those were. No one would remember because everyone was invested in forgetting everything. The privilege the others were born under left the watchers, the witnesses, half of them for rent, there on the ledge.

Sunday, 7 December 2014


the hidebehind 

yellow eyes 
the size 
of autumn leaves

autumn tree by k
waits behind
a single

wiki reference:

Tuesday, 2 December 2014

atomically bombed

atomically bombed
Posted on October 21, 2014 by KatYa

Today i saw a man hold a cat in his arms, loving it like a child. Today i got so very tight in the chest that it hurt.An unfortunate dispute with a toxic young woman, whose touch like unconscious betrayal. Yet close to my years on this earth.

The warmth vibrating for almost hours, before the body, dehydrate. The cold-blooded toxicity poured freely into my vessel. I swear i tried to dam her! But unimpeded rhythms are to live by. And i need to know how you really feel.

And we could have been sisters.
And we could have been brothers.
Maybe, some day, we could have been lovers.

No use. All i could do was hold myself high and separate, in the end. For feeling all my feelings to the end. Even the most celebrated among us, shy away from great pain. I will be the conduit of all the worlds triumphs and tragedies.I will take it on and let it all go. I will be forced on my knees, to find some disparate peace.

We all earned our place on this pounded round earth. With our gods. We run around circles, figure eights. Atomically bombed.

Monday, 1 December 2014

candle light transmissions

Hollow me out
somewhere far from home

vanish from earth and memory
the dreadful sights
those nights

then set the waxy wick
afire in the cold. the dark

blood shot eyes await

there will be no tears
no cries... no wars of words locked up
in dreadful knots

who or
it matters not

they see us
they laugh
they cross
our path

the careless
misled and lost
love to draw
a misfit off
the path

peppered by salty

undefinable so
swims 'cross a murky

tell me god and
goddess where
are we

       am i

Sunday, 30 November 2014

a nightmare. non-fiction

The nightmares came heavy last night, beneath the weight of blankets on a cold and dark night, all alone. In these dreams, the ones I loved would show up. They wanted to see me. They wanted to pick me up and take me away from a gnarly city scene; some great hall that was now a shadow of its former glory. Abandoned. I wanted to go with them, my sweets, but I was held back. I wrestled with this choice. Like usual, I could scarcely breathe. These neuroses! They always find me! I was trying to protect something from a thief. I wanted to leave a couple of bags of my belongings, but I was certain they were not safe. I was chiding a thief. I had a long winded speech to a gathering crowd of indigent peoples, on the nature of thievery. They were restless at first, not really listening, but as I expounded on the subject with such great force and mastery of the language, tired eyes arose to look. And listen. I was watching and listening to myself. I felt pride and animosity. A bittersweet occasion! By the end some were cheering. I had denounced a human being. All the while, the ones I had loved had given up waiting, and gone and left without me.

Saturday, 29 November 2014

be chosen

the rain
the rain she
wash away
the pain

the pain
the pain she
left us

a calm
the calm she
over all

the lights
go down
the sun

we can
once again


we can
we can twice

we can
three times
in loving

thawed out
choose to be

Tuesday, 25 November 2014


"I went with her there, to the heat, and my eyes also turned a shade orange-red; and the poor devil, his focus all glued into my head and my hair, the little song on his breath, reaching out like he was finger-painting now, suddenly struck by the force of heat radiating out from us, and all of it electric. And our bodies now glowing, I opened myself to her lead, merely an extension now of her fire. He may as well have touched a live wire, when he went to finally caress the back of my neck with his hand, dropping his palm on my shoulder. The force threw him back, I swear! Physically he was up lifted and fell back, and rolled down the hill. Jack and Jill. But Jill would not come tumbling after." -K.

Saturday, 22 November 2014

the girl with her life off its hinges

"We found her in that room again, a room with a door off its hinges; a girl with her life off its hinges. She was happy to see us, but her joy was capped off where it met her subsistence. I gave her a long and emotional embrace. Reaching her was like reaching down into a hole, and groping around for a sign of life. And finding one." - K.

Wednesday, 19 November 2014


"I would give in to her, and only her. All she had to do was rearrange the stars to spell my name in the sky. Sure, she could have the totality of me. All she had to do was compel the Buddha out from under that tree, to come and sit beside me. Ya, then I would be hers. All she had to do was pave the streets in platinum, put pearls around my neck and ankle, ink our love forever in a secret place on her body, put an end to all my pain, dress me in black with a white rose behind my ear, ask my hand of my divinity, by the thought heard around the world. I had no lofty demands! All she had to do was marry me, in San Francisco City Hall, with a sea of origami white ravens overlooking. I was easy! All she had to was what she did last night, a hundred and one times over, and love me down to my cotton stuffed ears and black button eyes, my DIY made soul patched together with fishing line leftovers." -K

Tuesday, 18 November 2014

Sisters (excerpt)

" I edged up behind her until our hips were touching, and put my arm around her waist and a fingertip in her belly button, to comfort her. Freddy was in the bathtub, just staring at the ceiling with his eyes focused out. “Well, they’ve taken over all right, that I can see” I said to my dead little sister. " -K

Saturday, 15 November 2014


" He came alongside me, as I followed far behind the night watchman and the faraway sound of the lantern, steady swinging, as he navigated the steppes of organized chaos, the rows of tombstones and monuments, and graves with no marker, the trees, and the possums in them, leaning over the site; palms hanging their spiked, punk up-dos over the mysterious air, running the water from the roots, pulling life mixed with rain, the nutrients of embedded memories of those who once roamed the earth, back above ground into the winding skinny trunks, high up over it all, so they could have eyes again over the resting place, and still find a sacred place in the sun. "  - K

Friday, 14 November 2014


Another teaser from my novella, Daughter of Darkness, to be published some time very soon, before year end, on

"College Avenue went from spaced out service stations and seven elevens and bars and adult video stores, to tree-lined boutiques with potted flowers and architect-touched storefronts with engravings and latticework and faux shutters, colorfully painted doors and entryways. Really an enjoyable stroll up and on past the Rockridge Bart station north, and now there were fraternity boys and sorority girls in threes, drunk as hell and laughing like hyenas. The man kept walking at his easy pace with his cane tap tapping the cement before him, and he blended in so well I don’t believe anyone even saw him, he was such a staple looking dude with his country jacket and flannel shirt, and polished saddle heeled boots and silver shock of receding hair. I believe he was immediately taken for a wealthy indifferent Berkeley landlord. And he probably was! Since the sixties and the flower children made international headlines, they paved the road for property owners in this town now city, and inadvertently got everyone rich except themselves."  -K

My novella will be classifed as a dark literary fiction, urban setting. Many of my characters are street level operators with subtle sense powers. (I hate to say 'dark fantasy' or 'paranormal' so I won't!) My characters are grounded in present time realities, and it reads like a contemporary fiction. I will be selling it for a buck or a buck fifty. My debut novel is currently available on, but also can be found at Barnes & Nobles (ebook) and Createspace. Thanks for stopping by! 

Tuesday, 11 November 2014

Daughter Of Darkness TEaSeR

An excerpt from my soon to be released novella...

"Stay. Stay here with me, with you, with the world. Stil. Still your fears, let them coagulate into a lifeless form. Pull. Let me pull them out of you, so you can stay. Stay here with me, with you, with the world in all its desensationalism. Draw. let me draw out of you that too which you cling, here in the shadow of San Francisco, in this ageless night of Broadway and her storefront theatrefront shining, pimping, fronting, sinning, drinking, smoking, screaming, flowing trade of flesh and desire to no end. Down Auto Row I walked, secretly chewing on a hundred lost city souls along the way, leaving them each and every one not as dust, no, leaving them no longer weary in their ways, some standing, leaning against the brick facades or street signs, tipping their hats up now so the street can see their eyes, some walking, slower now not faster, able to stop thoughts and worries and feel the air if nothing else, some unfolding out of some hidden corner to zero, shivering a little less, realizing that they are the warmth in a cold dark night and nothing less, and nothing less than zero, so the only way might be up and out, so yes, as you watch me fade east into the bright night and know me for carrying you to some neon orange hope away from fear, the time is now, the energy is available to you freely, sons and daughters of human kind, open your eyes, yes, see that it may not be so bad as you had it out to be, and only you can not be a victim of only your circumstance, only you can hasten headlong to your death, only you can make your very next move or be otherwise static yours, and swallowed by the fear strikes you sound."

Monday, 10 November 2014


I was hot with a madness. I was becoming accustomed to the darkness inherent in me. I may not have been happy about the violent quality, but I accepted it. I was conscious of it. I was not running from it anymore. The immediacy! I could access the power. I could nurse on the fear. I could feel it, I could compel it out of a human with no remorse." - K

Saturday, 8 November 2014


"Sure, I might go overboard (and our kind always did) and reduce them to hourglass sand, but why not show me some love? And come out karmically ahead? Have the courage to sit across from me and suck tapioca into the fat straw with sweet and cool, fresh green tea. We need not talk. Just look me in my eyes for a minute, and watch as the good feeling rises up in you, and you begin to have that long lost energetic you had when you were just a child, and fearless." - K

Thursday, 6 November 2014

NaNo ExCeRpT

"I was in the trenches of Oakland our fair and broken iron maiden, Cinderella, at the feet of San Francisco, watching her dirty bay waters wash up against her, expected to do all her dirty work and keep her gates golden. Most of the darker minded or skinned people of the world to black of black panthers found shelter if not sanctuary in the dark heart of Oakland, after spending days traveling across or under the Bay to get paid watching over the wealth, running the elevators, answering to someone, serving their food and drink, dealing with their homeless, driving their buses, shining their shoes, entertaining them at night, entertaining them in the day, doing their laundry, walking their pets, cleaning their apartments, houses, bathrooms, schools, offices, and consciences." -Katya

Saturday, 1 November 2014


Design by Katya, 2014
Starting today, I am writing into my second year of the National Novel Writing Month, with an eye toward the continuation of a series I started last year. I am excited! This is a literary fiction set in Oakland, California. Female protagonist, first-person narrative. Last year, November, the words spun out of me and wove what looks to be shaping up well as Book One and Book Two of the series.

I hope to finish editing Book One by year end, latest. The 'beta reader' response was very encouraging. The story is character-driven and has elements of dark fantasy, but certainly classifies much closer to Literary Fiction.

I plan to release Book One, Daughter of Darkness, as a Novella on, beside my other publications. All have been well-received in the marketplace, with 4-5 star ratings. My indy author page is located here: KATYA MILLS . Thank you for all your support!

Friday, 31 October 2014


To my beloved friends and fans, I want to wish you all a Happy Halloween
from the daughter of darkness...

'Roses' by Katya Mills, 2010
I took this photo in the Morcom Amphitheatre of Roses, in Oakland, where i found sanctuary from the downward spiral of my life. The years 2010-2012. Life was crazy, wild, I was experiencing a shutdown that was necessary for my re-emergence, I guess. Anyway... I believe I may use this photograph for the cover of my short story on Amazon, Everlee & Lee. I plan to change both name and cover in the coming weeks.

Thursday, 30 October 2014

wild. vast disinterest

wild. vast disinterest
Posted on October 22, 2014 by KatYa

Yes i tire
of a selfish

i wanna set something
afire and do

these words
blaze out
the woods
where you
lost me

left me
to clarify
my grave

i pick the line between us
and raze your toxic

asserting my

it is alarming

Tuesday, 28 October 2014


My plan is to release a Novella
to the world within weeks...
I designed the cover, ici.

The photograph is
courtesy of the Romanian
artist  Sandy Manase

Sunday, 26 October 2014


IF i was nude
without my clothes
wrapped in a blanket
feeling soft and thin
lying on your couch
in an industrial space
where the air is cool
but alive

if you were reading
poetry to me and i
was reading novel excerpts

if friends were welcomed
through the lovely living 
space without any of age old 
appropriate hesitations

then the rains would slap
the leaded glass

then the warmth 
between my legs
under your arms embracing

then the electric wait
before touch is over 
and helpless is real and 
beloved this moment 
of all that there is

then the realized 
infinite tenderness 
so palpable!

the fifth force 
validation so soft! loving! gentle!
so needless of words

then way out there 
with us
in the ness ness 
ness less rest
ness less

be still
my memory revigorate
be kind my love
pliable me
pliable you

light finds ways to 
the resting shade
it may be wondrous when it does so 
non-chalant. when shadows flicker around 
these high walls 
candle lit

taper not
sweet memory

carry on bold to the next
 precious life never fail! 
never falter! never leave! 
ever last

be still
be kind. let all past present future lives come 
together here. remarkably

anyone who still dreams
lets go 
of all you ever established
cherished institutionalized

come read your little voice large
 into the clear seche vaulting expanse with us. 
up to the leaded glass high and 
ritual drumming of rain

take off your clothes
wrap yourself in new vetements
 for once you are seen 
you are known 
you are you! you are loved 
explored like these pages
 these words 
these letters inscribed now released
upon breath
to honor the air

this moment 
these words from our bodies our ours!
and forever. unsealed and 
exposed to the element

this is now magick
catch fire and cooled 
by the brick

Thursday, 23 October 2014


love potion no. K

I was in the laboratory, minding my own business and yours, when all of a sudden that eureka moment came hurtling from space to earth, half-burning up in its double wide flavor, five-lane atmosphere pressure pull. I pounced immediately upon it, before it could scurry away into the recesses of some famous French cave, whose drawings of stick figure animals shall be preserved to the end of human time only. I cupped my mind around it like a cat claw trap upon a squeakmouse.

A large question mark took form in a gasping vexation of breath out my pores. My entire organism shook. This created just enough room for the object, not yet become subject (or subjected to my personal universe of great darkness and fragmented light), to slide into a crack, in the unwaxed and unpolished (and rather rough from wear) mahogany floor, which had suffered the weight of me for one too many months in this place, my self-described laboratory. All I felt (other than insatiably unanswered in pursuit of my less than scientific inquiry) was an increase in space beneath my mental tendrils, which were left groping about like a suddenly blind sea anemona in atrophic waters, abandoned for good by an ungrateful school of single file clown fish with genetically mutated pioneering tendencies.

My object, my dear sweet eureka, escaped my grasp! No! I cried, reducing my own equation to expletive tears.I dropped to my knees, then fell to the floor and my whole body collapsed like a dying star.

Then, after a few horrendous moments of breathless wonder, something magnificent happened! That which I had been pulling and pushing and groping and gnashing my teeth to capture and consume, with the bully gravitas of a desperate Putin in Ukraine, suddenly unfolded itself to my surrendered spirit, like the most beautiful of flowers set free in the sun! Love potion no. two thousand, seven hundred, sixty two (dot) infinity.

Tuesday, 21 October 2014


Stepping out of Tron
Posted on October 20, 2014 by KatYa

I lost my world in a mirror.
The mirror tricked me. 
I thought I was 3D.

I was 3D, until my mirror tricked me. 
Now I’m two dimensions. 
Eye candy. 
Background noise.

Someone taught me how to be one-mindful. 
Now I am single-purposed. 
My blade just lost an edge.

They figured out a way 
to grind me up so fine, into
a pointilistic portrait. 
My EP is an LP. 

I’m seen in single vision. 
I got a one track mind.

As i got stirred into the kettle hot water, 
with powdered cream and splenda, 
I guess I missed the point.

Still would I find my way through them, 
though the passage was not easy. 
Pontificating in the joint.

I reconfigured myself then, 
like stepping out of Tron. 
Back into the world of phenomena.

Now I am
(something like)
a phenomenon.

Friday, 17 October 2014

erotiKa #88

not many miles of land
stand between

covered before long
from hong kong
with autonomy

then all unravels
in a strand of dna
plucked up from
the sand

the discovery
without age

comes the imminent

whip of six eyes caught
in mad uncovered

cracking inhibition
falls with silks
off thighs

caught off guard of breath
where imagining

casualty of the cut of muscle
toned reality

and before long..
a great and burgeoning towards

the whites of eyes
the cries

Tuesday, 14 October 2014

fishing . indoors

A season
A reason
to get out of bed

a number
an order
a substitute

the thoughts
in my head

i’m hungry
i’m thirsty
predestined at last

i turn off the radio
deadbolt the doors
up on my toes…

my spirit likes soft light
and shadows
to play

even better if
it rains today

with knees to my chest
i sit barefoot
facing north

and wait for her

the sun up
lifts all life

i set the trap
in silence

Sunday, 12 October 2014


i wanna be someone. of circumstance. 
i wanna be me. 
a form. with a formula. 
neither for nor against the world.

i am spinning retrograde. with mercury. 
we are having a blast at the planetary dance. 
running interference on iPhones.

i wanna be alone. 
having to catch squirrels and dig roots to survive.

i wanna ton of friends. none of whom i ever met. 
all who might love me. on demand.

i wanna dream. come true. 
a hole. a head. some space. to tread. 
my mood. blood red.

i wanna be told. what to do. 
my mood. sad blue. 
reflective of you.

a lake. a storm. 
thawing an ice age. 
melting my formula. 
my life. into a basin.

when the children come home 
from the forest where they play, 
they may wash their dirty hands in me 

both of us…


Saturday, 11 October 2014

wish # 88

lake winnipesaukee
20 mile bay. by K

if only you and me
could take back time
i would

restore our love

if only
i could
k by k. oct '14

Wednesday, 8 October 2014

Book Review: Tropic Of Cancer

Tropic of CancerTropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Henry Miller is a force. The narratives roll like thunder, approaching you slowly from a distance like a storm with a great and building anticipation, the clouds filling with sexual innuendo and class eveners and antisocial asides, readying to sit atop your head and dropkick any inhibitions out of you, lightning to split any moral codes in half.

The plot mostly involves the spontaneous adventures of a man in the city. Gaining interest in someone who caught the narrator's eye for a moment, perhaps the wife of a friend of a friend, often someone whose not completely satisfied by their ordinarly life or companion (whom the narrator may have a very honest and blunted despise toward, and whose personality and interpersonal dealings he often describes in a wonderfully take-no-prisoners manner, evoking deep belly laughs in the reader), and whom becomes a budding love interest demanding consummation.

The narrator (whom we may presume to be the author himself) takes his sharp falcon's eye and passes judgment securely over all within range, including himself.

The way HM captures a personality over a few pages (often in free-ranging passages with minimal dialogue or punctuation to hold him back) is really a phemomenon. Like a coarse blueprint. He finds a target and dives down headlong for the take. Spares no expense in wringing out any character defects. Usually displays his victims as prisoners of themselves, in carefully constructed worlds they have created, often trapping their companions (again, usually the love interest of the narrator) in their webs. So when these worlds are suddenly exposed in the act of 'having unexpected company', delicious madness ensues.

Tropic of Cancer is a wonderfully orchestrated design by HM. The writing style is unique and unabashed, very honest, and no doubt a great atrraction to the Beat Poets in their heyday, many of whom held HM to the sky and often visited him in his home, when he was an old man. I recommend it highly, though not for the faint or romantic at heart. Then again, in the spirit of amnesty, if you have an open mind/heart, this may be exactly what you need to read!

A special recommend to writers and authors, as Henry Miller can teach you alot about writing, and was certainly a mentor to me as I forged my own writing style, towards writing my book, 'Girl Without Borders', which involves an unrequited love triangle, and is available now on

Thanks for reading my review! -Katya
View all my reviews on

Tuesday, 7 October 2014

spectre. 1893

The giant octopus
first was observed

starboard side of our

an omen
in an ink black

in eighteen ninety

we lost our course
that night
we lost our senses

the sky was starred
and moored
in reflective tar
black residue

the barnacles amassed
upon our hull
off-white shining

into the

And soon our maiden
voyage and we

would also
to the

to our

the author. october

Saturday, 4 October 2014


Yesterday i was half.... today i am whole.... being with you 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 focus was the ceiling.

In my mind i remember so clear. Yesterday you were there. In my mind, you are here. As i look up, daydreaming of you, you tumble away. 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 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 the fire. Fear and great excitement. Reflections of my own.

Stone to stone, we rocked the house. You rocked me over on the bed and got 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. 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 me. 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. Some complicated simplicity, some droolin fools gold. I'm really wrapped up in your mystery. I love you.

Wednesday, 1 October 2014

if K ruled the world

No one would be expected to smile or greet you, though they could if they wanted.
No dogs just cats.
Yes to miniature tigers and teradactyls.
You work at what you choose, and you may sleep when done working and work when done sleeping.
No more cell phones just walkie talkies. 
No mayonnaise. 
No social media, in fact, advertising and marketing are banned and punishable by tickle torture.
No more pavement and the animals live freely among us. 
No sentient being owns any other living thing.
You can still own property.
No currency just barter.
You can still fight wars if you want, but no draft and don’t involve anyone whose peaceable-like. 
Punishable by hippie farm segregation.

Sorry but no more cars or planes. 
Let the birds do the flying and everyone gets a bicycle on their 5th birthday. And a bell.
You can live in a house but you won’t need one. 
You can fall in love but that’s your business.
No weddings, and funerals are called commencements, and celebrated madly.
Only assholes and bitches get disappeared. 
This includes wannabe dictators, sociopaths, and tattoo artists who decide to deliberately ignore your design and permanently mark you up with their sad art.
Creative types get to create whatever they like wherever they wish, so long as its divinely inspired and not hurtful, just helpful.
If you like my world, please follow my website @ and buy my books on Amazon.
And feel free to write me in for mayor of Toronto, to replace the crackhead whose got the malignancy in his belly. May he get well soon.

Monday, 29 September 2014

self-helpless was i

I saw you before you were born. The interview went well. You were optimistic towards the opportunity ahead. Although all the suffering baked into this cake was unappealing, wholeness of being beckoned.
Despite western ways to be forced on an eastern soul, despite aggravated assault in the capitalist moshpit, despite countless insipid efforts towards persona redux, and begging martyrs of grave emotional toxicity, you would not resist the call.

You bravely went under the spell of your god, and i watched on edge as they cleared your cache and robbed your memory bank, ritual washing you. Then they dressed you in snow white linens as your affect went flat. Baby powder, and the shaving of head. You will do well in America, they told you. You looked at them blank. Confused, but so willing. 

Tears suddenly welled up my eyes and placed you safely inside one saltwater drop. After you left me, my love, I carefully swept up your off-color locks. With my hands. Tearful, I took up the salt and pepper remnants of my one true love of this life. On my knees now. Sweeping.

Weeping. I held you soft in my hands there, and ritually cursed the insipid god who i believed at that moment, responsible for this.

Our unchained tragedy.
My uprooted life.
Unmoored heart.

Saturday, 27 September 2014


Yes I am on guitar on this clip, but for those who like my spoken word this one should appeal to you because the lyrics are very clearly spoken, not sung. The lyrics are located on this post...


Wednesday, 24 September 2014


Autumn Is...

A stretch of small city road, gone country under a blanket of fallen leaves. A crunchy bicycle ride over said dead leaves. A look all around and see colors. In a cafe, inspired to say, i love you, to yours, as you hold them by woven, heavy cotton and wool, at the arms just above a pale palette of wrist.

Autumn Was...

What was this world where when autumn arrived…

How they harvested, by hand.
How they jammed the jam.
How they hunted the land.

Made wind chimes of bone.
Tapped trees for sugars.
Thanked the almighty.
Venison, quail, turkey and trout.

Facing the winter with faith and tobacco. Exposed to the elements.

Cooking the fats over a crackling fire, on irons they traded for pelts.
Chanting at sunset and dancing til dawn. Large fires contained within circles of rock.

Living a life ruled by 
water wind fire earth! 
sun ice and stars! and great sacred spaces
cast under moonlight 
ruled by the rhythms as of yet undisturbed 

And of wonders unknown.

Monday, 22 September 2014


(original poem & song)

She had just finished her coffee

she had just finished super-gluing 

the iron-on patches to 

her black jeans


when the BBC 

reported her city 

the night before

The scandalous 

yet predictable situations

played out on the streets when

certain dice were cast 

Rolled and bounced into

a combination of numbers

when added 

together spelled trouble

She could coherently 

put herself together for you 

on a gray cloud 

with a silver-stained lining 

Halloween behind the ears 

like a cool whip of 

winter winds on 

the nape of your neck

When someone in any given room

in any given west-side victorian 

half-rehabbed three story apartment 

had mind to meet 

The fullness of her face

the fullness of her hot stare

the depth of her purpose 

you can believe 

Just like you buy 

the street talk on the east side

in a slurpee swishersweet rhetoric

ghetto to the bone

Descended from

the self-made madness

of your home

Thursday, 18 September 2014

The lost of lost weekends (revisited)

Lost of Lost Weekends

My friends, my close friends, my less than close friends, my new friends and old ones, the loved ones, the tough ones, the tests we endure, the balance of days coming together.  Then the sun rises, again, and you find one another, and stand by and cry and try to find the heart, and it comes so natural like a Lexus start, clean and quiet, eyes meet eyes in subtle surprise; the things unsaid, the weight like lead... falling off your shoulders. And now your older, and see it to contextually, in the texture of the connection, see? And the sublimation occurs, two hearts collide, energy synch dream! Friends seldom seen and then it's like a dream again. Seen again. But why so far apart? You fight it, stomping your feet til the dust comes up. The trust come up and recede again, like the lost of lost weekends -- a painful trend

left you wishing and crying for more, feeling the living and dying, feeling right down to your core. It hurts but it means something, too. So be there in spirit, you say it, you mean it! I can lose the colloquilism, touch the vernacular, turn it inside out and make it spectacular. This will work at any distance, like quantum physics, like a system. The charges we send us, like photons the light moves. The energy hits airwaves you catch on your itunes. The paradigm keeps shifting its tectonic plates. The dishes they fall on the floor we explore, find out what we are made of. The texture, the real thing, we thirst and manifest and burst on the scene. Listen and you may hear it. The tear. The salt. The water. So simple, like tide rush cool over your feet in the sand! The way we understand one another, like a sister, like a brother. This is a rush cause its true: your family is those who mean something to you.

Wednesday, 17 September 2014


Today i really felt like a singer-songwriter. 
It has been some hard work and alot of fun to get to here.
Although i will always be a novelist at heart...


One time and I knew
I would drive you all mad
The velocity grew
The had had been had

I really got you upset
I made you so mad
When I sank the canoe
The tadpoles were sad

You came up for air
Pulled on my hair
We fought til we swore and
We cared

I'm so glad when it's good
I'm bad when it's bad
The had had been had
When the had had been had

Had had been had had
been had had been 
had had been

Monday, 15 September 2014


(original poem / love song)

i took the m-path

out of the city, today

i took the blue line

just to see you, okay

i took the m-path

i had to see you, okay

abandoned buildings

electric lights, and rain

i came through tunnels

i surfed the channels

to see, your face

i came through rainbows

out of the city

to find, my place

just to be

by you, so true


just 2 see you

just 2 be with you

it’s true

because i love you

i really love you

i do

Friday, 12 September 2014

UNDER BELIEVER (original poem & song)

'under believer'

a chronic
a careless

a senseless
a swim down
a sewer

a bobbing of heads
a pricetag
an earlobe

a city of ink
a kitchen
a sink

a friend an
a smoke an
a drink an
a laugh an
a light an
a look on
a breath

a look on a light
in the

onna dream
onna spark
inna dark

Wednesday, 10 September 2014


So i was rolling with this sweet-as-saccharine, pretty young latin thang, on an real affective high, joining in the bipolar unilateral uncompromised brilliance of the new day, treading on an adidas insole grip, feeling like a princess for a change, when suddenly she stopped and turned me around to look at this ugly street scene. She said something about getting a french roast at one of those less than average corporate coffee outfits, maybe Seattle's Beast or Starfux or something. I really cannot pay attention, on purpose.

Hey hey hey hey now! I said, making mad circles with the palms of my hands facing her, like I was painting a Starry Night again. What did you say?

She told me again with great controlled precision, almost irritable-like. 

Were she not so saccharine-sticky-sweet like, with her unfrosted platinum blonde wig all situated like real hair on her dome, I would have been audi 5000. I gave her my full attention, and my pressure cooker started heating up a bit. Not a good feelingstate for my mental. I tried to channel it out of my shoulders with a roll and a couple of shrugs. But it got locked up, in between the blades, and started bouncing around in there, my chi, like a video game-gone-beserk. Damn. I wanted to slap her already, but it was just a thought.

So we went anyway, and she got her gingerbread shot or whatever, and I sat impatiently on the cold, dry, laminated redwood, waiting. I always wondered how I got into this kinda mess. Some double-blind study was I. Blinded first by her beauty, then by my own future idyllic daydream of what life could be in the presence of said beauty. Never once did my mental suggest sitting on a plank in Central Yuppie, California, while holier-than-thou got a gingerbread.