Saturday 30 August 2014

K reading... murder. in the eyes

K IS SILENT @ wordpress
Original Spoken Word
Story by Katya 

Murder. In the eyes.
 by Katya Mills

She looked around the city night. 
The canopy provided by the trees made this street darker than others. 
Low hanging branches and leaves flecked shadow into the metallic orange light painting the sidewalks.

A sociopath stood unseen. 
Camouflaged against the papered concrete walls like a barred owl.
She sensed him and he sensed her sensing him.

Were she only distracted by an iphone or earbuds, he thought. 
But he would not be disappointed, standing there, silently watching her navigate the street in her fishnets and heels.

Only his pupils moved across the smudge of cirrhotic, ashen pale of eyes.

In the walkway between buildings, not far from there, beneath a basement apartment’s window well, out of sight, lay the crumpled formless residue of human life and spirit. 
Breathless and emptying itself of fluid.

The spirit of the dead hung heavily over the sociopath, like a large cotton overcoat immersed in a pool of blood of all the ones had died by his hand in the night. A parade of frozen faces preoccupied his mind, his thoughts.

She gripped her pepper spray tight. 
She knew the unnatural evils under city lights, 
might come out the woodwork and contend with her sex.

She remained unafraid, carrying herself gracefully across the pavements. 
Aware the heavies were awash in their own karma.
Some terror of what one has done and cannot undo. 
Gyre of samsara, spinning down toward the core of the earth. 
For infinity. Forever.

Thursday 28 August 2014

K READS... four lives to tell. everlasting

A Spoken Word Original
by Katya Mills


the first life. somewhere in the former soviet union. 
i was daughter to a cossack warrior. my mother died at birth. 
i moved to St Petersburg and learned the city.

the second. Germany. i was a boy. an aryan specimen. 
my father was a treecutter. he worked the black forest. 
mother was an herbalist.  everyone was apolitical and thus

the third. unknown. ended in miscarriage. time in womb was rough, 
as mom was falling victim to the machinations of a cruel and heartless world. 
stress levels caused an chemical imbalance, which turned deadly.

fourth life. Paris. daughter to a Huguenot. 
the dove hangs from the symbol. 
this is how i remember. a good life. 
parents artisans. life steeped in loving wonder.

around this time, my creative energies, once dormant
and passed over for to meet the great thirst of survival, were planted. 
seeded for future manifestation.

many lives later the blossoming of creativity encompassed my being, 
strengthened and fortified an otherwise tenuous grip on life and sanity. 
a portal opened up to a great and spacious flowering,
 imbued with fine tuned intuitions and novel purpose.

in this world now, the magic has culminated. 
rooted in compassion. 
ancestral stories to be told. shared 
to help turn the darkness to light.

Wednesday 27 August 2014





Early saturday morning. USA. 
Someone took a bite out of the supermoon. 
The neighborhood sounds like noon.

A girl is out on the front lawn, yelling about her parents. 
She is distressed. Saying she will call the cops. 
Someone trying to hush her.

Someone stole something from her. 
She won’t say what it is. 
Plenty of dogs barking all around. 
The neighborhood sounds of noon.

I guess you wanna see me. Talk to me. 
You let me know in a text. 
I really wanna see you too. 

Someone took a bite out of my heart. 
I might have to call the cops.

I miss you. It’s so hard to keep a distance.
I don’t wanna feel upset. 
Lonely when i am with you.

I listen to the sounds around me. 
To drown the ones inside me.

Maybe i will see you some day.
I wish I hope we can.
Maybe soon.
We can meet at high noon.
In the garden.
Behind the café.

Monday 25 August 2014

K Covers & Reviews Dylan's Rainy Day Woman #12 & #35

This is a cover song I performed, of Dylan's 'Rainy Day Woman #12 and #35'.
From the Blonde on Blonde album. I hope you like it. 
I used to listen to this song when I was a kid, and sing along. 
I feel like Dylan is telling us:  Hey, you don't have to be so sensitive, honey,
everybody faces criticism on all sides. Keep doing your thing. You're not alone! 
The vocals come off irreverent, light and easy, but I think the message is real and 
real painful underneath. 

The repetition of words plays out like the meaning of the song. You know when you 
finally found your courage to bring your voice, your truth out into the open, expecting 
people to shut up and listen...right... and then what results is getting 'stoned'. 
No, not getting high (though self-medicating the pain of repetitive abuse 
in any form, often verbal, could be a common reaction to character assassins). 
This kinda stoned here is more like Shirley Jackson's kinda Stoning  (her story, 'The Lottery').
Getting attacked the old-fashioned medieval way. An onslaught of rocks. 
This is how people were once summarily executed. Today they use combo drugs 
and lethally inject you. Or sever your head with a machete. Maybe not so evolved
as we would hope. 

What i got from Dylan, was a feeling maybe he was feeling being in the spotlight
as a star, a showman, a celebrated musician and mind. The character assassination
which comes along with celebrity. How the media analyzes every word you say, every note you play.
They look for ways to break you down, to prove you're not perfect. Even when all you
might be saying is "hey, I am real!" It's not your fault they put you up as a deity. All you
were doing was selflessly sharing songs, putting your passion on play over the airwaves 
for whomever would hear. Trying to spread the love comes from your beating heart.

But the feeling is universal. Because everyone is sensitive from time to time. Some more than
others. And some are better at hiding vulnerability. Anyone can hear this song and relate. 
Anyone can find happiness, just singing along.

Friday 22 August 2014

Tuesday 19 August 2014

the golden roses technique

i cannot believe
where the mind
will go

to hell and back

resurfacing my heaven
in black

under the hot and


my heart with her
leavening tale
to tell

describes the only
way out...

i will blow golden roses
up in my head
to fissure and crack
the thoughts
jet black

haunting me monday
to sunday
and back

once i found a way
to turn the black gray
then dilute all to colors
with tears

took me forty years
and one

and now the mind lies
vacant and

the desperate work
has been

© Katya Mills

Sunday 17 August 2014


Original poetry / lyrics by Katya
Original song / performance by Katya

what the wind remembered

nobody remembered her name or her face
or the pale of her wrists
by the edge of her lace

no one remembered the man or his name
who sunk his axe deep
in the wood
in the yard
in his sleep

only the wind still whispered her name
through the gaps and the floors
through those walls
made of wood

and wrung out the leaves of the trees
just like hands
to remember the others

the other ones who had died

two and twenty years before
and twice as long
before then

and twice as long
before then

and twice as long
before then

Friday 15 August 2014


will you
give us a sign
some simple

give us blue

will you
bury our digits
in the sand?

wash away anything

tell us
we're okay
in gale force winds

our sins to thin

thicken the roux
make us whole
like wheat flour

will you
help us flower

can you
add a dimension
to memory?

all what we

what we


give us a sign
some concrete

print us
in dresses inordinate

excessive and
dreamy and


Wednesday 13 August 2014

"tomato blossoms"

A Ramon / Mills creation
an eFFin K produxion...

this take is dedicated to the loving memory
of Robin Williams

Monday 11 August 2014


F & K original
Acoustic Guitar 

Music Composed and Performed by K Mills
Inspired by F Ramon's poem: 'in the time of tomato blossoms'
dedicated to the memory of his mother

'in the time of tomato blossoms'
by Frank Ramon

this old heart is missing you
last saw you in the Fall
those times lie down
like leaves in winter
whose rains have watered
seeds of Spring

lay me down now
the fires growin dim
daylight approachin
darkness fades again
each tear i shed
what seeds will water

i look North 
to where i lost ya

are you still there?

Saturday 9 August 2014


i'm gonna see ya
super moon
through a reflection
in the dish
ran away with
the spoon

i'm gonna tell ya
super moon
all my troubles

then as you look out
upon the full earth

giving us
all your light
super sweet moon

i'm gonna grab that dish
ran away
with the spoon

i'm gonna hold her
in both hands

i'm gonna walk
from my home
out into undiscovered

i'm gonna face you
out in the open
under some awestruck

i'm gonna look up direct
my camera eyes
gonna aperture wide
to receive your blessed offering
super moon

and the dish
become a symbol
vibrates like a cymbal
i hold her high
to the sky

rising up
on my toes
my shoes sunk now
into earth
all my cares
left behind

my arms stretch up
until pulled
magnetically now

the symbol (was a dish)
glowing now

im shaking
salty drops
burgeoning up
from my skin

pale in the night
my fingers wrapped tight
around archetypal confluence

our unitive
alchemical unraveling

then all of your super
full loving free lightness
of being

drops like sundrops!
upon all our oceans!
our forests!
our seas!
our trees!

to the delight of
an awestruck sky
oh my!

oh my
i am high
floating above ground
rising to the sound
of the symbol
full of light

and then
without warning
i become more than me

i become
of the skies!
of the seas!
of the trees!

my eyes
become saucerful

moon sediment
covers my sense
of sight

no longer needed

all that you gave me
now all that i

of future lives past
and presence so still

i dream of a valley
i dream of free will
i live in a dream
super moon she

i find love for all people
i once hated

i am left
a symbol
a conduit
a codified prayer

you made of me
super moon some
channeling mystic

i am elated
i am cryptic

© Katya Mills

Wednesday 6 August 2014

K original MUSIC... 'memory.untitled'

An original song
written and performed 
by Katya! 

lyrics located here:

many thanks to my good friend Frank Ramon 
for guidance and coaching!!

collar bone

the sunflowers were giant. magnificent to see!
the small ones were

the feed was real-time
the days were long
the days were the same
length. we consumed them

you were a deity 
you were mine
i was a deity
with you
in my heart

as the sun made 
sunflowers grow and grow
your expanse in my heart 
amplified me so

the people did not understand 
our experience. Newport Jazz festival.

a pond
full of fish. giant goldfish.
flickering silver fish. they were webcams
big eyes that did not

we see with our whiskers
we are cats and catfish and mice.
not everything happens in this world is

black at the bottom
green on the sides
color of your heart
where my heart resides.

a tricky business
coupling hearts. the layers 
must all be in synch for a system or else
gets rejected and the donation

blood transfusions

your fingers slide under my straps
swim up to rest on the roundish
rocks atop my shoulders...

collar bone 

you stared
i smiled. the breath came out of me

my legs wrap you up. 
 my arms around your neck. fingers clasped.
my nails are painted the color of your

pond water green 
with black pupils floating 

you volunteered to remove
me to a quiet dark
dry place of soft linens and
sculpted cherry wood. sleigh bed.

i chose to go

i was transparent for a day.
just like you. deities.
at play

you grabbed me and kissed me
your fingerprint upon me

now you could hurt me. inside. 
and you did. to avoid the pain later
i would go tangential. switching channels
to how you tasted like fresh
organic legumes. maybe peas.

this is how you love someone
i learned. an easy lesson
if not a nice

the harder lesson
was realizing love never
changes in the flux of an ever
changing world

devotion subsides
anhedonia sets in
the webcams capture all
and nothing. feeding the feeds
growing like weeds

my life
in the garden. hiding from you
pouting for the sunflowers. the giant ones

remembering the days 
we were deities
tangential glancing 
off the hurt
off the hurt

a safe place
i can perch on the roundish rocks
above my shoulders
below the sunflowers. giants.

heavy heads looking down
seeing me
in this sunless garden
beside a vapid weary pond. big eyes
cannot see

my eyes closed
glancing off the hurt
feeling your touch

collar bone

no one knew about
the webcams, then.
not even i

that's why
it was real

Monday 4 August 2014

original reading - 'message in a stare'

Sacred. Holy. One week to press
with the weight of a half thousand years
i confess
so many months deluged with so many hundred tears
will we find our way home
or the renaissance of our fears?

half of no one really cares or cares
to think about her
that girl who left her bike locked to the school bike rack
yesterday. helmet like a cradle still
hanging from the lock.
fifteen & this young american life
came to kick - and then a
stand still.

Don't get me started. Cause i understand the pain. I feel it tonight just worse than ever. I am tired. Half insane. Weary men and women listen! Cause we are here. Well, some of y'all will listen-- those who have enough left to hear. And other unidentified walking objects get a shout out. Dripping off the gate like morning dew. Cradled by the wind. Back to source through the air. Message in a stare.

Like those before us, we shall be tracked by tracking systems until we can be tracked no more. Then we are lost or free. or both, if both may be... just not downgraded to immobile media coverage task. Just not downloaded. Not forced into play. Just not packaged with advertisements. God help us that we not be, no way.

No time for us to be distracted, to be distracted eats up time. Take your files and get in line, steady forward to the task. Every sector in the urban 50 mile sprawl must be covered, just in case they ask. The year might be 2027. Or it may as well have been. So far gone and yet far ahead of them. We meet in present time, of course, in future time united. By spirits of our past, energetically protected.

The pharmacological solution for weariness is just to reach market! Her derivatives non-narcotic, uncontrolled solution. Spirits, triple variables, this is the scenario! One constant holding ground like an anchor pressed into the seafloor, forever, into dissolution. Reunification with source spells the end of all fragmentation: the death knell of pollution!

Source is sacred. Spiritual energy. Anchored in the message. Means running around in circles searching and searching no more. No longer feeling lonely, but going out with courage. Encouraged! Where loneliness gets discouraged. Where death cannot flourish. Keep moving! Dropping to the hardwood floor. Dripping your feelings fast between planks. 

Bye bye to Loneliness. Its confidence tanks. Its global toxicity becomes local then less. Human duplicity fades away, falling between the spokes of true unitive success. Girl, the world aint pretty when you're all fragments. Its sharp and cuts us something terrible. by means agonizing. Tragically meant. Self-inflicted. Self-dealt. Other-played. Universally-felt.

Our world she gets broken apart, polluted and cut into, whether or not we or you think it's a sin to. Then she's swirled together like Missouri, Joplin weather. Disconsonant elements, mashed through and through.

Sacred if you accept it, if you will
through and through
Turns black to red to blue and back to black again
like a dragon tattoo

The flavor like white stripes to
detroit heights. Up to the upper peninsula!
Hike and hike your skirt, and plant your self directly in the maelstrom
In the center of the maelstrom of your life

we may feel
the luxury of the life
the message
a stare.

effing effed

im so effing

once i was smart
now i am dumb
once i felt feeling
now i am numb

only god
can judge me!
ice cream in your face i
scream in your face
cream in your
face your
face your book your
face ina book youre
not listenin to

wrapped up in cellophane
wrapped up in cellphone
locked up in cellphone
locked up ina cell

take this napkin
its white
draw whatever you want
its art
stick figures
its wiping an ass
swiping an idea easy
off a perforation

origami and you
and a cigarrette butt
and a cigarette

we're so effing boring
so effing

reading the mind
reading the stars
reading the paper
reading my lips:
so effing what?

eff you! and your effing
effingness. sir eff-a-lot

hold the phone!
hold the tablet
hold your gaze on me

read my lips
quiet the mindless

no faxes from Asia
no instructions
no faction

no mickey mouse
no brakes and no

no roses
no hips
no more LSD

just vitamins for us
essential yet boring

no banana
silk-screened on a t-shirt
it detracts from the

no velvet
no underground
no Warhol
its boring

personal headphones
sleep apnea machines
no music. no snoring

effing effed

no winning
no losing
no flying
no boozing
depressing the

get high like a junkie
on pre-natal vitamins
another pill head
how boring

no touring the world

im at home. effing effed
just eating my grapefruit
its juices runnin
down my lips my

purple liquid pooling
on to Sexus. page 177.

no living vicariously
through the dead authors

the girl after
girl described in the pages

a dirty old man
beats off in a corner
how boring...oh wait!
its the author

from inside the pages
hes watching the purple
drool down my
red lips

how sexy
to know you're alive
to know we're alive
you and me

how boring
to die

a girl and a
guy and a guy and a
girl after

give me a mission
give me a message
give me a bottle

effing effed
ill crack someone over
the head
with it

Saturday 2 August 2014

attempted music by K

first take. 'let me warm your heart some'
part #1

original music and lyrics
written and performed by Katya Mills