nobody get hurt

"Dani had a way of defusing Fleck, like taking the wick out of a bomb, and he became more like a bowling ball rolling along. He might still knock you over but nobody got hurt." #katyamills #wip

Trouble'99 #wip

"I sat beside him in the freezing cold, and he asked if I could sing and I said no. Great, he told me, you got the job. When you recognize the song I want you to sing along. I started humming along at first and then begin by whispering them, the lyrics, then my whisper got a little louder. I still got quiet and shy with all the people rushing in and out during the heaviest of the commute times. He told me my voice sounded lovely next to his tired hatchet job on the guitar. We were a broken record of a different kind. If we could just be a little louder we might make some bread."    --  Katya Mills

notes on writing

i no longer wait to be inspired to write. one need not wait for rain, to irrigate the land. i block off time every morning to string the words together in a way that captures how i feel. might be 5 words. might be 500. keep digging, you will ultimately find water.

then i turn to some larger body of work - #wip - occupying my every day mind and heart. focus on the immediate work in progress brings me back in alignment with the gods.

EXCERPT

He waited for her with all the women waiting to get their ombres and bangs, in the forefront of a high-end salon halfway into Berkeley on College Avenue. He was the only man in the place. The glass storefront so clear one was likely to crash into it, were it not for the Helvetica script lettered across it. And he felt out of place but he didn't care. She was lying back in the barber's chair with half her head dipped in a basin, and as the stylist massaged the soap out her hair into the rinse, she shut her eyes. They had traveled together in the early morning chill promising a warm summer day, to get here. He rode his skateboard, she pushed pedals on her ten-speed. Witness the weaving in and out, threading one another's tracks coming together, then apart. Talking. Laughing. Cheerful and melodic bursts into cool and receptive air. They were to meet his friend for coffee next door. Soon. She felt her head dissolve into a warm glow around her. The scattered voices of women like birds, had vanished as the water rose above the ear canals. And though she was not smiling, it was only because her smile peeled off her and sank, rocking then spinning slowly down to the granite floor of the basin, and while she was not looking, one of her eyes popped out from under the lid, and floated across the surface like a buoy marker, and nested in some soap suds. And as her mind marveled over the fresh instance of love tingling all over her body, her boyfriend uncomfortably shifted on the charcoal seat cushions not ten yards away, a Madameoiselle magazine in his hands with the image of a gorgeous Parisian cover model unimpressive to him now. His eyes moved hawkishly about the room to get a glimpse; raising him up with them to see down the middle aisle of stylists at work, past the smoke and mirrors and chirping, to the hollow toward the back of the same room where she was.  Her brain matter unraveled into a labrynthine interpretative submersive dance. Seemed like half of eternity, lost. Then swept away she was to thoughtless clarity, by the sudden opening of the drain, the lifting of her head, the watery fingers of her locks gripping the back of her neck, the half-smile pinioned to her lips, the eyeball slipping back under the lashes and lid. The sound of birds chirping. Only the thoughts had flushed on down the drain, for what use are thoughts in love's possession? The stylist was telling her something, and blowing it away. Posits and remarks, littering the floor. Her body still tingling, the glow had not left her. Just cooling in air along with the hair. She could not now help her eyes from lifting her up, in the chair as they circled around, and found him in there. Waiting for her. She found in him in there -- again, life was a blur.

-- Excerpt. Daughter of Darkness. Book #2

Journal # 04.25.15

I saw you in the rain. Your eyes were tired, and the train far above our heads under this matrix of Chicago downtown loop metallics, weary following the rails. Your eyes were vital. The tired was actually around them, not in them. Not of them. Your eyes were fresh from canvas oils passionate kissing the canvas off the lashes of the brush. Sparks fell from the rails and evaporated in the heavy shadows of high rises. My pulse quickened. I had not seen you in so long. I had been tethered to one special coffeehouse where they served home roast Papa New Guinea in imperial pints. Your eyes saw mine and both of us fell out of the urban grind like a shot of cool almond milk dousing the fire of a bitter brew. Two hours and three minutes ago I screamed fuck you at a cab almost ran me down in a crosswalk. Then went on my way. People are half asleep. We wake one another up, in the city. Moment to moment. We express ourselves. I have a typewritten page of fresh madness for you, my love. My friend. Come here so we can embrace. You are the creation I am. Everthing here will be gone, and yet the shadows of the high rises will thicken over time. I like how we still get the fresh air from Lake Michigan. It's a goddamn ocean it's so large! Hallelujah. Some young hoodie bumped into you as he weaved his way down a busy thoroughfare, rush hour, and he spun you around and then elbowed his way through a couple corporate fobs. That was ten minutes and ten seconds ago. You dialed up a beautiful you won't make it in time, asshole! and saw the hood turn ever so slightly back so you caught a profile. One eye glaring back. Just before a briefcase came crashing into his back. I know you. Brilliant because you photoshopped the instant in your mind and will have that hood, that eye, splashed into your work someday, maybe today a quick sketch. Nine minutes ago. As we traveled toward one another, block to block. City life. Love and hate. Awaken the sleepy heads. Watch all the people come together and amalgamate and mate. Oh it feels good to hold you. Our hearts beat alike.