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.