chances

heart beating she tore a 

corner off a page

wrote down her number

for the one with the glitter on 

her cheek who blushed

tucked it into her 

back pocket lined

by red fabric

#katyamills

the living dream phase

I really hope to see you randomly in the streets, to meet you there in the sun or the shade, the rain or the glade, by the fence or the tree, the lamppost or newsstand, you and me once again have a chance at a life, a stopping of time. I am only fortunate because I believe myself fortunate, and it would be a great misfortune if I did not. I only love you by showing my love to you, but who says you cannot show your love in a thought or a prayer? Life gets more confusing and then I stop thinking, let something else take over, less abstract and more concrete (perhaps right under our feet), there need be no confusion so long as if or when the moment arrives on the tangent of our lives on the streets of this city, we see one another in that random beautiful way and connect in that semi comfortable way of matching up against the small changes in our separate and recent fortunes, and what I can do at that time, if that time were to arrive, is turn my attention and presence to you completely, perhaps with a smile - definitive in the eyes - and listen when you speak and not interrupt and not let the magic dissipate by any technological device in my possession (calling to us like they will), but rather undivide my attention toward you and if the chance arises for a handshake or a hug, choose the latter, for who on this dying earth does not wish for the physical rapport? - some great reassurance in a small gesture - and though we may go on our ways off the tangent back on queue, and though I may depart without any certainty I will see you, I can thank you for your time in one of many different ways, and show clearly how I care, burning through the haze... the living dream phase.

kettle water

The day the week the mid-month begins with a tremble in the soul and awaken from some useless worry in some recurring dream I cannot ever work out,  to a chance! I get up -predawn- and put raw blue flame under the kettle water, just like my grandma and her mother before her did, say my prayers and heat up that old American dream!

Journal # 06.15.15

House in Locke

Had some nightmares last night. This is not unusual. I woke up spellbound and made some coffee from scratch for me and a friend. Poured the steaming black brew into some paper cups I saved from the cafe, and outside we walk into the dawn. Same old ragtag crew at the location, a place we go for meditation. Monday feels fresh, especially when you don't have to go to work in the morning. I have had my share of stressful monday mornings commuting to work. Not anymore. Today is my day off. I have the chance to feel my medication while in meditation, and then I read a book.

I don't know why but it happens. The mind makes stuff up and convinces me. Not always. If my mind turns the sky dark and rains fire, I break out my fireproof catsuit. I borrowed it from the spy who loves me. This morning I left it at home. I saw some ember specking the eyes of someone who doesn't care for me. But the fire was on its way out, dying. There's not much to hate about me anymore. My pride got levelled a long time ago. My ego is mostly in check. Life is not so friendly anymore. But it is worth every second breathing. I can float up out of my body and use my spirit as the hammer. Blow the mind up by golden rose in the center of my gray matter. Then approach the day lightly, like my good friend awash with kindness.