ice cream cone

without words without art we 

would all fall asleep there 

can be no sunshine the ice 

cream falls off the cone     

#katyamills

savage

i like to bring a 20 oz genuine thermos to work with me, full of coffee or tea. i like to bring an genuine awakened consciousness, too, as this can be helpful in tricky situations. one goes with the other; if i go without coffee, i may not be completely with you there, and you may need to tell me things twice or knock on my skull and ask  hello? katya? anyone home? please gimme a reprieve! i am in my forties now and have lived through a lot of bullshit. i know nobody hardly respects their elders anymore, true, but aren't i cute and nice enough to be an exception? if you decide not to show me leniency, okay, that's what my nieces would call  SAVAGE! and then when my sleeping consciousness gets properly plied by your orange roughy, well, the savage will awaken in me from any depth of slumber and i will stand on my hind legs and make myself bigger than your ego and we can go UFC - MMA fighting where i shall take your ass properly to ground.

future mma star?

the runway runs away (a remix)

REMIX of 'this loves for real .no stopping. all green some whole some lights' (circa 10 May 2011 at 03:48)  -- K by K

k by k, 2016

fuck I have been cold. I have been frightening cold, I have. until some small smile some sarah somewhere in this place post punk and petrified with perfect well wishing winning new paradigm nod to the north. if north is astral. if north is known by certain colors that stand out like a football i mean soccer jersey that’s brilliant yellow lighter than gold yet darker than lemon and loved even lusted after between air -steam- rising top of the crucial team consciousness on soft ground with soft ball and hard handshakes raising the rising roof of random screaming. a world of color a world of meaning. for most this was not so, but they backed on the tidal wave like the undertow, where the passion of the few was sourced you know, the masses go and they flow, the massive movement to go with the flow or go and go blow. rarely was this impressive, mostly nullified after the monument to him or her had been already built and cemented in place for public worshiping and it was discovered she or he had been sidelighting in a darker shade of themselves, shadowing the lives of innocents and extinguishing others candles because they lusted and cause they could. you know who i'm talking about there's so many of those. loved by many now hated by most. one circled roped in focus can distract from the life your partner your wife around you. your son who packs a gun -the heat is beat- and maybe boy or maybe girl, the foil-wrapped careful cut icebergs or powders or icicles or dub-sides come half-baked with home fries for the waiting guys waiting sometimes impatient waiting. sent. sent by that curiosity fills the soul kills some whole. just before the -you don't know now you know- part. the grow on your street that your feet touch and meet there. pavements so hard they killed fred astaire. or would had had he not been nimble. like no bread, just bologna with capers and mozzarella, white wet from the homeland near the river saucony. alive and kicking. kicking down the doors to taste buds. touch memory deeper than sentimental songs, you know. by heart. don’t start, ‘cause I’m not finished, planet earth, the spoon, the black and white, the dish, the fashion statement the runway ran away with. now you come back to reality and fall in love with someone and lose yourself. there now, your good and lost, child, god loves you like that, good and lost in love forever.   - KatYa

k by k, 2016

go slow. go quietly in your creative process

Imagine if you slowed your process down and watched it, played it back for yourself like a film. Yes, you can drip all the butter you want on your popcorn. Just eat one popped kernel at a time. Taste it. Lick the butter off of your fingers very carefully, like you are giving head. You can put your legs up over the seat backs cause you are the only one in the theatre. Ladies cross your legs, just in case. Someone always prowling in the darkness, maybe come off the screen and wanna be with you. Hopefully its the hero or heroine, and don't you dare make love to yourself, it's a cardinal sin, if there was a hell you would go to it but mostly we agnostics know you would just feel bad about yourself and sick to your stomach. This is a work of fiction cast out from the booth in the back to enlighten the screen for your eyes, you who receive. Imagine the warm blue light triangulating out into the darkness and above your head. Closest to the projector you can even see the air we breathe is swimming with dust. Our lungs must be ingenious. Focus on your breath as the numbers count down from ten, with an old radar-like image and a line traveling clockwise around back to midnight and the numbers fall and the excitement of what's to come... What's to come out of process, is more process, the consequence of process, the marvel of creation, making our lives one brilliant second at a time as we go. Swimming through our lives and slow it down commensurate with a wave. We are fragile. We are breaking. We are falling in love again.  xxxxox  KatYa

Journal # 04.04.17 + Maze 2:17:1

Good to get yourself on 'a mission from god'  (Akroyd and Belushi). Or a mission from the buddha, or just on a spiritual mission. You can rise above this mundanity, all the plastic bullshit we encounter out in the world. I tell you what! I would not even get out of bed and didn't!  For several years rarely! I was shooting plastic into my arm. I was snorting plastic up my nose. I was fucking plastic dummies! I was smoking plastic. I was seeing plastic. I had to railroad myself into my personal mission from god. god was lowercase matte finish and unrefined. god had to be a weed that would drop roots and take hold. god only came when i fertilized my soil with shit! Wet plasticine dream semantics. And that's why I do what I do. Not that I don't love you. I do. You deserve every bit as much higher altitude, greater bandwidth consciousness as anybody! Settle at your own risk. I did and I could not get out of bed anymore. What gets you out of bed in the morning? The answer was nothing. Maybe plastic for a time. Still I decided to live, I don't know why. 12.12.12 came and went, and my heart kept pushing the blood through my extremities. My altitude was underground. So I was an unusual kinda freak and I'm sure I still am. But I was no pushover and they would have to make room for me. I ate my spinach and took my pills, so I could get out of bed and get on a mission. The mission was clear. You see it everyday. You can find me. Right here...  MAZE 2:17:1 final chapter... a reading...

little satellite

There is a sadness in not wanting to know someone close to you, for they are close to you for a reason. There is a sadness in walking past the flowers reaching over and through the holes in the fence to greet you. When i have not eaten for some while i wanna stay there, to know this also, you see, otherwise i lose something. I lose a part of the world. the hunger and thirst of the world. You see how everything in our presence can move us? Even pain moves me and maybe away from myself. Undulations in the spirit. Unraveling of the controls. Spinning out of contact into space and disconnected. Stay there. Without notification. Without any sound except the sound of your own breathing. See how you can never be alone, little satellite? Breath is a tide and their are treasures in its wake, in the pools.

beleaguered in the cold

Cell phone go to sleep I do not wish to hear you chirp, you are not the bird in the walnut tree singing the lovely song, no, you are not soft of down and sweet, no, you can be taken apart and reconstituted - you lack the mysterious quality. You are priced, bought and sold! Is this not true? You cannot live, you cannot die, you cannot fly. Cell phone be quiet, please, I have exhausted all your peculiar tonalities and wish only to be left alone. A parcel of time I have allotted to address any and all of those concerns of which you lobby. My associates, collaborateurs, family and friends, all shall have their due, I need not hear it from you. Silence! my dear, for out of silence shall come a storm of swirling letters into words amount to the tale which lies concealed, beleaguered in the cold, and must be lifted up from certain death to be told!      -- KatYa --

Journal .000696 rpms

Everything is lined up perfectly for our success. Yours. Mine. 
The horse is in the barn. The squirrels are in the trees. The mendicants on their knees. 

The world is rotating at .000696 rpms. 
The perfect exposure to the sun, for consciousness to bloom.
Warning to self. Do not let this day slip away! 
As the world turns, let the fat burn. 
Sizzle! 

Give it all away again. 

When the mind's exhaust casts its mist over you, obscuring the perception in pings of many deadly thoughts, be sure to stop where you are and challenge those thoughts. 

Who are you to be envious of another? 
Who are you to be full of anger?
Who are you to wish harm?
Who are you?

Those instincts which once kept us alive, will always haunt us. 
They were burned into our grooves. 

Journal # 03.05.15

If I found you now, so many years later, would we get along? What would time have done to us? So many years and you expect time will heal. Well, what if time insisted something terrible into consciousness. Dragged its corpse out from under a house for us to see? Then could we meet and have a grand old fight been waiting for years. Or have walked through the fire by ourselves, to a pointed forgiveness. We might even sit somewhere nice and quiet and talk it over. And what if one of us has sharks swimming in their eyes, and the other has backlight of a thousand halos? Then we shall roll up our sleeves and sharpen our nails and show our teeth. Maybe, if we are lucky, we will meet again, you and me. And after all is said or done, we can hold hands.

be chosen

the rain
the rain she
wash away
the pain

the pain
the pain she
left us
alive!

a calm
the calm she
settles
over all

the lights
go down
the sun
unknown

we can
once again

think
feel
see!

we can
we can twice
remember

we can
three times
in loving
devotion

thawed out
unfrozen
choose to be
chosen

Daughter Of Darkness TEaSeR

An excerpt from my soon to be released novella...

"Stay. Stay here with me, with you, with the world. Stil. Still your fears, let them coagulate into a lifeless form. Pull. Let me pull them out of you, so you can stay. Stay here with me, with you, with the world in all its desensationalism. Draw. let me draw out of you that too which you cling, here in the shadow of San Francisco, in this ageless night of Broadway and her storefront theatrefront shining, pimping, fronting, sinning, drinking, smoking, screaming, flowing trade of flesh and desire to no end. Down Auto Row I walked, secretly chewing on a hundred lost city souls along the way, leaving them each and every one not as dust, no, leaving them no longer weary in their ways, some standing, leaning against the brick facades or street signs, tipping their hats up now so the street can see their eyes, some walking, slower now not faster, able to stop thoughts and worries and feel the air if nothing else, some unfolding out of some hidden corner to zero, shivering a little less, realizing that they are the warmth in a cold dark night and nothing less, and nothing less than zero, so the only way might be up and out, so yes, as you watch me fade east into the bright night and know me for carrying you to some neon orange hope away from fear, the time is now, the energy is available to you freely, sons and daughters of human kind, open your eyes, yes, see that it may not be so bad as you had it out to be, and only you can not be a victim of only your circumstance, only you can hasten headlong to your death, only you can make your very next move or be otherwise static yours, and swallowed by the fear strikes you sound."

killbot 2000. soul reclamation.

'people work better when driven (insane)' -part ix / x
originally published on kissilent.wordpress.com


Some money making murder mystery venture was proposed, to save the world. But money could not help us now. Unless we wanted to sit on a sidewalk in san francisco. For the park-your-ass meters. To keep the park-your-ass enforcers off your ass. You got to have dry wall for brains or some quiet desperation, to wake up one day and decide to act out by some innovation on pickpocketing. But that’s exactly what happened, when it was clear the world was not for saving. Maybe the whales, but not the world. Just as Steve Jobs and crew were in his garage creating the macintosh… just as Packard and Hewlett were in a garage creating the printer…simultaneously as all garage bands ever were in their garages plugging in and cranking their amps to eleven… some asshole was learning how to steal your identity in his parents’ garage (because i am sure he didn’t own a garage, himself, not yet anyway).

So we take the good and the bad, together, naturally. All of those garage experiments evolved into cottage industries and then empires, over the course of thirty years or more. While you and me were coming home from work (or not), and planted in front of the TV. Could we reclaim all those hours lost in front of the former tube now pixelated flatscreen phenom, we may have devoted them to better causes than working our marvelous retinas into a pulp.

People work better when driven. Better than being coaxed into a couch, sucked into that singular, savage and brutal addiction to the once marvel of engineering become luxury item become mass-produced producer of idiocy via artificial contrived morality tales to snakeskin sales pitch to fear-propagating political weaponry, become feng shui killbot 2000, become that which we must now look out for as gravity takes it from the arms (through the window, above us) of the desperate if not suicidal multitudes who, having lost all personal integrity and dignity to the thing, found, in reactionary thoughtfully thoughtless rage, immediate end to the problem and all its projected yet false happenings which made superfluous the very lifeblood flowing through any man or woman or child. To the sole singular purpose of pressing a few simple buttons to todays essential pseudo life-giving (soul stealing) contrivance or advertisement or other lobotomized offal better known to drainage pipes and sewer systems and other some such forgotten, abandoned, set away from human senses so as not to offend, offenders of our tentative and more than ever before gelatinous hold on society…finally did the right (though mad) thing by throwing another sorry-assed lightbox out the nearest window…. which, i propose, never would have happened, had they not been driven insane.