Friday 30 May 2014

K reads ... Black Denim Daisy Dukes II /II

'black denim daisy dukes' (part II)
subsidized surveillance mix

Billy jean queen my way down the glass lit floors. three hundred watts of white light. a couple hundred pounds of black and white heat. all the onlookers fell back with their cash in hand. struck by the collision of lady’s night in the theatre grande. Maxell tapesque wind driven back in gale force, to cock block a stalker. with a hurricane eye, to allow in an admirer. or a gentle game of verbal chess, to challenge a so-called friend. those who were there to do what i said, became visible (and quite helpful). see i just needed some help to get my truth across. needed your help to brita filter out all the fluoride and dilute toxins in the mineral water of my mind. to goldpan my fucking stream of consciousness bitch. like my friend Viva reminded me on the phone it’s alright to be a bitch. to push back against the bullshit. the whole world is helping us now. check the newswires, you’ll see. because clearly we have subsidized an nauseating affair in our nation. clearly the nsa has strapped a probe on and given us free colonoscopies, with a search warrant. it is more than kinda upsetting. we paid for it. we asked for it once, but got it forever. we did not check for the expiration date. it did not have one. a National Surveillance Archive the size of the lone star state, processing all communications everywhere. domestically and internationally. coveting my metadata and yours. digital forensics will haunt us in the future. any and all off the cuff remarks we made over text, skype, on outlook or gmail, in our blogs, on our cellulars – is all being processed and audited and red-flagged if necessary. excavated and highlighted, in the low light of some intelligence agency analysts daily debriefing. the question mark has scythed the exclamation point. i will be lucky to make it out with my metaphors. intact. analgesic. in the half-light of the trance. the serenity of the dance. between me and my freedom of speech or silence alike. privacy never made it to the door. because she was already holed up straight squatting in the vip lounge. with the 360 degree view of the dancefloor. with the two way unclouded lead crystal glass floor downloaded and secured to the scenery. profound. delicate. profound plus. glass bubbles, built to shatter. hey, that’s autoglass. it beads. no matter. our big city club scene. over a decade into the new millenium, shines. solar panels recycle the light. shafts appear and strobe out before our very eyes. maybe we need the electric current. maybe i had to plug into the dotcom sitcom to see it. maybe it started the clock on my energy bill. may be pushing time into analytics. maybe space jammed in the eye. maybe gelatinous. to the very fibers of our being. maybe i didn’t care. maybe you do now. maybe we will tommorrow. all i know is what i think snowden knew when he short-circuited his life as his life was. by uncovering what he was made to do, the way he has. this subsidized surveillance shit needs to end. acid drop it into the clubs and put it in white light and acid wash jeans. and surveil it.

K reads... Black Denim Daisy Dukes - I /II

'black denim daisy dukes' - part I
(subsidized surveillance mix)

i was out there facing you and the world. through a portal i chose. nonlinear travel into the membrane of a postmodern club. on a bright near-life evening experience out. to subdue the indoor perry mason addiction tv blues. subdue with dub and sweat and light and you. to be overcome with the light of the darkness. you night owls, you know. kinda like a blindness toward the runway descent. looking to land. hoping to avoid catastrophe and chain reaction seated screaming affairs. i do not like to fly. not even in my dreamscapes. like some of you. unlike the rest. and somewhat casually dressed. like always. no formality, out there facing the usa big city nights, at this time in recent memory. i will tell it to you as unencumbered as possible. hope you don’t mind getting it raw like this. with or without punctuation, paragraph, or other accoutrements. i like to call it liberated. shorthand-like. abbreviated, but def not lazy. def not. no deliberations. no hesitation. pushing my speech out of the nest. opening another chapter of free thought. typed out. no hype. typed out. no ribbon. no tape. red, white, or blue. untaped, out on the wire. out on the net. without a net. full on frontal nudity. the air, brushed aside. the moon drawing the tide. the tenses got tense. tensile. disappeared out on some plank i made for them to walk. eat shit and die, i said. they didn’t hear the verb at the end of that sentence. they will not. they won’t. and wherever words drown down the slow pull of gravity underwater, they are as inaudible as the world dipped in hyrdrogen cannot be heard. the air dipped in hydrogen. a nice thing. i can hear myself think. i can pause and take a drink. drink the air and its free. like i thought this post was. like i thought my thoughts were when i shared them. like i prayed and hope my life was here in the states. the country. the place i reside. the vip lily lounge pad from the dangers around me. the darkness. the dark waters. giving me the premo. the premium democratic freedom. fuck if i haven’t paid for it! this stream of life that carries me on a plush pillowtop eggcrated fuzzy boombox of elastic sound and fury. i could stand up in the madness. i could leap off the stage into it. i would feel fingertips massaging the backs of my long legs. my caboose would later tell rolling stones in the post show interview how seriously it felt touched. my black denim daisy dukes got backside bankrolled by princes and treated to marigold sugar candy and treated like queens. Singlehandedly accelerated and driven to pole position. all my confidence safely locked up in the muscle. usa club scene.

Monday 26 May 2014

K reads... 'easter. contraindicate'

All material written and performed 
by Katya Mills, 2014.

easter contraindicate

in our time of dying

i’m gone. 

there’s always something
held down. to rise up
when the powerful
recede and fall

giants. the dust all blocks the sun.
you would think the human race
was cooked. done

demonic. corporate. selfie
goddamn! it’s made us all

your bottom line
at my expense.
tax dollars. audits on our common

i’m feeling slighted.
perpetually tense
terrified. in the woods.

gimme some ativan
no. the half life ain’t no good
3 months supply of klonopin,

wait. wait!
stop the madness.
fill the heart with easter gladness
hallmark cards and sugar peeps
high fructose-powered
liberty jeeps

give me death. no
try again
count to ten

count backward now 
to five
multiply by noisy 

high division fructose
pure honey

look east!
go there!
the sun rises also
john returns to yoko

the manson family
now disbanded
atlas shrugs off
Ayn Randed

plays out inside 
a sand dune

a sheep herder finds the body
learns to fear it
the ghost and the holy 

4.20 gatherings in denver.
burning trees
to their

Sunday 25 May 2014

K reads 'when wishes went away'

Spoken word original
Written and performed by Katya Mills

What i
wished 4
went away
not without a reach
a chase the
beach i reached
i raced

i cast far up and down
pacific highway coast
out blurred and rocky

to sea
it went
along that maladjusted spine
of shore

i was left
feeling lost
in heavy
of undertow

sweet bliss
into shore

fuck off
fuck offf
fuck offff

lashing myself to friends
like tears
away from eyes
i pushed

i did not care
to see them or me or
what life was

what was life, really?
without what i so wished
i so demanded
to be

i gave away
my things
to storage wars
for peace

she proved elusive
she ran
the park
off leash

i chased her up a tree
i would not let her be i
would not let it
not yet
it had to can’t you see?
not yet you see i…

see i
auctioned off
my faith
to educated whores
who bid me down
to earth
the ground
was barren

i knelt i turned pockets out for
seeds from Faulkners yard my
drunken pilgrimage

i gathered them with whisky
down beneath a tree in ninety-seven or was it nine?


i found the magic
seeds i did! but
ground was frozen
solid so i fell and
hit my head

like Faulkner
from his horse

a sinkhole opened wide
where my blood once
seven? ninety-nine or
was it?

my family
just a photograph
my life

Saturday 24 May 2014

K reads.... 'hide'

Spoken word original
composed and performed by the author
from K IS SILENT....


i am looking for
to have and
to hold and
to crush
on to death do
we part

i am self
i am self seeking
to make me
whole to make me

i am interested in
a pharmaceutical
a cutey
a cut above the rest
a pillcutting
precision marching
prisoner of love

a chain gang
peptide talking
walking atomic
free from mistakes
God never blunders

i am looking for you
and i get what i want

some day
when i tire of
your birdcage delivery
i will set you free cause
i love you so
free you
hide !

Friday 23 May 2014

K reads... ' (you gave me) your word'

Written and performed by Miss Katya Mills
all rights reserved, 2014

(you gave me) your word
originally published on

i said what
you heard
the cat killed
the bird

the sprinklers wave
water wands

cross us
in third

i don’t really know
the thumb
the toe

decidedly situated
at odds
the snow

the bird killed
the cat
now how about

the fingers crossed
toes and the

and the

had to laugh
having heard just one
third of the

you gave me
your word

you said what
i heard now

what good
was that?

Tuesday 20 May 2014

K reads... 'like thunder' (original non-fiction)

'like thunder'
posted on K IS SILENT
July, 2013

All my world had puffed up like a blowfish around me, then blew a massive hole in the ocean. Like those bastards, BP. I came out like Jonah from the belly of the whale. I had found those goddamn roadflares from my truck. The ones I never had when I needed them, stranded with my hazards on halfway down an exit ramp off the great highway. Well, I took advantage of my luck. The moment the clouds gave way to the sky. I struck a match off the heel of my boot, and lit those mothers. Without hesitation. That’s when the whole thing blew wide open. Pretty close to the time the world was supposed to end, again. The impact left ink trails falling all around you and me. Poisoning my ecosystem and yours, too, for a little while. Until the great ocean diluted and detoxified, and cleaned up my mess. So life could go on again, uninterrupted. I’m sorry. I can tell you I am sorry today and I mean it. I thought about it for a long while. Days upon days, actually. There was hardly nothing to do. I had taken my usefulness out of me. Fell asleep on the couch in the dead heat of the day. My kittens stretched out wishing their fur away. The television was on. The television was off. My hold on reality was tenuous. I lost a cat out there. Just like I lost one a decade earlier. I lost alot more, backsliding and sliding. Everything I tried to communicate seemed to come out all encrypted. The more I plugged in passwords and master passwords, the less safe I felt. Probably no one but my ex-boyfriend really truly wanted me dead. But I guarded what was left of me, with all that I could. The nightmares cascaded, if I fell asleep in the silence. Only the ceiling fan spinning far above us. The Tibetan bell I hung off the light fixture was ringing ever so softly beside me and my broken ankle bracelet hanging off of me. 

When I could breathe again. When I could read again. When I could look you in the eyes again. That’s when I noticed. When I no longer wanted light, but got lit anyway. I picked up the kittens and kissed them many times. Their bodies hung limp from the palms of my hands. They trusted me so well, they could drip off my arms and melt into the air. My heart melted inside me, over this. The trust, I mean. What a fucking gift. I carried them and myself down the hall to the bedroom. Many times, every day. My eyes half burned out from so many moons and full suns. I can feel my age. The surface temperature of my skin seems to have elevated, substantially. My head aches, and my belly grows. The infertility is juxtaposed. My imagination was seen as a dove by a merchant marine long out at sea. Coming home. My spirit is the delta. The heat of the day seems to linger all night there. My kittens cannot stand to drape over me for too long. They want to. But my body, their fur, well, it’s all much too warm. All my world had puffed up, you see, an inflammation of my soul. And this wasn’t gonna let up so easy this time. Not this time. I had done alot of damage, now. I had painted over the woodwork. Restoration was a bitch. All those relationships I chose, over the relationship I most needed. Let me tell you, it is good to live alone. I hope to stretch time out into solitude. With a steady stream of social media from which to drink. With a world outside my windows waiting for me, when I cannot think. I lost alot by losing myself all the time like that. This was okay, to be worn out and all. I could remember the past, I could tell you the truth some day. But the conscious bold type is screaming grade A psychotic. Still fresh. I think it only right to be humble and patient, not slough the old skin any faster than it wants to. Not so much, but maybe a little at a time. Maybe a little like now. I am not afraid, but rather listening to my truth all alone like I should. And it’s telling me things. Important things. Nuances. Sometimes painful like hell, sometimes touching me so deep. I am so sensitive. I hurt alot. I suffer, but not always in silence anymore. I cry alot, but without shedding tears. A lot less drama. The explosion was necessary. A spiritual emergency. The difference now is the break. Allowing things to shift a little. So I can safely think. So the ecosystem can take a little ink. So I can go out and buy my rice and pasta and fry up my corn tortillas in olive oil, while the green beans are roasting, Indonesian Sumatra. My life is a blessing. Any way that it goes. My choices fall in succession, in rows after rows . The holy temple of my spirit, was always with me and protected. This was my saving grace. She almost got ground out with my Newports, under my heels. I often tried to extinguish her. But I have so much to offer, like they say. I could open a fucking restaurant and offer all day. Anyway. The moon, she is waxing, and the darkness fills around her. I can see it, feel it, know it, be it. The substance, the system, the whole damn thing rides on spoke balanced wheels. I roll them twelve miles, as I get to know myself again. I roll those wheels and the flame delivers like magic, between my forefinger and thumb. My sweet kittens, four brown eyes, two on either side, watch in wonder. In wonder.My verse drops my spirit, like thunder. Like thunder.

Monday 19 May 2014

K reads... 'to those who are true and unafraid'

Spoken word by Katya Mills,
original material from K IS SILENT
all rights reserved

Yes, this is all i can tell you. we loved one another for a very long time, okay. the flowers you braided in my hair i then pressed close to my heart, petal by petal, colors bleeding into my bloodstream, then out my pores and touching you touching me.

You carried me some times, part of the way. this was my path in yours. we could fight it, or we could like it. Or we could try to like it or love one another and our selves through it, embrace it, take it, appreciate it, hold it in our hands and hold it up to the light, let it reflect in the light. absorb the light and take notice of the shadows also where they recessed. how they came over and dampened the heat of the white light, softened its potency...

The lines in our skins, the patterns, the spirals, the curve that our eyes traced and followed, lost and found, dipped into and cooled, rose out and ascended with our spirits to the open air. the boys who showed love all the time on front street. some curious. wondering. most admiring. nice and sweet. strangers and how we meet. and we made an organic whole. the wholeness we saw, they saw and reflected back to us. well that would bring on smiles. that would last, remember? for a little while at least.

We were really of the same kind, the same blood. this would only matter if we cared to come in line and believe in it, the world, in us, our family, in self, our selves. this seemed to me, the youngest, another chance for that to die for kind of attention. received when i was not wanting or needing something impossible for you to give. because this is true. that we are our most formidable challenges. this i would risk it all on. the whole house i do not own. the health i still possess, on a youth level. a phsyiological level.

The psychology is only so prominent as our experiences. the heavy traumas are fresh and remembered in my daily life, i cannot help how they run. they run sometimes close to the surface like salmon running home. The subtle ones are deep running, like they do not move at all, my eyes might suggest. nothing going on down there, just peaceful easy subcurrent substorm lethargy of egg guarding and backward pull of crayfish tailspins. 

Yes, these are subdued or so seem. but you and i we have together swum the waters from top to tail. we have gone with, against, and stubbornly for the sake of love and love lost... i can say embedded in my heart, i often most did so unremitting and unfashionable. not so pretty, and without fail.

Well... at our best, we were grace.

Friday 16 May 2014

Cooking with K

'Girl Without Borders'
Debut Novel by Katya Mills
Paperback and ebook / kindle formats available on
Please support independent
Internationally unknown
Highly obscure
Never been on Oprah
Can't afford the opera
I hold these truths
one writer
under god
with literature
for all

Wednesday 14 May 2014

Q & A with K (bloghop questions courtesy of B.Y. Toropov)

B.Y. Toropov tagged me in this bloghop
He is a phenomenal fiction writer and his novel,
 'Jihadi: A Love Story'
just reached the quarterfinals of the ABNA
competition. You can find him here...

What are you working on now?

I am working on and off and on. long days and drawn out waking nights. life gets in the way. I write and write from one to another day. I come lyrically correct. I keep my ego in check. I like to bring my passion to the plate. Hit the muse and dig into my memory crate. Feel it in the hollows of my knees. Sometimes I write because I suffer. I find myself steely eyed cycling through city streets, Sacramento. With my chakras my only memento. My past falling behind me in the wake. Conscious beat to the circadian rhythm of spring. Awake. Sometimes I listen to Drake or Lil Wayne or Coltrane to inspire me. Sometimes not. I run pretty hot. I got what I got and don't need no more. Pick up my chromebook and virtual book tour. From me to you. I hardly knew this was coming. But all I can say is when I freely share, something like an electrical current fills the air around me. And my three cats. Mouse, Boo and Rolly. The houses of the holy.

How does your work differ from others of its genre?

My writings are stylized. Style is my key. Unlocked by my heartbeat, my passion, my sweet sweets. The loves of my life and the loves that I lost, and the world that I dreamed of coming closer, yet still. I mix lyrical poetry and prose sometimes. I flash the fiction, a sudden moment, a teardrop, a piece of time drop. From my head to my heart. The systems all down, come up every day, the words streaming effortlessly into play. I see them, I grab them, they fall in my lap. They are juicy and sugary, like a maple on tap. I come from the woods of New Hampshire, you see, where people will die if they cannot live free.

Why do you write what you write?

I always had trouble getting my voice heard, in social situations. I was a second child. A rebel. An Aquarian. I got a mac plus and began to write my own narrative. My voice had its own little place to exist. From an early age. Maybe 8. Maybe 10. Maybe who knows when? I began to love to write, and express myself, and locate my gps in a mad, mad world. I never stopped. I found myself, writing. I found myself writing. I found myself. Writing. This is why I write, and I write mostly what comes to heart. What comes to mind is fine, but must be distilled by the heart before I push it into paper, or virtual cloudspace. Crowdsourced into plus-dom. Driven by tweets. Wordpressed like grapes into wine. Fresh off the vine of my experiential. And now, when I touch a single soul who reaches out to me, this is worth all the lives I ever lived and some yet to come.

Describe your writing process?

I can write on a train. I can write on a plane. I can write in a bar. I can write on guitar. I can write in a windowless petty old dive. I can write myself out of a noisy beehive. Something happens, alchemical, whereby I get juiced, two becomes four and the deuces get deuced. Then all goes wild and I try to keep up, channeling something risen up from the ground. I write to the rhythms in a place with no sound.

I am tagging two people, whose writing
I have been particularly inspired by in
recent weeks...



Monday 12 May 2014

K reads 'faith'

Original poetry by Katya Mills, 2014
(from  K IS SILENT)

all i wanted was nothing i needed
when wanting
my need

i was told life is work
i was taught to work hard

i never knew faith

i thought
to control

even the sun
had to learn
without spin
the earth burn

even the sun
cannot control
all it made
all it touched
verdant spring
so inspired

even the sun
needs some faith
every night
to surrender
every night
we remember

every life
owes a debt
toward the sun

every morning
when the light comes
every life
looks up

to credit
the sun
its creation

far away
from me now

may my blood
sweat and tears
be the same
so my needs
my want

without it
the darkness

Saturday 10 May 2014

losing you. pellagra. disintrigue

losing you is like walking the streets in boots without laces
 head down. i am a
system of a down.

Storm clouds gather and bless my sorry hot head
with cool cool rain. toxic locket
in my hand. i
broke off from my neck.

My feet sink into earth turned to mud and bury me
where I walk. they got me outlined
in chalk.

Losing you is a crying
frame around my every. waking. moment.
blurred absurdity of timeless
melting reflections of

what with
you. by my side. like a vegetable. lima beans.
without you
im deficient. lacking. snacking on Cheetos.
doritos. taco bell hell.

smoldering processes of perseverated
thought. forgot all i was
taught. sold everything i ever

my purpose has gone under
submerged by your wonder
full drowned metal jacket
iron lung. out to dry.
giraffe neck stalks
over rail ties
steely eyes. buzzards. flies

without you by my side
i keel over, Korean. the kids
all falling out
of me.

the youth in my step
got folded. lost my rep

forgetfulness comes on for self-defense
photos put away in shoeboxes in basements.
I approach the world with shock
with disdain

Memories of you 
leap like jack
 rabbits beside the

I feel like Sylvia Plath
bell jar banality
calloused heart played out
on a Spanish

te amo
who am I?
te amo
without you...
i die

Living rooms become lifeless
the empty tie-dying of memories
run clear through my

i am nonsense
all the colors of my world bleed out around the edges.
the silver
all tarnished
the tea kettle screams
the whippoorwill
night jar
black tar

she comes like a fury
then leaves you

I hold my head.
prayers at the bottom of the stairs
soaked in pine knot

Trapped in a faulty defect toy
without joy

disintrigue. shit. it makes up
its own

a rubix cube recall
cannot solve this pain
               resolve this mainline of loss

fuck it. i guess ill go

Thursday 8 May 2014

K reads 'Impossible Unique'

Original material by K

The lyrics to my song...
(from K iS SilEnT)

'impossible unique'

I can love you
seven. eight
days a week
our love
in / of

the snake
a nation
the lake

a question mark formed
around the life form
inside of us

thirty-two seconds
to unconditional
a timeless future awaits

spirits on dates
drifting down rivers
of corrugate

heartbleed city
who knew

yearning for the night

predawn of artificial 

candles. burning
in / of oxygen
fall asleep breathing

in / of love

not the same old narrative 
on a fog bank 


take all the pictures
marry them silently

take all the i's
 (before e's)
teach them selfless living

 to suddenly see
receipts of deceits returned
to the store

impossible unique

strange / dear god!
so suddenly free


no longer above
no longer below
candle wax flow in
and of love

Saturday 3 May 2014

double the negative

Mount Diablo
c'est incroyable!

i put my yo-yo
to sleep

i let
my ensemble

the vox
the voce

your colors

your eyes
quelle surprise!
i follow them

right down
to the

my ensemble
and yours
plotting world tours

double the

Friday 2 May 2014

some freedom for sale. a limited edition

Static. to think
with the heart in
the stillness

on the axial
tilt of the earth

some freedom
appears there
an inkblot montage

static. revelations

it's a real
 our freedom

i found
  the founding

engaged with it

it's a limited edition
decidedly precious stone
rare bling

i'm American
it's all i have left in
         control of
      my mind...

motion. awash in

star thistle
cat whistle
metro the metric

foster freeze
the heart sees
awash in tumultuous seas

static. the
electric black sea meets the

static. the heart sees
Korean seas. black
to the lees

awash away
- sanction squeeze -
a few hundred

walking on walls
saying goodbyes
laughing at gravity

south of no northern
selfie mentality

and lies

pro-Russian forces
Putin divorces
too far away
is the world

the audio feed
ambrosia the mead
incongruence grows like a weed

'remain in your seats'
it's nothing at all
just put your head
over your feet

and lies
there's no surprise
someone is saving an ass

enough tears
to fill the place

labor day marches
communist flags
any creed
any race
any face
just no fags

red square
pink triangle

pussy riot
flowers won't wilt
all thanks to Georgia

under oppressive weight
gravity wins
      captain sins
             natural forces
                the world spins

in a Winslowesque

Geneva accordian

                           up trodden
become checkers
                  home wreckers

capture the flag
deny that you did it
rewrite history
deny that you did it

         reunion the

reign of oncoming
terror. trafficking of insidious
homeland insecurities and

Siberia awaits us

in the heart
of a leader
like Manson
like Pol Pot
drink the Kool Aid
laugh a lot
deny everything
drink the vodka
reinvent the Archipelago
call it home

jump off the George Washington
with your mate

step off the foundation
without reservation
bid your families

floundering. black seas


push all
             the air

the hate

too late

- K