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

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


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


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

Sunday, 18 March 2018


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.


i am crayon
they don't take me serious
only kids believe
i am colorful
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

Saturday, 17 March 2018

new morning

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.

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

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

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

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

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

a little

a tuna sub
a paperback
a drawn tub

a little

what more 
can one 

ptsd in me

years back
some awful stuff
i witnessed
i lived

i carried a diagnosis

a gang of sensations
they still oppress me
from time to time

i know it's this inability to relax or feel calm
for days on end. particularly around dreaded

i know it's how i check the deadbolts again and again
and still cannot feel safe

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

despite the love
of family

i hope it goes away
but if it doesn't
i can be thankful
i survived


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

i wanna know
did we really

Monday, 5 March 2018


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

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

lacking poise
i try my level best to quiet
your noise

the algorithm

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

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

we would die
of a broken


k survives another ultra


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


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 on this day. the mouse began to squeak, as it tried to keep its footing, and something dislodged from above and fell right beside him. the most beautiful package he ever received! when the quaking settled, he carefully covered his whiskers and spent the afternoon nibbling on cheese.


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! 


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 selling cookies in a strip mall today. little girls with their moms all laughing and chasing around. it doesn't matter if they sell a single box. they had a time!

the new vanilla

vanilla got complicated and ran away with itself. so many flavors. too many choices to make every day. someone wrote a letter and did an intervention. petitioned the court for that taste at the back of the throat. the sorry question polluting the air: could vanilla go plain once again?

when the verdict came in, all the grown children began to cry and ask why? the gavel came down and the judge asked for order and announced with a smile: cuz vanilla ain't vanilla no more!

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


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 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

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
when you and me we
acquired them
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
the belly buttons
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


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

Monday, 29 January 2018

dream sequence

In this dream I found myself in a stranger's house with you, and we were set up by two thieves to take the fall. We had nothing in our possession yet we started running. You  ran far ahead of me. I could see them coming for us and hollering after.

I wanted to run but my entire body was set in slow motion. I had a terribly helpless feeling! I moved up a long strip of land, connecting yards, and saw a puff of smoke and heard them shoot you. I never felt so hopeless.

a lifetime ago

the holes in the skin
of this tree make a line

the woodpecker laid
the design

all the beetles inside 
made a home
in the hollow 

the tree would die
and the woodpecker

the sun would stitch the earth
together with light

the shadows would
grow the seams would

I knew then of thee 



try your heart
some sun
some art

the meaning of the

there is no image
can compare

this is why
i do not pair
the two


when the moon strikes
the night will be mistaken

all the children behind all
the glass have dreamy eyes
for her

all the terrifying things
will have to wait for cover

moon so full so
save me from
my fate

make me destined


thoughts dispel
and i can tell i
love you

Saturday, 27 January 2018

goddess of self-harm

In seventy-two hours I have managed to bite into my lip 4 times. I believe this is a personal best. If you add the paper cut I got, I appear to be approaching 'goddess of self-harm' status. Shhh. Don't tell them they were all accidental. Please. I need my devotées.

every reason

I tore a sugar pack open and held it over the ceramic mug with 'I love rio' etched into it. I don't know jack about rio. I angled the paper so gravity could work, and all the pretty crystals dropped single file through the steam into the black. Sometimes i have every reason to be thrilled and still I'm sad. Thanks coffee sweet. You always cheer me up.

Thursday, 25 January 2018


I gotta paper cut off a flyer I was distributing. The walls were papered blue. I had nothin better to do than let it bleed until a friend of mine could wrap my finger around a bandaid. It felt a little like getting your fingertips pressed in ink. Except this time someone cared about you.

if cannot was can

If can was cannot
and cannot was can

all would be possible
and dangerous

like the days
we ran

Wednesday, 24 January 2018

finding a god

When wishing to find a god, it may be helpful to look around, after you search yourself. What do you see in the world? How does that make you feel? Stay with this feeling. Let yourself thaw out and care. God cannot move us through ice alone.


I was destined for this. I don't call it greatness, this sliding along on a conveyor belt of life. I have a bad habit of wishing to make sense of my experience.

Sunday, 21 January 2018

sunday nights in america

I get an eerie sensation on a sunday night  standing on the precipice of the death of a weekend. I get the kind of rattled only a vanilla shake in an American diner can quell, listening to Elvis on the jukebox with friends, in a booth upholstered in automotive leather, flirting and killing off time.

honestly does

We had our best moments when nothing was going on: laughing at our inside jokes, playing silly meaningless games, being kids with one another, walking to the corner store, talking to strangers...being with desire. I am at peace to have a single one who knows my heart. For now, life cannot hurt so bad as it honestly does. I wanna help you. You make it all make sense.

Thursday, 18 January 2018

await not

await not the rains
await not the miracle
await not the sun
await not

let the rains
be the miracle
know the sun
await not

may your pain
lead you to your peace

may the rains
may the miracle
may the sun

await not
await nothing
may you be

Wednesday, 17 January 2018


I am only a small creature traveling in small circles radiating with the onset of the rains. My insignificance is something to behold. To think life could get so intricate as you and me. Here's a multicolored marble rolled out to meet us. Give it to the hollow of a pocket. What luck!


A stamped imprint is an impression you have on the world. Once the ink dries, the thing upon which you (the idea of you) have been fastened, takes flight into the crosscurrents of daily life. These energy fields we run in are countless! Everything changes. You can become something else in an instant! Years later we will all understand. Only then may they know by what became of your impression, what they missed.

wednesday again

I took off my glasses so I could see you clearly. Out from under our shared history. Outside of cultural narratives and bias. Free from all rumor and gossip and media glaze...i loved what I saw.

Sunday, 14 January 2018

tamales in little saigon

We got tamales in little saigon on a sunday morning. We were arguing over petty nonsense in the car. I admit I get a little restless in love, for the  idea that some day the one I love I may not hold any longer, i may not have any longer, disturbs me so...my heart recedes into a protective place under a sleeve, like the tamale wrapped in skin and folded in plastic.

projection of poor memory

You taught me how to survive. I taught you how to thrive. The tables before were turned, and I experienced a deep despair like the world no longer could care...even someone who feels forgotten will be remembered by someone they may have overlooked. I wonder if the feeling of forgotten is a projection of poor memory? 


If the universe is ever expanding then let us be expansive, too, in our generosity and openness, seeing each sunrise as an invitation to explore our communities and discover. This is hard to implement after trauma. I looked inward and outward and realized: becoming bright and friendly and inquisitive, open-hearted again, is one of my secret projects and clocking several years now. The world does not need me. But I am better off in circulation than out. 

Thursday, 11 January 2018


if you decided to confine half your life to a tiny cube where you were walled in and given security in the form of money, health insurance, a predictable daily routine, comfort, artificial light, food, a title to define yourself by; would these conditions result in sanity? And how would you know you were sane, when you were insane determining?

confidante in context

If you decided to confine half your life to a tiny cube where you were walled in and given security in the form of money, health insurance, a predictable daily routine, comfort, artificial light, food, a title to define yourself by; would it result in sanity, health, happiness? If you lost someone you love under mysterious conditions and devoted your every waking moment to searching for them, would it make you crazy? Nobody can tell you how to live! You wear your own contextual skin. I prefer to be by myself from time to time, brew a pot of coffee, and listen. Inevitably I will confide in myself, and the day will then be won. 

Tuesday, 9 January 2018

book. quote

Here's a line from my new book...
katya 12.25.17
"Eyes like full moons…thumbs rubbing ink to a fade can no longer be read, just described, each curve of every letter glowing like moonlight, expanding in all their hundreds of thousands of spectacular finishes! See the flourishes, you lucky kid. Looking for my sister in her pale blues or barefoot could be a keystroke away, a daydream, attacking a search engine with a heart in America, pulling lightly on the ends of twisted plastic until the whole thing rolls over and out, examining the condition of our condition, concentrating on the ionic bond even when it hurts. Life, I love you, for in you I find it all, and still so much unknown to me. Kell. Where are you?"

Monday, 8 January 2018

young noir

rain was licking the drainpipes and teasing the window glass like a young film noir star throwing shade ona honeymoon killing spree in 1953. the screen was silver and we polished it, too. me and you. maybe we're nobody. in the outskirts of a small city, you gave me midtown Manhattan, 1922. I felt like someone whose been kissed on both cheeks. enough of the valley. we went for  Sierras. the high of high peaks.

Sunday, 7 January 2018

give. of purpose

Gave you my heart after all the heartbroken, unspoken, the best chance I ever risked it all on

I gave you my heart and
you loved me out of blue
and all the colors run not
so disturbing

when I was alone the
monochrome was familiar
not unkind

I got used to the singleness
now I am used to


if you captured my heart
would you break it?

the days
they are long
and i don't believe i
can survive

Saturday, 6 January 2018

made american

I was made American. One shoreline will never do, I need two. Life gets better with wind and rain and all the idol rock stars sucked into the muddy banks of sound.

Thursday, 4 January 2018

toxic chocolate

a headache kept me in bed longer than usual. the cats were annoyed and would not let me sleep very long. was it the weather or did I need coffee? I was having terrible dreams where someone stole my bicycle and some big kids wanted to rough me up. they chased me up several flights of stairs after I came last in an ultramarathon. I think it was all the peppermint bark and chocolate, gone toxic to my system. choctox syndrome got me down. I'm pulling out all the stops. no more ovaltine in my coffee.

Wednesday, 3 January 2018

world full of plastic

The greens are alive and you know, only turn red when you're not looking. red is a just a mask for how they really feel. blue. in a world full of plastic, you would be too.

Tuesday, 2 January 2018


2018. you will be with me and i, with you. we will not question. we will take on the world, every morning after prayer, and fight the good fight, long as the day gives light. then may we rest on the rooftop in Oakland. watching the sun set, either side of the seven eleven. then, in the incandescent, your heartbeat is mine.

what you think of yourself

a parliament of youth came together in the U.K. to talk about issues and I watched them on c-span. the most spirited among them stood up from the green leather cushions and waved arms and smiled toward themselves, you could see. I was drawn in by the process. these kids with their fantastic regional accents trying the whole chamber, the whole house of commons, for some eloquence and persuasion. may be what you think of yourself in the end that triumphs.