Friday, 17 August 2018

draw near the dark melody

out toward the center of the lake, august summer nights, the water dead calm. the atmosphere uninterrupted, both surface and air. they could not see one another and could no longer hear all the commotion on every shore. a loon gets lonely, too.

and there despair was born. made it's way up the long and slender throats. the necks pointed to the sky, and curves of beak parted, opening throats to air. the saddest melody filled the lonely night with sound. echoes in every cove.

we were young and holding hands. snuck out with flashlights to walk the banks to the painted bridge. hidden in the deepest shadows of the canopy, on a new moon night. drawn together out on the island, waiting. long winter a distant memory.

listen... the aching pain of solitude is calling! before i only heard your sweet voice. so small we are... touching your soft warm palm with mine... feeling your breath on my face... i may never feel so close to you again.

Thursday, 16 August 2018

queen

Motown
Detroit
Chicago
Mississippi
Blues to soul
I could feel the love
The warmth beneath your voice
You could shout a song
I never saw or heard anything
Like you
Mocha skin tone
Cream and sugar
Black coffee
You made us all rich
You woke us up
I could feel the love
I could laugh
I could cry
On a dime
With the whole
World

Tuesday, 14 August 2018

borderline

borderline felt fenced in again and jumped from side to side. she took the bridge to nowhere and climaxed beyond 100 in her ride. finally she could breathe. the tears got blown off the side into gray sky and fell to darker waters. the contrast was kindness to her eyes. guns was on the radio. a kiss from axl rose to make it better. she found a wild flower on the river bank and wove it into locks. kicked some rocks and walked back to her car. the radiator fan still blowing out the heat. when the rains began to hit the pavement, well, she liked to believe she started all that storm.

trouble

trouble pushed a curse off the edge of a busted lip. didn't care. got home after lights out. escaped into comic books when domestic bliss blew up again. trouble was secretly oversensitive and cried himself to sleep. only little sister knew. courage was taking the brown glass bottles, pushing his skateboard through the alleys to the vacant lot. throwing them at the old brick wall. all that was left of a home. trouble broke all the necessary rules. why not? culture never did nothing for them. lodged in hell. some day he and little sister would write a letter and hitchhike outta here. find a paper route and a giant wave to surf. santa cruz.

Monday, 13 August 2018

8 less 8 was none

the composition shifts a degree and the whole world dissolves. the fires far east lick the earth, suffocate the seaweed paper tongue, two air-conditioned hearts, tokyo rising sun. four chamber orchestra reflection in the sea. sails stretch out for perth. eight, less eight, makes none.

blue too

she was not sad. she hid in the mountainside when the rains came hard like tropical noon. once tranquil she was now and then a monsoon. downcast from time to time. rivers caught the swollen tears of fortune. she irrigates our lands. so to feed our children. for to carry on and on and on

14 twelve

in 12 we found fourteen
a chance to come clean
there can be no
hesitation

the thoughts
the feelings
cannot be trusted

go and do what must be done
today is the only
day

disparity of a spirit

the ash has fallen and losses are revealed. a lucky one. i am surrounded by all i have. though i may fight my growing belly and hard won responsibility, i see i lack nothing. today the sun rises in a great dispersion of rays. no more the orange coal. the fires are contained. my spirit can laugh once again.

Wednesday, 8 August 2018

mercury

haze and cars all
in the shop for days
the temperature refuse
to drop. mercury
approaches the bus
stop. flashes red
and betas swim
in flames across the
english channel

spark
america
spark

Monday, 6 August 2018

lost weekend

i lost myself last weekend
in the gaze of hazy summer
burn, on tray liners, in fast food
wrappers

i lost myself riverside searching
for water lily gardens. little girl
chasing ducks. swings her bell
off a low tree branch in the shade

i found myself fearful
sweating the small stuff with you
again. fuck. how many moments
away from the deep

simplicity blue. one pack holds
all we need to survive. one road
an entire adventure

one laugh into the chasm one
prayer. i am here. you are there
nothing stands between us

you lose yourself

gatherin stale opinions
off the internet is
wearisome. too long flashin screens
in your face

you gotta get up
brush it off and
go talk to someone

then you find out who you
really are. you clearly know
who you are
not

half a million acres burned

only the new hairstyle
could offset a sense of
setback glowing like
the morning sun rose
red in the smoke
sky

smoke

the sun rose red
in an ashen sky
my failing was fast food
and an instant
high

Friday, 3 August 2018

eight.three

i am constituted of methods mistaken for madness by those who believe so strongly in ideas they have fixed to a chain in the backyard. we are not made up of thoughts of us. they can cuss you out to kingdom come. cursing's what they made of. go and live your life. I am constituted of good will and fire in the belly for a creative compelling outcome manufacturing something rare of high quality, worthwhile.

Thursday, 2 August 2018

eight.two

two in eight and eight of two
got tossed up and turned
a few. 1982

gimme
gimme
gimme some
rolling off the tongue

you got me an
i got you
dollars turn to
straw

music fills the hall
a powder white
parade

soon the smiling dancing
do not care falls off
the face

what a way
to go



eight.one

one in eight and eight of one
lives in shadows
of the sun

where all is of a hue
translucent eggplant blue

and songbirds whistle
dirges

encased in film
and glue

Tuesday, 31 July 2018

your fortune

befalls you
each morning
   when you
 come to

slap your face
  drink your dreary coffee
  black

eat twice as much
  oatmeal

still you lack
    cut yourself
   no slack

the assembly line of life
wants you back
jack...

don't go

bipolar

life and all its head aching
enormity

dull like old world
war weapons
under glass

twist the cork toward
the pop

bubbles burst over West Hollywood
neurotransmitters desperate
to breathe

out the dizzy heads
gasping

the flutes
fighting for air
in the gutter
below the booths

ecstatic applause
then static

underwater
ina drought
perspiring

effervescence
Hollywood
laughing and screaming
in delight

the flutes spill over
and over with
 foam

irascible

irascible
yet trapped beneath
the truth

trying to see through
stepped on
glasses

blurs
all into a gel
the eye

then the voices

you could find her
predawn by
the old covered
bridge

if you moved like a shadow
conceived in the less than light

a world of silence
in her head
overtook the duck pond
by the lily pad bed

then the light
then traversed
the sky

only the pond
remained dark with
her reflection
and the night

then the voices
began to bubble
anaerobic from the depths

then the cry to stop
then the aeroplane
then the cry for help

an orchestra of crickets
picked up where
they left
off

you can find her
predawn by
the old covered
bridge

that's where she died
that's where she
lives

Monday, 30 July 2018

de.celebrated

Most rock stars walk the memory back to the days when every concert was hard pressed and hard won, when they knew personally every groupie and went afterpartying with the club, fresh cuts on their lips. When gigs were dive bars, audiences unpredictable if not hostile, and pay came in the form of an open tab. When a station wagon full of amps needed a jump. The simple luxuries on the road. A bitter loaf of bread and one night stand. A pan full of eggs and bacon. Walls dressed in hard wood. The percolating coffee pot to ringing ears. Crazy laughter after what just happened? Most rock stars dream of such beginnings. Through the gold-plated bars of today's high hung song bird cage. Awash in stale hits. Buried in mountains of paperwork. Studying the tax codes. Dining with divorce lawyers. Oh, how a dream can turn back on itself. 

cities

All the forms brought their shadows to interplay across fountains. the forms themselves rarely crossed the line. except when temperatures and weather systems forced them to huddle together. they did so reluctantly.

Wednesday, 25 July 2018

therapy styles by k

let's throw some light on the relationship between thoughts and feelings and behaviors. how i feel about a situation reflects my values. if i express pain because i am lonely, then i will ask myself, do i value friendship? this is absent but implicit. if i feel useless when unemployed, is not the underlying message that i value working hard? feelings can help me connect with myself and others. when i am upset and i show it, people may become more invested in helping. when i cry or vent my anger, it's a release and i feel alive. the thoughts which color my feelings are not always facts. feelings are not facts because the thoughts behind them are colored in by attitudes and beliefs and assumptions. if i can increase my awareness of my automatic thoughts, patterns of belief systems i inherited from my family will begin to reveal themselves. i was embedded within a family system. the family developed its own coping strategies within the greater community, manifesting in thoughts and behaviors. what i was taught then may or may not be of use to me today, and may even get in the way of my health and happiness. i can give myself a chance to discard the useless, irrational, ineffective ways of being, and evolve into more fruitful ways of being. this can free me up to be playful and respond to the world differently, lessen my inhibitions and make healthier choices.

Tuesday, 24 July 2018

jack

half of all i did ended with someone else's song on my lips and a bottle of jack in my hands. hemingway went fisherman mad in the end. old man and the sea. im american too and write my own life down.  not all that well traveled and gave up on dionysus. my rebirth wasn't pretty. i sing my own sad songs to a can of orangina. fall for pulp and fiction. author, editor, publisher, marketer, designer. that's my bottleneck now. i cannot give a damn if they like it. I put my heart and soul in it anyway.

shiny horrible new cars

new cars and i would rather keep my old one, it was new 14 years ago, when i still rather kept my old one, when my old one, now, was new

Monday, 23 July 2018

therapy styles by k (describing my practice in words)

alliance. you come with your intention. your concerns. i respect you. you want to work and improve upon your life. i want to help you reach your potential. we begin our journey together. you let me into deeper parts of your psyche. you trust me. i am a professional. i have learned to listen for cues, to help bring unconscious (dreams and symbols and drives) out of the dark and into the light. maybe it's based on a thought process (attitudes and beliefs which shape what you value in your life) you learned in childhood, how you got your needs met then in an environment particular to you and you alone. maybe it's how you feel or associate or dissociate and go numb. i want to ask the right questions. open-ended. to help you explore your inner world. so you can see how your thoughts and feelings and attitudes shape your behavior. to help you see your choices. you don't have to act on impulse again and again. you can pause and consider alternative ways of being. you may resist this, because it's hard work. it can bring up painful memories. things could get worse before they get better. i want to help you through your resistance. i appreciate how you have survived. you are dynamic. ever changing. we are working together to get your blood flowing. you may feel disconnected from yourself. this is existential work. i want you to feel so alive in a modern world of madness which tends to dehumanize us. i want you to feel purposeful and find meaning in life. to empower you. you are doing your best. you are open and trusting and honest. you are willing to change. you are also so human and resistant to change. we all are. it's okay. i am your companion for a while. we have a working relationship. we got this. thank you for coming. for letting me in. let's do this. we got this.

Thursday, 19 July 2018

acrylic.15


acrylic made 4 good makeup
girl when hung on a wall
and bludgeoned by praises

K

stockton boulevard

down an uneven stretch of stockton boulevard in summer, south of sacramento, i came across a classy broken broad, remarkably postured like a runway girl, walking bubblegum pink stilettos, long tan legs up to daisy dukes, a halter top, don't stop, the mechanical boyish stroll, dry heat tempered by a bottle blue parasol angled off her skinny shoulder blade, urban electric milkmaid conjuring the ghost, to the tomb of some unknown soldier

07.19.18

comin together
fallen apart
broken spirit
broken heart

cotton soak
dollar store folk
iphone clone
addicted to
coke

city spatial
interracial
summer storm
form by
form

bus exhausted
paper chasin
spirits deadbolt
doors

find a window
look outside
thank god 4
a home

Wednesday, 18 July 2018

idiot

was an idiot on
the road takin up
two lanes stepped
down from a ford
truck to deliver
fists on a prius
stopped behind
him

what are you doing
out on the road
with your rage
idiot

you gonna
get hit by a
car

Tuesday, 17 July 2018

upon waking

concede unto the hour
up and take the day
like the thirsty flower
submit

pray

Monday, 16 July 2018

fashion a life

life wore us
in and not out

we had answers 
to questions
asked many years
before

all was repeated
the obvious
restated

and feel sure
about
ourselves

life wore us
out

in and
out

rose self.y quartz

you coulda been living in a car
you were 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


Saturday, 14 July 2018

anti.social

Several years had passed and talking to others became refreshing and I was drawn off my guard. I could hold a dialogue with you, maybe withstand an argument. Then I could look into your eyes without losing my train of thought. Then you wouldn't mistake me for dishonest. My skin became a millimeter thicker and I wasn't so cold at night. Then I was not so sensitive to things you said. My social norm restoration experiment was paying off. Life was less a collection of used parts and problems I wished would only die away. Engagement became rewarding if not organic. I set my clock to the frequency of several functions a day. I demanded no less than I show up. Not every meeting was reciprocated, and not all of those that were, bore fruit. I found only one good conversation a day (face to face) was enough to keep my finger on the pulse of culture.

Friday, 13 July 2018

pattaya 2007

I remember when I looked emaciated like those boys trapped on Pattaya beach in the Thai cave licking the limestone walls. My life driven by anger and fear took me there in my twenties and again in my thirties. I was in certain darkness and could not get out. My heartbeat slowed by pulses of heat and  flashes of pain. I was so lonely and surrounded by loners like me. I thought it was me against the world, and it was. Me against the world and me against myself. You cannot live long that way, and you cannot live that stance forever. Some die young. I had to make a full turn. I was wounded needing love. I was hateful needing peace. Fire needing water. Impulsive needing patience. Selfish needing out. Needing meaning, needing work. Needing a meaningful relationship to myself and others. A devotion to a spiritually seeded cause. All life is like mine. I had to humble myself and see the universe in me. Cool my jets and stop taking off, running away. Stay. I had to stay and breathe into it. All life can be renewed. All life is like that, yours and mine, all life is valuable. We need you.

Thursday, 12 July 2018

fields. thursday

you brought me a fortune from a cookie. it was dawn and I scratched your back. you stood on my chest where I could admire you. you swished your tail. the sky outside began with orange. a hot summer day ahead. we live in the valley by the air field. i can hear the engines fire and props slice up the sky. we are living, we are loved. magnetic fields cannot resist us. 

÷÷ blue lady ÷÷

she may have been depressed but she was not sad she hid in the mountainside when the rains came hard like tropical noon. she once was tranquil now a monsoon. the blue lady was downcast from time to time and only we were lucky to catch her swollen tears in our banks. we  irrigate our lands and feed our children for to carry on and on and on and on...

÷÷this post was inspired by the painting  the blue lady by Tameeka Knox, an artist from Sacramento.÷÷

Tuesday, 10 July 2018

rebel ina safe

i keep my rebellion
under lock and key

i sign it out
on tuesdays
by photo id

twice as nice

once upon a cloud
feeling rather proud
all accounts break even
children awful loud

you cracked the piggy open
eyes as wide as coins
the exclamation spoken
iowa! des moines

a hundred silver dollars
in bed with porcelain
you lifted up your collar
to hide the widest grin

each child given two
and told not what to do
one was twice as nice
another not a clue

what remained then was invested
in reclamation of
the sky

to turn her
back from black
to blue

Sunday, 8 July 2018

descent

descend from your high flying escalade. descend from your earned letters and titles and surname. acknowledge you have never gone a week without food. a month without shelter. 60 days without love or care of some kind. acknowledge your privilege.

descend and be
decent.

meditation no.12

how sitting still can help you. cultivates patience. attends to your processes. you begin to be able to feel yourself breathing. see yourself thinking. experience your muscles tense and relaxing. form relationships with your emotions. fortify your philosophy. it is not  wrong or right. it is effective or ineffective. variations on usefulness lead to fresh choices. meditation empowers you. see how you view situations and challenges. how you react. reflect upon a stale way of being. life is all changes. you are born to adapt. recreate yourself so you can be most helpful to the world you live in. most useful. roll your sparkling super self out and give thanks, now! we need you.

Friday, 6 July 2018

yankee

dawn has struck
the sky is turning colors
the last bit of dynamite
blown. shredded paper
tumbles aimless on the breath
of passing cars

what will we
do now

Thursday, 5 July 2018

love was

love was often pushy
to get you on your feet
love was often bitter
before it could be
sweet

Wednesday, 4 July 2018

bye bye 4th of july

settlers of land
painted faces and hair
nationalist fervor
fireworks stare

bye bye
bye bye

parading at night
smoke and bright light
cut through the forests
river of white

bye bye
bye bye

river of red
river of blue
fourth of july
goodbye

fare the well
stars by stripes
fifty two gun
salute

revolutionary snares
the flute

bye bye
world wars
peaceful sweet sandy
shores

bye bye

tricks are for kids

stepping across the honeycomb of the mind i found a little home what was windowpaned in amber, encased by five walls of durable paper, gone gray. words were written there. i tried to make them out. i saw by the script they were my words. now it became a message from my past self i had to decipher. ten years old i was mostly lucky, and happy. i learned ways to deceive myself when i was sad. now i would and could not. i have to be real. tricks are for kids.

Monday, 2 July 2018

morning.noon.night

i lit three candles. morning, noon and night. fox trot of the forest. lovely shadow. light. the world was like an ocean. self-contained in atmosphere. i heard you by your dialect. to see you out of sight.

star made

star made of matter
star beyond ice
all the hearts feeling
tumble through space
like numbers chase
paint off the
dice

Saturday, 30 June 2018

July

tiles hold the sun. skin absorbs the heat. there are patterns in the floors but only the colors make any sense to me. i cannot feel a pattern. i can only hear the music in the colors. i only feel the sun inside my feet. i am july. on my hands and knees. i am not enough without the sun. on my belly. laughing into the pores of earth.

pearls

life got painful. you couldn't take it anymore. so you found a corner to cut. you got caught. you were young and that's what we do. we make big mistakes. we are reckless. learning how to live.

today the pearls are strung twice around your neck. turkish coffee drips into ceramic, sheltered inside your hands. nails translucent like newborn sea shells. all that ever happened in your eyes.

en scene 3

fire up a fresh pot. 1950. New York City. nothing's changed. detectives shaking down girlfriends. all units. five boroughs. chasing leads.

en scene 2

burlesque. 1950. Los Angeles. unrequited love. lipstick smeared on a hopeless heart. betrayal.

en scene 1

stolen car. desperate men. 1950. conspire for quick cash. chicago. there will be blood.

searching for (and finding) meaning!

searching became seeking on an otherwise atypical weekend. seeking became leaking when the sought after was found and overflowed the fullness. leaking became luck when it just so happened the collection was rare and appreciated behind glass by the mass. luck became suck when the interactivity failed to give a deep felt sense of belonging the masses hoped for and needed. suck became destruction when the place got torn apart in a collective rage. destruction became relief when they all realized how connected they were by their anger. relief became regret when they witnessed the damage they did and the collection was ruined and history would miss out completely. regret was not set in stone. regret was reformed by the mission. the mission was to get up every day and pray to get out there and be helpful some way to someone in need. and not just to pray. the mission was getting up after prayer. the mission was showing yourself. showing up. making molehills out of mountains. standing courageously on an edge. jumping into life. making meaning where otherwise there was none. 

Friday, 29 June 2018

end week end

i do not want what the world wants for me. begin week, begin. go and be with the world. find out why you exist. for beyond yourself lies joyfulness. within yourself peace of mind. one is unreal. one is real. end week, end.

Thursday, 28 June 2018

journal 28

come out of your shell electric. do not your self redact it. expand! you need not be contracted. nor smudged, erased, subtracted. walk past the pails with what the water boil. pour over now and penetrate the soil. coffee grounds for celebration. show up to work nonconforming. refuse to leave! we need you.

dream of a loss

i just now woke from a nightmare whereby my keys were lost or stolen. my friend sarah who i havent seen in a decade was the only bright aspect to the dream. she was helping me. taking me to some lesser known city resource where hopelessness ends.

we were waiting in line when i woke up. the stress melted out of my mind and body like a pad of butter in a pan. the birds the sun and the cats preceded me to consciousness. a couple hours before work. how terrible a feeling, to lose anything so important to you.

Wednesday, 27 June 2018

un.friend?

they streamline their friends like an org making layoffs. they do not for a second bother with how it could feel to be unfriended. you thought you were enough of a companion to be allowed in the sacred space of reposts and detritus like body shaming humor and emoticon hell. you thought saying happy birthday on their birthday in 2015 made a fair enough splash on the double helix steam. there are no goodbyes online anymore. put on an old beatles record and howl at the moon. find twenty new friends to replace them by noon.

i saw a dragon

you cannot tell me there
are no dragons i
saw one

Tuesday, 26 June 2018

axis

you were my horizon
i was vertical
blind

crossing the ocean
without a plotted
course

you were solid fixed
i was fitted. the
waves and sheets the
sun and salt

nevermind

it's not our fault
the night is disobedient
the suspension
bridge of light

you
gave me my
life

scarred
out of sight
blind

nevermind
we are like kids
we are all
right

Monday, 25 June 2018

cuts.dashes

the group became tighter. careful about who they let in and who they let out. ritualistic. some wanted in but could not get in. some wanted out but could not get out. those who died were revered. 

traffic berry jam

traffic berry jam
on the razor edge 
of love

hot with thoughts 
we got blown 
on highway five 
of tire

filament shrapnel float 
dribbles off the lips

cresting to burst 
slide down the glassy 
eyes 

lazy wander the figured 
thighs to a base
metal 

i am stolen
you could score with me

traffic berry jam
on the razor edge
of love

all and none

the tireless work begun
the shadow cast by the wrecking
ball was tall and long
long and tall

the glass shattered
the bricks did fall
only memory withstood
the assault

we were still under
the sun

all had changed 
and none

Friday, 22 June 2018

undone

you can do what's undone. other things are out of your power. what is done you cannot undo. what a gift to be able to stay calm when you are subjected to great pressures and unable to manage. what a talent to quietly go about your work. what a blessing you are when you reach your potential. don't give up. we need you.

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

goodbye sweet moment
lying in the light of a summer morning
California
readying myself for whatever highs and lows the day may bring. making conscious contact. watching my kittens thirst by their eyes for the birds. drawing back the peaks of audio. tails move side to side with the eyes
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

this is not all we are
so be
my child
be

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!