circa 09.01.2011

09.01.11

Posted on September 2, 2011 by KatYa

The truth is confusing, the confusion is disturbing, and reality does not give a damn. My heart holds vacancy for the life of them. and you. Still to attend to the sky in its entirety.                          Sea. The depths grow green to Royal blue. Where all lies over exposeD in a happy residue. Off center in allostasis. From the residual, extract the amplification. Subtract from that all that you already know or believe.  The tattooed kneecap. the hair weave. The eyes tell of suffering behind capri ankles. The wrist-roll up to three quarters a sleeve.                The honesty cannot be found from infusion thereafter. She was left to floats on water boiling. Like a poached egg. Then arises Thick, like crisis in love. Then arises as vapor- Clear

more than most can take

remember when
            we were

glazed
twisted
french
cake?

with instant coffee
at the break
  and more than most
can take?

all i got is your

flat screen tv
 a drill
i wanna sell
       some inkjet printers from

the land of lost toys
where we once lived

you related with
 tv characters over me

not the people
not the actors
but parts they were playing
police detectives
not real ones

to miss the
true crime

broken heart hypersensitives
in the land of no shame
got what we wanted
(was) high all the time. how strange
to know it (and still proceed knowing)
   how counterfeit

why is that so fascinating?

 you had me too
 under cosmos
 free internet speed
windows #7
pharmaceutical-grade weed
(you had me)
all about the
 floor

my clothes
you washed them dry
i could not keep up with our snail-paced life
i tried

i guess i wrote all
over you
too

nobody scared me like me
and you in our sorry spiral
toppled up to the dresser
where we made up a million times

 our palette of minerals
 buff and of cream
 finishing powder

 at home where
 we were sure never to
 be seen


KatYa
(remix @ 2011)

dominoes. heaps of clothes -iii

They are dropping chlorine bombs again, while we splash our faces with the ones in our faucets, garnish with lemon and salt, now saddled with inhalers ready and breathless, in a homemade salt water sensory deprivation tank of fish, we are the fish, all is quiet and swimming in social medium. Crystal hot sauce splatters over the oysters in a postmodern spasm, slide off their rocks to Sitting Tongue who awaits. waiting. all we got this morning is waiting for confessions for paydays for unemployment checks for new leaders with new promises made, waiting for the promises to be made good, or not, or more to come.

i was waiting for you and my internal (programming) to stop the isolating (command) and go outside where you told me the sun still shines, waiting for the sun (listening to the Doors) in a bathtub on the run, completely thrilled was all i got (when i had you) and the two cats - Shy and Drama - somehow all my adult life all the cats again and again protect the sanctity of my life, but you, there is you and me and (we are) more than most (cats) can handle  - in 2011 - we had our homeless friends looking for homes we had our home which we would not have much longer, we had been told. you and me we have grown but not grown old. we have been abused and abused we have, tossed our litanies into the fire of another conjured argument with friends or enemies or one another and the same. all i got is you and our song remains the same. the hook is the only problem.

all we got is enemies. number one on the hot list of those who hate our guts? you. and me. in the space between us god bore witness, well, that's the kind of sentence got strung out and led to the forest path this morning, sometimes urgency in it, too, or swollen with bottom dwollen wrath (Allman brothers can soothe us only so long).

all i got is my music sometimes. this morning all i got is a cloud and the light so bright its perfectly loud and hurts my head a bit. but i got medication for that. OT and C what i got? i got meds and antibacterial handwash a tropical sea color blue with bubbles trapped in there like, well, like leaders trapped behind their military might in Syria in Egypt in Tunisia in Iran in Yemen in Algeria...trapped like bubbles in a cascading tropical Facebook blue ignited and (it had been said) long overdue...

like me and you. take us back and stamp us red and pay for us so we can recirculate back into the system where some unfortunate child some day will wander away and pull us off a darkened shelf in the horror section, to look through to the other side. ya, all i had back then was a pretty good feeling we would stay alive and survive the two and the ones (these numbers gotta add up to something), on a day was February twenty-one, twenty-eleven.  0.2.2.1.2.0.1.1. numbers add up to nine ...

number nine (by design)
number nine (lives)
number nine (sign)
KatYa, 2016 remix 2011

Dedicated to Occupy Oakland. 2011 -i-

Then as life goes you find you get into something so completely, what you do, your purpose, you get flooded by it, simply deluged. No matter how big or small, valuable or cheap, honest or sold... warm or frigid cold. You join a movement. Or maybe you just cheerlead.


Now you may be the one to yell out in pain of the betrayal, when injustice strikes you in the head and puts you in critical condition. Like on that cool Fall evening in Oakland, California, twenty eleven. The Occupy Occupation. The supporters of Oscar Grant. The soldier who went down that way, with a head injury.

The source of pain is not always physical. Yet completely personal. We get to thinking and we float. We don’t feel grounded. We get anxious. We see the river but do not want to confluence with her.

Unnecessary
Apartments get neglected
Androids are selected
Relationships hit the rocks
No more watches on the wrist
We cannot synch our mp4s
Or patch things up with a kiss
No more clubs. No more country
Everything in spade
No more dinners
Just pharmaceuticals
Lost your lucky jade


Then might you wonder, what must I do to survive?...
sit my ass down
 open my ears
occupy space
express shit needs expressing
stand head to head with riot police
gripping their tear gas guns
their stun guns
their revolvers
lets hope they aren't dyslexic
when the draw comes...

Oscar Grant lives!
tagged on walls all over Oakland
well into the occupation
of the plazas and the squares
ninety-nine percenters
everywhere

 Releasing a new kinda mix, from urban to the styx. Back on Broadway in the States. Class.
Not afraid to bare its lovely working ass.
Without judgment without question and without answers.

Then arrested
 atleast four score of them
Willing to go to jail
Excommunicate fear
Bucket head a canister and line it with baking soda
Breaking codependency with status quo
Laugh until your laughter turns to wet dew of tears
Fall then to the ground and be received with great thirst
Take a route down a root
Deeper

deeper deeper
deeper deeper

Moisture and humidity
feeling all life
holding it closer
to you

closer closer
closer closer

right up against yourself
right on

Into the company of
hundreds of thousands
of mostly decent honest peoples
representing even those
who were ordered
to stop them
and came
right

right up against themselves
right on
right up against ourselves exactly
where we
must
be