Tuesday, 19 June 2018

rose quartz

you coulda been living in a car and who cared? you disappeared off the lips with a prayer. rose quartz the quality to express you. a pale of having been purified by trial. only accomplished in those the world gave away.

greenblue

today is history, tomorrow. whatever was said or done already is etched in our past. a historical record. this post is me creating my history. i write these words in a pyschosocial fashion on a paperless trail, connecting my life to yours. i like how well we make history, together.

goodbye sweet moment. lying in the warm light of a summer morning, California. readying myself for whatever highs and lows the day may bring. getting right with God. watching my kittens thirst by their eyes for the birds. drawing back the bow. these eyes are emerald. these eyes are amber. mine are greenblue...sending this message to space.

Sunday, 17 June 2018

5.5.5

Five were the aerial views of the heart. Valves played and polished like horns. Sound bounces off points to show form. An audio track. The history of the world. Ten were the arteries full of light and uncontained. See the narrative of the world bubble up from undersea. Liquid. Seamless. Without end. Fifteen were the compressions. Before and after life. Unstudied. Immeasurable. Wild. Unknown.

Saturday, 16 June 2018

(self)

the effect the world has on me thickens my skin. i become less vulnerable while trying hard not to be completely insensitive. i wanna be able to feel cuz you gotta feel, to feel alive. like anyone i wanna feel safe. a thick skin can protect. like trusted family and friends. deadbolted doors.

there is something juicy at the core of you. something sacred and true that the world cannot corrupt. you can share this with them. they can see it in your eyes. they may get under your skin. you can learn to protect your sacred self. and offer it with those who are deserving.

kindness and compassion make for the best tasting fruit. the ability to see behind personalities is a great gift few have. those who have or develop this capacity are often smiling or less fearful walking the world. for they realize that even the hardest among us have a sweetness deep inside.

what was given us

the colorless moments of stressed inhibition. must i be always backed into a corner before i come fighting? a sea of bad news and brake lights ahead. even tears and smiles were a stretch.

then, from that place of half flag summer fatigue, arose a current from the far east. we would not know until we opened two walls. the windows.

life came into the trees. i awoke feeling different. all the colors returned. time was no longer just a waiting for work. there was meaning and it was personal. it was yours. it was mine.

express

I wanna be locked in and deliver you the greatest highlights of life, blown out in cursive, bonded by word, trailing our infinite press.

Wednesday, 13 June 2018

true 3

I like anyone am visited by self doubt when basic elements transition. In the past six months my treasured routines were threatened. I was displaced from both home and office. The faces around me were new. The structures and locations. The disorganization. I turned to prayer and my people for help. I asked questions. I felt at times I was doomed! Thankfully, fears and feelings are not facts. I made it! Now some spirit returns. My practices I have fought so hard to build and keep are ready and waiting to be employed. I have proven myself capable once again. I need only follow my heart back to the book.

true two

i reinvented myself in motion yet stillness was my hallmark. i used to stare into the eyes of hurricanes until they closed. now i am underneath them, plotting a course for open ocean. still they settle into land by choice and suicide.

i wonder how i survive the oppositions. chaos wants me for my calm. the depressions look to me for uplift. they both know i have survived them. i have survived my self. know me for family. for i have lived there, too.

true 1

this is not all we know. below the coffee grounds. above the traffic jam. beneath the chirping devices there is a deeper space we may go.

this is not all we know
so go

my child
go

Tuesday, 12 June 2018

couldn't stand the summer

trapped by heat. the relentless wave of sun. gimme a lemon ginger ale on ice. my mind in a prism. my thoughts burn through me like sea salt. the machines and engines double down like doom. throw me in a swimming pool. turn the sky to liquid falling down. cool rain reaches demigod status in the valley. leaking antifreeze side by fields. rivers are  the queens. sacks of ice pulled down from freezer doors to fracture on the tile. night sails in like allies freeing paris circa 1945.

snapchat sensation

you read the lips of a dyslexicon backwards up against the mirror this evening. they told you books are dead. you found life there in a raindrop bead you rehydrated by a cry. your therapist shouldered insulin in tweed. the sugar cube came with a business card and why? because you were in pain. unheard, unseen. now the plant is watered, turning green. unlock the doors. remove the screen. jump out into an earth sky. don't forget your no name sneakers.

Sunday, 10 June 2018

may be nihilism

i am finding variations on life, between or within days. may be love i experience or pain. may be a cold environment follows the friendly calm of tonight. nestled in my domain listening to chimes and fans beneath the weight of interstellar nihilism. the cat cries out for no reason and breaks my sleep. now I know between these temples. Coca-Cola. the red can got the better of me. my systems shot like nerves were years ago. I cannot hide. never again.

may you

may you see depression before it sees you. the black of the eye does not stop the eye from seeing. find your light and go there while you can. bathe in it. expand it. let others freely in...depression cannot stand you.

Friday, 1 June 2018

may sometime five

relocating yourself is hard. i was all wound up and so tightly there was no room for a catch, twenty two, or a finger to inch its way between the string and the spool. the risk was decapitation of an innocent digit, say number two, flat on the ground without its curly-q. the tale had a tail. i saw the end of it, too. it was bushy like a cat's just washed, having dried. the cat was my tiger approaching me now on the bed, after another long night moving more stuff from point a to point b. all crying in his cage earlier, soaking wet. feeling scared and mistreated. now it was long after my usual bedtime and i was the one hurt and crying after the longest of days. finally lying down @ point b. suddenly letting go. the wind took the kite and all, pulling the spool and the string right out of my hand. now we are free. my tiger and his brother approach me. blondie comes up and nestles his head under my ribs. his brother, bunny, settles down on the blanket by my feet. these are the only kids i have. i am suddenly unwound and so happy. the breeze draws in from the window. we are home. we are flying.

Thursday, 31 May 2018

may sometime four

All I own I cleaned and placed in boxes, and may leave in boxes, crowding the walls around the central space. There lies my great wooden desk, small but solid, I take with me wherever I go. All the way back to 1998. There lies my intention to write my books. The tv got the last of invitations. I may not open the door. When I die someone oughta cut my desk down and bury me in it. Together may we be, repurposed.

may sometime three

I believe it is good to be part of what is to come. Always a change. When you become it, staying exactly with it, they see you embody a movement and you can be credited, thus, you are the movement. This is not without dangers. You may rise and fall. You may lose yourself somewhat. They may disinherit you when the fashions change. I tend to shy from movements which are both conscious and public. I may identify with some, partways...yet I like to create space and step aside into it. I prefer my own rhythms. My own movement. Yet even personality is perilous. Life will go on so become.

may sometime two

I told you what she said to me and then I felt hurt again, yesterday all over me. I faltered and began to cry. You were my witness. All night I was on knees and hands, scrubbing the place I called home for 5 years. When I finished it was dawn.  I hardly got any sleep. Life pulls me along. Today I am the broken tree lying in pieces in the parking lot. I will surrender the keys.

may sometime one

Wind beats around the heads of palm trees above me. Kids flirt with chlorine in this concrete pool. What a violet sky. What a chemical mess.

Saturday, 26 May 2018

mack truck

i was making my way down a particularly dicey part of highway number 5. in a hatchback, black. in a single lane slowpoke being invaded on either side. half the heads i saw were looking back at me from the road. not a good sign in a sea of choppy brake lights. my lane was more compressed than the sacramento real estate rental market and the hottest around. you coulda sold space and got rich in a sec, without thinking. the overpasses left heavy eyeliner inside the shadow of downtown, highlighted by the glass of a thousand former accidents. the exit for Q street was coming up like the question i was asking myself: should i get off this bad trip before i make history? and for all the wrong reasons. sometimes a single choice can save your life. it would take me way off my timing, was the con. i kept my course. i could reach out and touch the rushed commuters, encased in their steel murder machines. i jedi mind tricked myself into a crosswalk mentality, like those white lines meant anything to protect us. i turned up my radio and let down the windows. i threw fear into the wind as i shifted into third. kept my eyes on the tail of a wandering june bug with dual exhaust. all seemed well. then the mack truck came screeching down my left flank and almost pinioned a subaru dead stopped by the weavers, all running interference. i saw the giant wheels roll by and they were smoking. taller than my car! melting rubber for a living! suddenly my world could fit inside a hot wheel. i could read the writing. on the sidewall.

Saturday, 19 May 2018

k and k

baseball cap on
backwards
tomboy
bad news
the original
skinny
acidwash
jeans
tore up old
self. like usual

a taller you
a bad hair day
no bra. ya
wool cap
spinning around a
middle
finger
scratcher bingo by
a switchblade
gettin’ high

wow
twenty ten
just look at us
then
the madness
the sadness
followed us
haunted us
still i long to
remember


the way you
touched me
gave me
chills
weight of an eighty
impala beneath us

reading our poems
aloud and again
the fortune of
finding a
friend
oh why
oh why
did it all
have to
end



katya mills © 2018

Friday, 18 May 2018

pulse @ 39

The medical tech excused herself to speak with her supervisor. She hid her worry rather well. I was in a gown after an EKG. I had a paperback in hand, from the donated library in the waiting room. This happened almost every time. I was once living at high speeds. Sleepless nights. Racing around to no end. Years ago I exited my madness. Since then life has been something to cherish in slow motion. Few sudden surprises. When I saw her, she looked relieved. I asked her the number. Today my pulse chimes in @ 39.

kids experiment

When I was a kid I witnessed attributes and played with them. I wanted to know what would happen when I behaved a certain way. This was life as laboratory. I tried lying and got caught. I tried being super nice to people I didn't know. I tried bullying, after I myself was bullied. I tried kissing my friends (with their consent). I tried doing chores without being asked. I tried fighting with fists. I tried reading a book from beginning to end without stopping.

If an adult caught me experimenting this way, I would often be earmarked from that moment forward based on my behavior. This was called judgment and came very easy to them. I learned not to trust adults very well.

hide behind umbrella

you can try and hide behind umbrella. you can hide behind your interpretation of the law. you can hide inside your home behind your money and your discourse. you can call for law enforcement. do not be surprised when they pull you out from cozy privilege and imprison you. restricting your arms at the wrists. rolling your fingertips in ink. will you smile for the camera? will you represent your vitriol? will you miss your mocha cappuccino reserve and high castle office? the fawning gucci assistants shredding papers, who you undress with your eyes, leaning back in your chair while stroking your gold-weighted pen?

Thursday, 17 May 2018

painted fences

i was moody i was ready i was running through a field. i was young i was adventurous i was heading for a fall.

you were walking you were friendly eating raspberries off the bush. you were older and reticent and you wanted to protect me.

we were unlikely bound for friendship in a deep and southern town. we drank orange juice walked the shoreline. painted fences stood us down.

we live like birds

you get a key and a room
of your own in a small city

what a feeling
you can make a whole world
all to yourself

you can read books
you can play guitar
you can write books
and songs with
friends

you have an address
you live there
wow

rescue some kittens
and raise them

life can be really very nice
for some years and then
one day things change

they tell you
you gotta go

we live like birds

may 17

when you have someone who means the world to you and you are related by blood and you have no history of ever doing one another harm, you have about the best thing going in this life. be grateful. reach out to them if you can. talk to them.

Saturday, 12 May 2018

FATHOM

you think faster than you write and can your memory keep (you) up, when the days fall off like calendar paper painted numerics in a spotted corner where a pay phone once connected the disconnected? relegate your dreams to a political sideshow. the overthrow of nickels by dimes and half dollars in a strip club awaits. she leaves you drunk and singing. your oldsmobile won't start up in the cold. you don't care. shove your hands in your overcoat and walk off. watch your breath. smells like midwest. something different the day has for you. bread factory. maybe a motel room. cartoons. a new friend as tore up as you are. laughing against a socieconomic slider. anything but a tow truck and another bill to sign. buy a pint of whisky. postpone the inevitable. kiss the smoking girl.

Friday, 11 May 2018

everyone needs an anchor

I am troubled for my book. I want an anchor to hold and keep her from dashing upon the rocks. There's been time and room to navigate these challenges, to circle and play, to figure eight, collide the waves. The surface stretches out like a canvas. I have numbers to make sense of it. I have broken her into lines.

Now it is late and the wind picking up. All must be sealed and lashed for the night. To withstand the harshest critique. She has to hold.

Thursday, 10 May 2018

oath of allegiance ina bath of silence

maybe i read too much shakespeare in high school. maybe i drank too much coke. i kept to myself with a few close friends. i made a pilgrimage to faulkner. i kept writing and writing though it seemed pointless at times, as there was no internet to share. i read my work in bars and cafes, in chicago and tampa in the late nineties, behind a highball whisky. maybe i smoked too much pot. i carried a leatherbound journal wherever i went. now i have a cell phone and press words in there. life is the same, although it changes. i may be getting older but i'm still young. maybe i watched too much tv. i will always love to ride trains, even subways. i take a bath of silence every morning. and an oath of allegiance to my creative process. i am very well, the way i live. but i went about things so poorly for so long, it still hurts. i blame myself for the blunders i made. i am also unwell. mostly for having hurt you. i hurt myself badly, too.

book.in.progress

i printed and read the latest draft of my book. the story holds together well. all is grammatically sound. i have spot checked for repetitions. what i studied this time around is how my story changes my mood from page to page. there's quite a bit of desperation in the lives of my characters. inevitably they find one another and find their way. well, not everybody. some of the mood flows alongside an adrenaline rush. some of the feelings get flooded. i wanna let the sun into some of the darker places. this is my hope as i continue on with my work. it's exciting. i think about the book all the time now.

Tuesday, 8 May 2018

45

i found that when i slept for exactly six hours, my body and mind woke up rested and ready for the day. however, if i did not rise then and decided to sleep another hour, i had dreams and awoke feeling tired. forty-five years old and i am still learning how to sleep and when to rise! there is no work you cannot do when you are rested. so take your rest and do not be so busy for so long.

Monday, 7 May 2018

partly sunny good chance for showers without you

i can say i have been honest with you, but my words sit on the hands of the clock, beside the point. the point is a solitary entry. markedly confident, rather lonely. a circle to itself. a hole in the moon. a vacancy. divided from the rest. full of its own opinion. terminally unique. you cannot know you can trust me, until you know you can trust someone. all the greatest liars in the world would have you believe they are abe lincoln honest. i miss you. it's partly sunny here. good chance for showers without you.

leniency of space

i wrapped my mind around a tree, i fell on a bent knee, all my thoughts were illogical, disorganized, scattered within a quarter mile radius of me. i would have to grow the circumference somehow to find some leniency of space. there were harleys, semis, and el caminos blasting through the place. i got tickled by the pavement, sandblasted in the face. i finally had enough. i stood up proud and centered myself, and left my thoughts beneath me. i walked into the middle of this four lane highway crossing a fourteen county spread. all the cars and trucks agreed to stop for me and the gray rabbit, the brown frog, the yellow duck, and the unnamed holy one. when the engines all cut out, we came to understand. we are all in this thing, together.

inside the margins

i got to wake up
outside the margins
where they chose
not to see me
the way I saw
myself

they preferred
not to see me
at all

blue the color of
the blood survived the suburbs
on meatloaf and
microwave popcorn

you spend a quality lifetime
with yourself. you know who you are

 latchkey
circles the neck

yet they suggest or imagine you
fit into an image they fashioned

i don't play inside the margins
i am no cookie to be cut

sitcom ina tv
cherry ina bonbon
chardonnay
ina box
ina fridge

to be seen is
my right
 if not
the law

Friday, 4 May 2018

singing @ alphabet

when all seems lost i look for four walls, some light, a wooden floor, my kittens, a wooden desk, my machine which connects me to the universe. when all seems lost i eat a salad, read a book. i lie to myself that everything will be okay. i get outdoors and stare at the sky. i go to work and get sucked inside office politics. i cherish everyone, especially the ones i least like. when all seems lost, i talk to my friend whose a painter. or another writer. or someone who cannot sing the alphabet. i try not to think. maybe i pray. all may be lost. i write a book about it. all is lost. i don't care. all is lost.

Thursday, 3 May 2018

channel

i found myself purposed to be an instrument of some constituent pie charted and marketed and television saturated and worked, yes, worked, worked to the marrow to grow some boundless fruitless profit margin i would never see nor feel nor benefit from :: i found myself channeled to evolve our nation, grow her right off the fucking map, people, not unlike the old English empire. less colonialism. more physical land. smaller navy.

i found myself
and decided not
to participate
whatsoever
drama by katya

Wednesday, 2 May 2018

say

you are the new kid 
you work from within the system
you paint the walls in there some deeper colors
when the system changes you feel
a great sense of pride and ownership
you are local now

say

a new kid appears
they want to paint the walls
you resist. you worked so hard to paint them
they don't know what it was like before
they don't care
you care about different things

say

change is hard

her name was mom

the universe gave me life and no promises. the universe put me in a cell in a womb and i grew into a tiny body. hormones and organs and limbs developed. a dangerous mind came of a brain. i got too big for my apartment and, though i would have stayed, the landlady evicted me. her name was mom. i went out kicking and screaming, attached like an astronaut by a cord, into space. they cut the cord and let me float. they slapped me and put me in a basket. i escaped by sleeping. my dreaming body had yet to emerge so i slept peacefully until waking. mom took me home with some guy they called dad. there was even a little guy who was called big brother. i was scared and i waited a long time before opening my eyes. when i did i saw a world and mom was in it, so that made me happy. i tried to bargain with her but we did not speak the same language. so i had to wait. the applesauce tasted pretty good but the blended vegetables were god awful. the only way i survived was looking deep into moms eyes when i had to be awake. the world was cold and i was in it, against my will.

Monday, 30 April 2018

expect a miracle in may!

i realize the mind likes to drift and gravitates in the extremities of thought. my mind likes to dodge  the reality the rest of me is forced to face. my mind lives in fantasy and travels to places which do not exist. think up a dream or a nightmare. only when i wake up am i convinced i am not there! such is the power of the mind! sometimes we find ourselves in pain so deep, we are sure there is no way out of it. if only we could examine our thought process when we are in anguish, to see how our mind has trapped us in a nightmare with no apparent way out! then we can disbelieve the thoughts. distrust the mind. confound our own certainty. maybe april was a rotten month for you and you didn't catch any breaks. maybe you wanna give up. i invite you to turn your thought process around, and expect a miracle in may!

author. pensive

Sunday, 29 April 2018

borrow of the world and give back

i lived here and made it my home. i accomplished many things, mostly writing, inside these walls. i recovered from a long illness of self-centered fear and faithless preoccupations. i am grateful to have made it out of the woods. i cared for my little tigers and gave them some freedom in a backyard. i formed community and a healthy relationship with my world. i prayed to god. i developed a routine which fostered creativity. i played guitar and shared my work online with friends around the world. i lived here. it all happened right here, in five years. i must leave now, and take what little i have with me. i am a borrower and can only pay my debt back, leaving as i came. i wish i could stay but i keep no regrets. life moves along like a river, and my spirit now touches into new territory.

Saturday, 28 April 2018

archive # k

poison. the girls

might sound crazy but i was holdin on to a memory. of you and me. before all those things happened. ya.
might sound crazy but it was the first week we were together. we were in the old Impala with the flat tan finish. ya. we were gettin high.
you had a baseball cap on backwards like that tomboy from the bad news bears. the original. skinny acidwash jeans and long hair like axl rose circa 1987. Indiana.
i was all my tore up old self. like usual. a taller and possibly skinnier you. bad hair day. like always. no bra. ya. walgreens wool cap spinning around my middle finger.
there we were clear as day in my mind just now. scratchin’ bingo with my switchblade. gettin’ high. wow. must have been twenty ten. just look at us then.
i know it sounds crazy but even with the madness what with the sadness that followed and haunted us so…
god i must be crazy but i long to be back there again with you now. the way the love full of light filled our eyes. the way that you touched me and gave me the chills.
the weight of the eighty impala beneath us. reading our poems aloud and again. feeling the fortune of finding a friend.
oh why?
oh why
    did it all
have to
end?
katya mills © 2014
this is dedicated to k&k

Friday, 27 April 2018

nightmare #

I was alone in a dark house in the woods late at night, when all the doors and windows started rattling. I thought maybe it was the winds. I turned on a spotlight, some relic of old Hollywood, and opened the front door to see. The air was calm and still. I saw a small figure in the woods, dressed in red. She was picking her way through the brush, approaching the house. I was frightened of her, for she had power. She called out to me: who are you? Katya, I said, calling out into the night. I am Katya. When I said my name aloud, all my fear dispersed. I was given many times my strength.

eighth wonder of the world

getting up at four in the morning to write, with a head full of dreams, is like traveling to the eighth wonder of the world, finding it closed, then climbing over the fence. 

journal #

i have been posting every day on this website for several years now. probably not every post is a gem. but when you bundle them, all the writings make up a constellation of my life. so i like it. walk into the woods some night. find a clearing out beyond the artificial lights. look up into the sky. what do you see? not all the stars glow so brightly. each is different from the other. is the sky any less a wonder to behold? 

Wednesday, 25 April 2018

Ame and the Tangy Energetic

Kell offers me a smoke.

What the hell’s wrong with vagrancy? she asks, after a deep drag on a Parliament. I think it’s becoming. You can simmer in this cesspool and really begin to inhabit it.

She lights me up and raps her knuckles behind my ear.

Thanks for your thick skull. I knew it was good for somethin’.

The tobacco’s on fire and I am filling my lungs with the last thing lungs were intended to be filled with, and I don’t give a damn!

- Ame

Katya Mills, 2018


Monday, 23 April 2018

i hate screens

i spend up to 10 hours a day looking at screens. this can't be good for my eyes. 600 minutes. i will experience headaches from time to time, and even a bit of dizziness or trouble with equilibrium. this morning i was pulling up a sock while standing on one leg, and i almost fell. do i blame this on the screens? yes. do i have empirical evidence? no. could it be something worse? i hope not. i can only imagine typing up my books on my old Royal typewriter, what a dream! the down side to the dream is the editing process. what a nightmare.

blue truck by k

wip. run on

This weekend I read my last book Maze  to compare against my new book. I found longer sentences and less dialogue in the old book. I liked it. That's not to say my readership would. I'm a little bit out there. I even like the idea of an entire book which is a single run on sentence without punctuation! I would be the only one reading.

little fish in my neighborhood

Saturday, 21 April 2018

pollen and faux vietnamese iced coffee

spring is incredible this year after a month of heavy rains. my hay fever is outta control but i don't care, i'm up and to the task. three of four americans are smoking. dabs and butter and wax. not me. we don't have a chance and i don't care. nuclear bombs are big but they won't make you greater. peace is not possible when you're a hater. i don't care. you have it in your heart or you don't. you write well or you don't. live your life or you won't. you were born. you will die. i don't care. show me what you got! that's hot.

Friday, 20 April 2018

wip. coda

this morning i was not feeling well but i got up just the same and chose tea instead of coffee to steam in a cup beside me while i wrote. i worked on the epilogue. i am reframing it: coda. i also changed the prologue to prelude. i did not simply choose these words because they are sweeter to the tongue. i chose them because i do see my novels, holistically, as musical compositions. they have rhythms and beats, high and low pitches, hooks and repetitions and refrains

Thursday, 19 April 2018

wip. thursday

this morning i walked out on the porch and watched the sky turn a lighter blue. i hope these morning skies in america never become full with drones. i hope to hold this book that has been in my head and on my screen for so long, in my hands. i have momentum and a routine. i am seeing an organic whole. my challenge right now is how to properly end this. remember. the guiding principle in the universe, god or what you believe, is a clashing and mixture of forces; tragedies and wonders exist simultaneously. a book is a life, created by a life, reflective of a life, and may be loved or hated when read. the poorest anyone could be on the final page, is when they got no feelings at all.

Tuesday, 17 April 2018

stranger than the dawn

off beat
cold and warming

raining upside down

sets the day
in silence

there is nothing
stranger
than
the dawn

Monday, 16 April 2018

wip. monday

i love my characters. the only one i hate is the Malafide. maybe because he stands for an abusive perpetrator and sociopath. for a while the only way i allowed myself to write about him, was in the spirit of all my characters i love working towards destroying him. it took me over a year to realize i was doing this. i had to delete several redundant scenes of destruction. i was getting off on killing the antagonist! and sacrificing the story. as a novelist, you need to be flexible and willing to change direction, in service to the story. it may also be a good idea, when writing fiction, not to create antagonists who are too close to home.

wip. sunday

i am writing the book mostly early mornings. drinking hot chocolate mixed with home-roasted coffee. sitting at my small wooden desk with a swing-arm lamp. i like silence. i may keep low volume classical on a clock radio. because it is spring in sacramento, i keep the window open. the birds wake up and start twittering before dawn. i cannot face the window. too distracting.  i write on my chromebook pixel off a g.drive document. i spent the first 2 years working the book in scrivener. i think wearing prescription glasses now has impacted the way my mind processes information. or how i read. i also keep telling myself: it's all in your head. 

wip. saturday

i took some time off last week and made great headway with my novel. word count now exceeds 60,000. most of what got worked out was a scene where Kell is employed by a laundress in a laudromat in Oakland. the boss is feisty and demanding. a real irritant. but she's the only ordinary human to give Kell a chance. she sleeps on a mat on the floor behind the counter. and copes by smoking menthols.

recreate.journal

Yesterday I ran and the weather was hopeful, was spring. Today the hopeless feelings come on in waves, and collect inside me then strike. They leave me hurting. I won't have time to sit with them for tea. I must ditch them and go to my work. I am confused. I am touched. My eyes feel weak from staring at the diverse screens. My spirit is strong. My mind is tired of going over it all. The world. The brevity of life. The many many feelings I mistook for fact. Again I promise myself to do what's in front of me, refuse to retreat or indulge in the pain. For even if the sun be stolen from the sky, I must recreate the sunlight and be joyful. There is no other way I can live.

Friday, 13 April 2018

bio. california writers

I am an independent author of literary fiction and urban fantasy. I have 3 novels and over 100 positive reviews of my work online. I also publish flash fiction and creative nonfiction on my website @ www.katyamills.com. My most recent novel Maze won a table at the Sacramento Library Author Festival in 2016. I also have been a featured reader for the last 2 years @ Writers On The Air. I am currently close to self-publication on my fourth novel, Ame and The Tangy Energetic. I was an English Literature major at Northwestern University and enjoy not having to be bound by traditional publishing demands. I earn my living as a practicing psychotherapist. I consider writing my spiritual practice. That said, as my storytelling evolves, I do hope to some day submit my work to a house and become a hybrid author, if only out of curiosity and the willingness to try new endeavors, be challenged, and help my work reach a greater audience. - Katya Mills, 2018



"Believe that life is worth living, and your very belief will create the fact."

- William James

Thursday, 12 April 2018

polish

My boots were polished by twelve hundred hours as the sun scrubbed the last clouds from the sky. I had a coke with my submarine sandwich. The world smelled of oil and leather and tobacco. Politicians making their points. Walking was preferable to running. This is the only  time to live.

Monday, 9 April 2018

journal # end

the past lies deep in my consciousness today. like a scar it healed over but will never go away. i awakened from my nightmare by falling to my knees in prayer, 12.12.12, after so long living without feeling the need. i was sure i was a goner. i could not awaken without faith. i came to believe. i found a grateful heart. i sought after family and true friends i had left behind. i became willing to rise early and work hard toward some peace of mind. do right over wrong and be honest. be helpful and admit when i am wrong. take what i need and not what i want. only faith can restore me. i came to know the freedom that comes by selflessness and gratitude. and the harmony that comes through fellowship.

journal #

i would never see Drama alive again. i came back 5 months later from rehab in Oregon, to claim him. they said he had been struck by a car at an intersection not far from where the our mobile home had been. i buried the poor little guy up in Martinez, in the hills. i felt terrible. but all the nightmare i lived over the previous 4 years, was over. i had been beaten, downtrodden, and become willing to let go of all my old ways. i resolved to live differently, to live right, if only i had a chance to live again...

journal #

i was so very sick when i awakened. i was addicted. my unemployment had run out. i was living off of food stamps and the kindness of strangers. i was lonely, hallucinating, scared. i was searching every day for my cat who ran away. our home was a tiny trailer on a truck bed in Richmond, near the train tracks led to Oakland and the San Francisco Bay. i rode my bicycle slowly, calling out for little 'Drama' on the surrounding streets. the only responsibility i had anymore was my cat and myself. and he was the only one who loved me anymore.
brothers drama and shy

journal #

i can clearly recall my awakening. it was over five years back and i was close to street homeless. i remember the date, 12.12.12 and how some had attached to it an apocalyptic forecast. i was living in my friend's truck and very alone. i was full of powerful feelings and fears. i was dreaming again of my family and better days long behind me. i was getting high around the clock, for i was addicted to methamphetamine and could not escape. i used it alongside the psych meds i had been described for anxiety and depression. it had become my medication. the allostasis in my mind was severe. i heard voices through walls. my depressive moments lasted long and deep. i was unkempt but i had access to laundry, electricity, food, and water. i had witnessed crimes on the streets and been assaulted and manipulated more times than i could count. i knew a dangerous dead end romance like i knew my middle name. much of my energy was lost to hypervigilance and traumatic recall. i feared people and economic insecurity. i listened to am radio talk shows like they were my only friends...

journal #

all my life had fallen apart and i was a ghost of my former self. all i had left were a couple of friends, a will to survive and some powerful feelings i could not often control. three things would become central to my acquisition of a better life...

a renewed faith
a renewed integrity or personal code
a courage to fellowship

journal # 04.09.18

i experienced a period of several years when life became more challenging and lended me freedoms i had before, and lost. i can appreciate these socioeconomic freedoms more than i could before, when they had come more by luck and birthright and privilege than hard work. this time i would have to earn my freedom. early to rise, i kept my pulse on a spiritual practice.

Friday, 6 April 2018

silence

"How much silence is needed
to dilute the poison in a mind
deluged by media?"


- Ame and the Tangy Energetic

author @ home

Wednesday, 4 April 2018

plot twists

i scrapped a large wordcount toward the end of my novel-in-progress this morning. it was related to a fighting scene which turned out  interminable, and a bore. if i am bored by it, certainly you would be, too. one of the central characters whom was going to die has been saved, as i mentioned in previous posts, however it looks as if somebody will die, after all. arrangements will be made today, and the ceremony will be held inside my skull, first floor: suite # medulla oblongota.

Tuesday, 3 April 2018

go on without

I'm not certain why it's so hard for me to be around people, I guess I may be sensitive. There aren't just unfriendly ones. There are ignorant ones. Mean ones...

Yet the hardest kind of all are the ones who you fall in love with, the ones who you treasure, the ones who you cannot go on, without.

Monday, 2 April 2018

diary entry

i am busy yet still fearful time to time
mostly okay and usually inspired
i work from the inside out

Sunday, 1 April 2018

out of stillness

Created by a passion, shaped by forces both seen and unseen, driven by wind, confined to earth, dialed into feelings, fine-tuned by the moon and a heartbeat, enlivened by sun, roaring with water, beaming light and then darkness, laughing, conflicted, now humming with purpose, now drowned in thought... i become, out of stillness, and come to you. We are lucky, my dear, to appear on scene.

Friday, 30 March 2018

question (mark)

no matter what i think i know, i still make a question in my mind. i like to turn it upside down and climb upon the hovering moon fixed above the mark. then look out over the scene and make myself curious, if already i am not. then when i am ready, shut my eyes and jump off.

faith.2018

May you not be fearful today. Even were our worlds enveloped in dark matter and shut out from the sun. Come close, feel the life as it breaks in my voice. We will stay warm by the light we cannot see but on faith, in our eyes. 
- katya

Wednesday, 28 March 2018

killer -vii

how powerless
modern life has made us
giving us all that we want

we take up guns
and knives and
our personal
weapons of mass
destruction

so we
RAN
to the
NRA

for caliber
for freedom
to bear arms
to feel powerful
in the face of
burglary
assault
accosted
by fear

and what has become
of us?

consumers
victims

hunters
hunted
how

powerless

overanalysis alice

i had fallen and where i fell
gave way to my falling deeper and
further than i had fallen before

not even the ground wished
to break me when her voice
echoed down from a height

you can stop right there! 
you must have no fear!

underanalysis alice
overlooking the situation 
from above. gleefully
ignorant

 i was still falling
alongside her lies

not even cleavage city 
could make up for her
intolerable delivery

the lack of depth
(would be my final)
perception

backbone

The undertrodden emanated their working-class, fourth world-conditioned, immigration-legislated soul ache with great-but-silenced lamentations, all of which gathered into a spine of neurotic knots that together once formed the backbone of the greatest economic powerhouse this side of the free worldthough hardly a footnote in the credits.


be fierce. scapegoat

Dispassionately you were chosen and not for the content of your character. A pawn in somebody's game, only the game was life. Gunpowder they packed beneath you while you were sleeping. They didn't care you were real. And when they blew you to smithereens, they discovered they were the ones who were dying, inside. 

Pretty soon you would recognize the injustice, when you got done crying and feeling bad about it all. You awaken from the nightmare to realize that though your feelings were hurt, your true character was undamaged. You were whole. Your real friends came over with donuts and coffee, and knives to throw at the wall. And you tore it up together like always before, hanging out like nothing had happened. 

Stashed in a pocket of pixels deep in your eyes, the memory remained, to remind you of human nature and how awful they can be. So you can keep yourself safe and be fierce when your character may be called into question. And when you see the injustice being concocted against others, you look out for them. You warn and defend them the best that you can, recalling how it happened to you. Always realizing, in the end, the dirt will come out in the wash. 

Tuesday, 27 March 2018

I was sadness

I was sadness
I could not beat the dust back
I could not keep a friend

Sorrowful sorrowful
Sadness

Even I would leave you
In the end

Saturday, 24 March 2018

sleepy

when I'm feelin sleepy
I like to go to bed
say a little prayer
rest my weary head 

the days are long and tiresome now
my life is very full
I rarely feel a lacking
or have the time to kill

there are a few who love me
I do have what I need
I try real hard to turn my words
Into the honest deed

tomorrow's coming soon
royal with persuasion
tonight I pray my dreams withstand 
all imagination

Thursday, 22 March 2018

latest book review on goodreads

Isabelle's Reviews > Girl Without Borders

 
by 
20981047
's review 
Mar 20, 2018

really liked it

No, I will not spoil it but I will say this: I thought It was a great girl book! Its real nice to sit out and have a girl-friend book with you.
 ∙ flag

high school fight

cigarettes and cars 
we glisten in the mud

smoking
laughing
chasing

whatever are we waiting for 
nothing

we blast our heavy metals
from our beater cars

much better than
home this nowhere here
good as anywhere

we
eternal youth
hopin' on some thrills

if the fight don't happen
donuts in the mud
can't hurt

whatever we are doing
making out
all right

picking each
other up
we have fun
doing it

Tuesday, 20 March 2018

Monday, 19 March 2018

miss empty head with ice in her veins

i was walkin along mindin my own
and i came across a cat on the sidewalk

then a dog
then a man
then a woman
then a bird

then a sign was calling out to me
my head was empty
my mind was free

i was feeling very well

they looked at me funny
the man the woman the dog the bird the cat
they took me to the hospital

there were tired calm faces
with letters behind their names
they urged me to sign papers
they asked for identification

they led me a room
and put me in a machine
then i would wait
in a soft dressing gown
without a back

the air was cool but not too cool
i was empty and free
nothing could bother me

they seeemed worried
they pointed to a transparency
with an image of my skull

inside there was nothing

there was nothing
inside

i was feeling very well
indeed when i snuck out
for a candy bar

made

my thoughts turn with the wind as i reach around the planet, unseen, kept close to land and water by gravity and pressure, unseen. my spirit i infuse. and i am openly in secret, yours, i am openly, in secret, together we face the world with all her feelings, we are touched

recollect

Last night I watched a film took place 3 years before I was conceived in a city located a 3 hour drive from where I was born, and began crying and you comforted me...I recollect so much of my life as it were. I even see where I went astray. But mostly I feel homesick like how life can never be like it was, back then.

Sunday, 18 March 2018

un.music

The diet oversaturated in music, I reduced  my consumption substantially. Finding inner rhythms. Now there is a symphony looking for the back of my teeth, guided by the light in between so many keys. I only hope it makes it out.

consistency

i am crayon
they don't take me serious
only kids believe
i am colorful
misunderstood
i doubt that i
will last

crisis of an overcast

the sun wanted to reach

the land
the sea
the beach

the sky asked why
the sun beseeched

a child would smile
a flower now open
the dullest of days
so very outspoken

for a second
it all opened up

the blue
was a much deeper
blue

Saturday, 17 March 2018

morning hustle

this morning they are hoping for some change standing outside the seven elevens the circle k's the am pm's, shifting and huddled and made it through the night. maybe a coffee and a biscuit if you can. a word or a sign or a forlorn face to get a couple quarters. sometimes a hard silence and barefoot says enough. a little kid who cares asks his mommy can we help that one over there? some small gratitude, hot liquid behind paper, warms the hands and face, expressions melt into a blank stare. worries momentarily at bay. eyes open to the day. find your hustle or your doomed. 

Friday, 16 March 2018

the day I married an idea

I could not fall to sleep last night for some time. Someone was planning a wedding through my window. I wanted to keep the window open so i could listen to the rain. It doesn't rain much in the central valley and I grew up in New England where it rains all the time. A couple of the girls were mean, drunk and loud. Why would you want cousin Elle there? Cross her off the list, she's nobody to you. Tell her she can come to the reception if she wants to see you so badly! This is your day, not hers. It wasn't a stretch to believe that people could be so cruel in the service of loyalty to the bride. I thought it best to forego my future of sweet falling rain and shut the window. There would be no bells and confetti or Dionysian charm, still, you could say I got married to the idea.

Sunday, 11 March 2018

governor in a mansion

Today we went out for a walk and passed the governor's mansion which is not far from the state capitol and midtown, where I live. We looked up and into the highest windows to rooms visible in daylight and I fantasized aloud oh wouldn't it be lovely if we saw him there today? This routine I go through every time with you, I think, since I discovered last year that Jerry Brown would be reclaiming the mansion for a residence. No governor has lived there for decades, and Governor Brown is the only governor of California I have been fond of, since I moved here from Chicago fifteen years ago. He's probably out of town, fighting Trump over the sanctuary laws somewhere, you reasoned. That's when my wandering eyes caught movement down by the porch, and a figure was stepping down toward the drive, then concealed. I cried out there's someone there! What if it's...? We both followed the iron rail a few yards and saw the black SUV and the bodyguard and...and... by golly there he is! You said. I was spellbound and could not speak. You called out Mr. Brown! Hey Jerry! Down with Trump! A smile came over the bodyguards face, and the governor turned to greet us and waved an arm. Finally I found my tongue and hollered we love you Jerry Brown!

Saturday, 10 March 2018

apple core

this morning i awoke beside you and stretched and growled. you called me tiger and i showed you my claws. the sun was not up yet but we were. i took my meds and fed the cats. we went down the road to the am.pm. we discovered the coffee there is first rate. you got some chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, and i didn't mind. i made a cadillac with half hot chocolate. we aren't that young anymore, but we love to be kids together. maybe that's the core of our apple?

Friday, 9 March 2018

half life of a city bird

I lived high up in a city beech tree in Boston I inherited from my parents. Mom was a red and dad was a black bird. I displayed her colors in tufts, and they say my song pitched like his. I carried her tonality.

I wanted my life to improve but i was scared.The cars and trucks made my home shiver, the city made me feel like mine was the only tree. The pollution and city rats were a real danger, and worms were scarce.

I was scared of change and scared not to change, flipping and ducking my head in my chest. I left early one morning when car alarms would not stop chirping.

 I was sure I was a goner.

I flapped my wings and flew for several suns and moons on end. I knew not where to. Or for. The currents unusual to a little bird like me. I broke and fell, rose and tumbled, and slanted across the sky. Nights I huddled helpless and cold in a rain gutter, dreaming.

When I could go no farther, I found a hollow to a little birdhouse. Abandoned it was. What luck! and a fertile ground below. My nest I created of all the diverse fabrics under the sky, in the moonlight, fortified with lead paint chips while humans slept.

If I may say, I was already a miracle when I learned to transcribe letters dipping my beak in berries.

I wanted to recount and record my travels and knew no other recourse. My beak has not the strength of the woodpecker, and our songs are taken by the wind, so soon they evaporate.

I found words the humans wrote
on bits of paper I made
my nest
with.

I copied the many slender forms by my beak with the berry, and learned which forms coupled off with others and the when and how of it all. I already knew why.

I was already a miracle when I discovered your tongue.

Now half my life story
has been told and I
can rest
with.

It's a lot
for a little bird
like me.

For a little bird
like me
it's a lot.                                            

-- listen to KatYa read this piece @ http://writersontheair.com/ --

Thursday, 8 March 2018

peak experience for a turtle

Mile nineteen of my 50 kilometre ultra run. We had ascended the mountain on switchbacks, deep in the forest beside the American River Canyon on the Western States Trail. About 2,000 vertical feet on single track. Some of the steeper parts I had to hike, but it was no less strenuous than running on the flats or descending. My hands were freezing cold from the wind and rain earlier that morning, and I had brought arm sleeves (the cotton tops I cut from knee socks) which I repurposed for gloves. We had crossed the river a couple of times and the muddy trails were causing runners to slip and fall. Yet here upon the ridge at mile 19, above it all, the trail was paved in pine needles and the sun was beginning to shine. The scene opened up to a fantastic new world! The mountains lush and verdant on the far side of the canyon. A chorus of tree frogs opened up. Then the sky began to hail, and the raindrops froze and bounced off of my skin. I came into a narrow part of the trail ever so slightly ascending, with brush on either side, and I swear it was like a royal flush running through there! The hail had formed crystals all caught up in the treetops and the light was reflecting several ways, glancing  and shining upon us like a dream! I knew then that I had made it. I was not gonna hit the wall like last year, a painful and demoralizing affair. I found myself in the refuge of this peak experience, 5 hours or more into my endurance run. Lucky me. It gave my spirit a burst of feeling uplifted. Now, several days later, I wanted to write it down and share it with you, for it stands out like a gem in my mind.

success! heading home after the race

I learned by the race last year (when I hit a wall at mile 17) not to run the first half too quickly, keep a realistic pace and have patience. I also learned not to change my diet, despite all the yummy offerings at the way stations. These two major lessons, combined with my efforts to load on carbohydrates (90% of my intake) in the 72 hours leading up to the race, gave me ample strength to manage the ascent and finish the race strong. After mile 20 on the Wendell Robie Trail, many of my fellow runners were complaining of dead legs and fatigue and slowing down to walk and enjoy the scenic ridgeline over the canyon. I found myself feeling energized and running fast for a turtle, completing the last 10 miles without stopping, and running close to 10 minute miles on the flats. 

Tuesday, 6 March 2018

super.sub

a tuna sub
a paperback
a drawn tub

a little
slack

what more 
can one 
ask

life is super!

ptsd in me

years back
some awful stuff
i witnessed
i lived

i carry a diagnosis
ptsd

a gang of sensations
still oppress me
from time to time

this inability to feel calm
for days on end. particularly around dreaded
anniversaries

i check the deadbolts
again and again
and still i cannot
feel safe

in my own home
in my own head. even
in the fellowship
of friends

despite the love
of family

i hope they go away
but if they do not
i can be thankful
i survived

katya
2018

did we meet?

sure you came in the room
sure we had a conversation
sure you looked in my eyes
like a story we came to some
conclusion

still
i wanna know
did we really
meet?

Monday, 5 March 2018

algorithm

They siphon the nightmares
out of our dreams
their algorithm snaps
out the hips

untold and unheard
hushed hushed
they are cleaved

the whole town
left sweet and
unreal. we are sieved

by decision
not without derision
the intention
to cover up

the kind
of telling
by minds
of deeds
dark

but it is the truth
they sever
from itself
on a lark

saboteurs
lacking poise
i try my level best to quiet
your noise

the algorithm

so sound
mathematically
executes one-eighty
degree dips
three-sixty degree
flips

swan dives
off the lips

overrun us
day by day
you would

the courageous among us
stood in no poorer shape
at the end

the same
they say
as we were
at the
start

we would die
of a broken
heart

ultra!

k survives another ultra

gaze

long were the days
we suffered the gaze
of an omniscient sun

Sunday, 4 March 2018

killer -vi

the socioeconomic sponges up all my blood so the floor can be polished for the next disenfranchised video game glazed hunting cap dick whose girlfriend refused him a blow job on his 18th birthday to step to the counter with capital one credit and a jaundiced beef jerky soul. cash registers. a semi-automatic. america invests in my demise

Tuesday, 27 February 2018

mouse.child.swan

the mouse was hidden in the belly of a swan. the swan found some cheese someone left by a bench overlooking the pond, and though the swan did not care for dairy, ate the cheese anyway, hoping to feed the mouse something it liked. the mouse covered his face with his paws, so his whiskers would not tickle the swan. a child saw the swan and began to shout. the swan swam over to present itself to the child and untucked its wings gently, so as not to disturb the mouse in its belly. the mouse could sense the presence of the child, and uncovered his whiskers for a moment. the swan got tickled and flapped its wings, causing the surface of the pond to ripple and stir. the child cried out and jumped with joy. the swan got scared when it saw the commotion in its reflection, and began to rise out of the water with exceptional strength. an old lady walking along the path began to smile for the first time this day. the sun saw the old lady's smile and brightened up the world. the child yelled out at the top of his lungs. the mouse began to squeak, as it tried to keep its footing, and something dislodged from above and fell right beside him. he happily spent the remainder of the day in total darkness, floating out upon the pond, nibbling on the cheese. the old lady was home listening to the radio, sipping cognac. the boy was a mile away, lying on his belly, drawing pictures of the tv. 

ULTRA

I have a race on saturday. Let's call it what it really is, a crawl! Up in Auburn at the Way Too Cool 50k trail run, forecast now shows a giant storm expected to land tomorrow and turning the trail into a mess of mud, rain, wind, and snow!
Yesterday when I saw, I felt terrified! I called and whimpered about it to several friends and my family. Today? I am thrilled! 

UFOO



One sorry ass good-for-nothing morning from hell, i decided to do something about it. So i had lunch with my brother and spoke to my niece on the phone and texted my cousin, and if that was not enough to make a life worth living, i spoke to my aunt and texted another niece and called my mom and dad, and voila! i felt a little better, like the bear who found the honey pot. What would blast this space ship into another orbit? Oh. The phone is ringing, now who could it be? An Unidentified member of my Family Of Origin!  Next stop: Saturn.
ultra on saturday - 50k in the rain!

Saturday, 24 February 2018

brownies

brownies selling cookies
in a strip mall

little girls with their moms all laughing
and chasing around

it doesn't matter if they sell
a single box

the new vanilla

vanilla got complicated and ran away with itself. so many flavors. too many choices. someone wrote a letter and did an intervention. petitioned the court for that old taste at the back of the throat.
when the verdict came in, all the grown children held their tongues. the gavel came down and the judge asked for order: within certain parameters, to be determined by the FDA and, as sanctioned by this court, only in so far as it is safe to the general public, by decree, meet the new vanilla!

Friday, 23 February 2018

strawberry milkshake disaster

twilight zone found us yesterday. a little boy in a burger joint in midtown early evening, chewing on his dad's wallet, waiting for his strawberry shake. an older salesman peddling smiles and drinking from a flask on the other side of us. he guessed the city where I came from. We ordered our garlic fries and hammer#1 off the menu. daddy got his boy a piggy bank for quarters. this boy loves his daddy restlessly, and excited for a shake. it's a timeless nameless place and I dunno why. in a moment everything changed when a six foot glass door to a show case, fell off and shattered all over the dad and his boy. how? why? the boy was crying and we rushed over to help get the glass out of his jacket and clothes. everyone was shocked by the sound and the waitresses all milling about with brooms and proprietary concern. the boy could not be consoled but he was okay. dad was quietly fuming and our orders all came up and the salesman got back to laughing and knowing things he had no business knowing. you and me we were wondering about it all, drawn up in the strangeness. then another shockwave through the air, rippling the nameless, timeless space. I turned in my seat and saw the cashier, she had a strawberry milkshake running down her hair and her dress. the boy had gone away with his daddy carrying him.

Thursday, 22 February 2018

killer -v

We are right to remember the lives with such promise that were lost. We are right to focus on the survivors and the families that must move on though no longer whole. We are right to care about our kids and our schools and how to protect them so they can feel safe and trustful and go and keep learning and growing. And if we care this much, we must also care enough to understand a culture that contributes to a violent disposition.

Wednesday, 21 February 2018

depression.ex

I won't allow my depression a millimeter, a fraction of a second, an incomplete thought, a syllable, a single note, a lapse of judgment, a crumb of cake, a seed, a drop of water, a feather to float itself out on... all my depression can have is a one way ticket to a polar ice cap, where it may freely melt itself out of existence.

Monday, 19 February 2018

killer -iv

Light comes out of darkness sometimes like flowers growing in the cracks of paved over places, like stars who rise up from impoverished neighborhoods, like strength and protest taking power back from the mighty and abusive, when fear can no longer stomach itself, when vulnerability transforms into courage and action. My very own niece all of 14 years old, in 8th grade, decided to start a petition against gun violence, because she and her friends are feeling powerless and scared to go to school anymore. People ask what difference can it make to get signatures for some local politician to see? I have to admit I feel powerless too, in a culture obsessed with guns and the right to bear arms. The more fearful folks become, the more inclined they are to arm themselves to the teeth to defend their families. It's instinctive. And the NRA  loves to count the sales. But I say; if we can find a creative solution to our fear, methods to empower ourselves however personal they may be, non-violently, and put our own stamp of right action on our experiences of cultural traumas, then we may be conscious and free from the old and stale reactionary turns. And listen, not speak. Tonight I was lucky to listen to a kid tell me how she goes to school scared, and against hers my experience compared, and to know all I ever worried about in my younger years were rocks and fists, and even the meanest bullies gave in when kissed.

Sunday, 18 February 2018

40 miles

I ran 40 miles in the past week. The winter olympians in South Korea inspired me. My longest run was a personal best (non-race) distance of 22 miles up river from Sacramento, north toward Auburn, where my next race will be held on March 3rd. I will rest my legs between now and then, and focus on my diet and yoga. The #WTC Ultra 50K looks to be a great challenge for me again this year, as I got poison oak while hiking in Winters and could not do much hill work. As in 2017, I am not prepared for the steep ascent midway through the trails. No matter! What I love about the ultra is how it tunes me mentally and spiritually, and to endure physical pain. This tuning benefits me in myriad facets of life.

dawn came

when dawn came I got myself up and hit the street. you know you're blessed when all what's inside you -- all your thoughts and feelings stirred together into a psychosocial paste -- has the same consistency as a cool and placid sunday morning, touched by sound and light

killer iii

they will not ever be who they were before they killed. the part of them that had a chance to be anything other than cold-blooded is gone with the light in their eyes

song of words

a sunday morning begs me to create. i choose words. the creation of things may come less by tranquility than by chaos, equally informed by experience. the energy a song of words holds is generous and gives, if not selfless or attractive. we are naturally drawn to a sweet rhythm carried on a baseline. words have many meanings. our cultures are the context. I like most to let them free in the wilderness of a curious city

Saturday, 17 February 2018

killer -ii

a killer is lost like a river wandered off became a stream then an eddy then a trickle until it dropped off the face of the earth and dried up into nothing, so far from the source was it

ends

ends are unlike me I like moving along and on and breaking bread with friends again. many months from now to trade memories and embrace, we will see how we never ended at all

Friday, 16 February 2018

a killer -i

a killer dies by taking life. when you must take a life to have it, you have little life to begin with, to need it so bad. and then to steal that which is not yours, you confirm you have no guts.

Monday, 12 February 2018

cross examine yourself

A winter's day. The mercury stood up and shouted. The polar bears' coats were dirty and keeping cold would be next to impossible. I cross examined the witness and the witness was me. The argument in favor of the species had lost steam with the jury, and we were running out of time to ruminate. Better hire a platypus to come in and dash the thing apart, then dish about it all to our confidante on the Twitter feed to Mars.

Sunday, 11 February 2018

last drop

I would question the sun's motives were he situated different, in closer proximity to the earth. If I got close enough for the interview, I would get all the answers I need. My pen would melt before I got a word down. Awakened by brilliant light, see me run toward the darkness at dawn. You would be waiting for me at the plateau, I know, the last drop of water on the edge of our collective sanity machine.

change was born there

Sometimes a change you make for yourself make you closer to the people, you know, and you are better for them not just yourself and the ones you love. And I don't know but maybe that was all you could have done to get there, subconsciously so, to the heart aching place where witnessed the birth of a change.

Saturday, 10 February 2018

have to have

You can order what you want for us
I drink all kinds of cola
I'm fond of fried potatoes
Greens and beans frijola

You can play the songs of yesteryear
Quarters in the slots
Flirt the room from dusk to noon
And rush the polka dots

I don't care
The noisy air
The drunken sotted
Atmosphere

All I want
And it's the truth!
I have to have you
In a booth


glass of broken thought

I wanna ignore some thoughts in my head or top them off a boil and float the bastards away. Tired of telling myself sometimes I'm a loser, I'm no good, I cannot hold a candle to you. I wanna take them out back and twist them dry, but you cannot get water from a stone.

I wanna take the stone cold self antagonist inside me and shatter her through some wall length plate glass window and stand there and watch, and listen until every last fragment and shard falls to ground in a puzzle of unsolved life.

Then listen to my pretty head full of nothing and adorn her with flowers and songs and flashes of light. I will grab a broom and sweep up the pieces of my broken thought. And hang them on a wall.

ame and the tangy energetic. excerpt

Even without Maze and my past and all that’s gone and lost, perhaps never to carry us up into the thick of it again, even across the landscape of my mind so many times the thoughts got spun into superstitions like if I wear cotton candy pink today, he will come to me and see me different; then, he will come to his senses and we will be how we were again, won’t we? Or if I trace the edge of every book cover in this room, one at a time, by the pulpy flesh just between the nail bed and callous print of my ring finger… even such a great loss and mindfuck could not end me, no, for I have a home here where I am honored, where I can argue and fight and kick and scream but will never wear out my welcome, where I am known as a small but vital part of our greater clandestine movement, our secret society, to be seen and heard and neither dampened nor erased nor concealed nor painted over. - by Katya, 2018

Monday, 5 February 2018

belly button

you and me the way we
think may change the
color of our sheets unlike
the coral green they
were
when you and me we
acquired them
then
the sky a different hue than
the one she wore in 1822
before the war
how blue
the sound of the sea unlike what our mother knew through her shells
fathers buried
in sand the beach stretches
a band
me and you
imperceptible our teeth and
bellies move like gelatin
foam at the mouth
relentless the wind
the age will define us
at last
the sun dies every day
how sad
yesterdays
todays
tomorrow
the belly buttons
hollow
how smitten we are with
our world in the end

angels in portland

I have many angels they come in many forms. One time I was in Portland and they followed me there and saw I was in a weak state, susceptible to influence and likely to walk into danger. I had many an adventure over the course of several days, there, and met hardened criminals who I spoke with plainly. And I exuded an emotional honesty. I was smoking lots of cigarettes. I was in a lot of pain then, having survived a sequence of nightmarish events. I was in between worlds. I did not always realize right away I was in danger, but when I did I had enough time and conviction and skill to maneuver my way out of it. I believe I remained unharmed because of god, intuition, family, and my angels. I have become the kind of person who is more modest than proud, more intuitive than smart, more compassionate than driven, and more conscious of others than I am of myself. And someone whom anyone would be less willing to harm, maybe, more willing to get their needs met by asking me first, knowing I would be inclined to give whatever I can to you, freely.

Sunday, 4 February 2018

system.closed

I passed a young man of Asian descent lying on his side, he was bald-headed and bloody. He told me how the politicians were tracking him. He had a square of metal and tapped the top of his head where some of the skin had been scraped off. He was smiling and calmly began scraping at the cut, and I asked him to stop. He asked for water. I had a bottle in my bag and gave it to him. I walked up another flight of stairs to a room crammed with technology like the inside of a space shuttle. There were operators in there who knew me. I became enraged, feeling helpless. I believe the operations people carry out across systems could be more carefully intended and tended. Instead they get rushed and executed, payrolls capping both ends. People are shut out and they suffer. There's barely enough water to go round.
'street art midtown' by k

Saturday, 3 February 2018

world of black of white

The beauty in being American was and still is the freedom to set your sights on a lifestyle you dream for yourself and go after it with all your spirit and cleverness and nerve. The hurt you feel when you fail is yours and yours, alone. Maybe it will lead to a dead end street and bar or romance. An ashtray full of butts. 24 hours of loneliness can be hell. And then your back in the game, if you're young, the world is black and white.

they let me feel innocent

I was a little kid with a heart full of feeling and a head full of up to no good. They let me feel innocent and sent me to bed much too early. Though I hated it and cried and fell asleep to their laughter and songs, I guess you could say I understood. 

Archival footage K.2012

The right is preaching morality again. Not that the left isn’t. This is not news. The right is taking sides again, damn it.  They are halving these lemons with merciless stainless steel knives they sharpen behind smirks and glassy eyes, listening to Limbaugh and talking about handicaps. They are crying now, the right, crying while their daughters work their confidantes into friends into acquaintances and phone lists to drum up a ride to the clinic and some cash for the procedure. Its outpatient. Its dire. It has been weighing on the young girls’ minds for longer than necessary. And the tears fall at around the same time. Early afternoon when the lemons are being spruced up and gutted of seeds for the marinated mountain trouts. His eyes are stinging and he’s crying and laughing as the compatriots rib him over it. Like they always do. Grown man crying. She’s sedated but still more aware than she would like. The nurses told her best to take a mild sedative not a deer in the headlights dose. Why?

Now she knew why. They were right. Because hey, she was still in her body afterwards, and though the seconds were hours, they were gone like seconds and she found herself looking back into the outpatient room almost as though it were too soon to go, unnatural so. She was saying goodbye to the nurses, now. They were trying hard to smile. They were doing it for her. Focused on minimizing the trauma. No one wants this. No one asks for it or deserves it. The right was wrong. The far right. The crazy deadstare lifers with their deadweight x-rate images no one should ever be forced to see. The deadend lifers dead to the daughters of the invisible American family experience. The parents whose lives have turned a difficult turn again, and no it’s not the best time to share. Not the best time to care.

Will it ever be? Maybe. Maybe looking back ten years gone, looking back and apologizing for being absentee to the emotional discord, the spiritual movement flexing inside a young bright star, young girl got screwed and screwed up, misjudged the guy, misjudged the timing, got drunk with her friends and got stupid. Lost alertness… lost a whole lot more. Even with the benevolence of the nurses, the nonjudgment, the suspension of judgment, the carrying out of reduction of harm. The understanding the psychology of trauma and loss and grief. The grounding the girl’s process in smiles and facts and exactness of protocol so as to provide a tight container of love or compassion for someone so young and asking for help, and still learning to love self through the madness of all the bad shit we do and see and have done to us over the years. Some to survive. Others to survive longer. And all of us to endure that steady certain suffering in whatever dose we can take, and then working to stem the tide with our pharmacies by our sides. Crutches are good for a while.

What kind of world could be more intriguing than this mystery mansion with its deadends and distortions? We witness ourselves and one another, going through contortions.

Published on WordPress in May, 2012 by Katya
https://wp.me/p1qcWq-8l