swiss.miss

Swiss miss and her illiterati, they were slick and unfriendly, i could not get a handle on them. they reappeared one bad night in a cemetery of the living dead. how could i have forgotten? memorialized, shrink-wrapped and placed bedside for his or her personal pleasure, in the sickening days of settling spring. the city was crawling all over itself. perfect time they chose to show up, just after you took a shot of distrust to the arm.

I offered her a pipe dream to leave, sent her on a google search, chasing after an elusive $100 gift certificate to one of the old bludgeoning corporate book peddlers and thieves -- fucking Borders -- oh, how they made panhandlers out of bookshop keepers! Never could any decent community forgive them! 

I gave her a routine about signing up to test out books for free. "They lend you a pair, you break the spines, and if you don't like them (even if you do) you got ninety days to return them for a different pair." And on and on. "Work it, girl. What's the catch? All you gotta do is review them online and grab that gift certificate." I could see the avarice behind her eyes. She was on her way down the rabbit hole, but I'm sure I would see her broken soul again. These types are resilient as weeds and never go away. 

Her crew, the illiterati, could only read between lines! What good were books and Borders... they sought covers, discretion, walls. Together they insinuated one wiry upper body full of hot and senseless air. Cannot you see how I shudder to think of the lives could benefit from the air you suck, you and your crew, swiss miss? Her chub nostrils flared out at me at the top of the stairs, could I restrain myself from giving a push?

Into a marble broken fall
Blood dispersed across the smooth texture of it all
A chalky taste at the back of my throat
Homicide suddenly seemed...

okay

K reads... 'easter. contraindicate'

All material written and performed 
by Katya Mills, 2014.

easter contraindicate




in our time of dying

i’m gone. 

hawaiian

there’s always something
held down. to rise up
when the powerful
recede and fall

flashing
crashing
giants. the dust all blocks the sun.
you would think the human race
was cooked. done

demonic. corporate. selfie
goddamn! it’s made us all
unhealthy

your bottom line
at my expense.
tax dollars. audits on our common
sense

i’m feeling slighted.
perpetually tense
terrified. in the woods.
dense

gimme some ativan
no. the half life ain’t no good
3 months supply of klonopin,
doctor…understood?

wait. wait!
stop the madness.
fill the heart with easter gladness
hallmark cards and sugar peeps
high fructose-powered
liberty jeeps

give me death. no
try again
resurrection?
count to ten

count backward now 

to five
multiply by noisy 

beehive

high division fructose
mixers
pure honey
netflixers

look east!
go there!
the sun rises also
john returns to yoko

the manson family
now disbanded
atlas shrugs off
Ayn Randed

Hiroshima
molecular
non-biblical
Conjecturer
plays out inside 

a sand dune

a sheep herder finds the body

learns to fear it
the ghost and the holy 

spirit

4.20 gatherings in denver.
burning trees
to their

knees

Rated X (it won't be pretty)

The ocean had a lake effect on the sea
the sea had a lake effect on me
the feelings fell in line
one two three
agree?

the oil eaters unleashed on the spill
saved some corporation
a pretty penny

the pretty penny went for absolute nothing on
the loving kindness market
panhandlers started skipping it
like stones
between the legs of passerbys
and out into the streets
of any city

shiny penny
in the street

someone said would you hit that?
meaning a tall
                   cool
             glass of water walking by

- American for
rated R for
sexuality -

some poor slang-lacking bastard
melting in
from another country
ran out after
the shiny penny
between two parked cars
any city

by the time rush hour traffic
got the green light, well...

let's just say
it wasn't pretty

mental -iii

So i was rolling with this sweet as saccharine pretty young latin thang, on an real affective high, joining in the bipolar unilateral uncompromised brilliance of the new day, treading on an adidas insole grip, feeling like a princess for a change when suddenly she stopped and turned me around to look at this ugly street scene. She said something about getting a french roast at one of those less than average corporate coffee outfits, maybe Seattle's Best or Starfux or something. I really cannot pay attention on purpose.

Hey hey hey hey now, I said, making mad circles with the palms of my hands facing her, like I was painting a Starry Night. What did you say? 

She told me again with great controlled precision, almost irritable-like. Were she not so saccharine sticky sweet like with her unfrosted platinum blonde wig all situated like real hair on her dome, I would have been audi 5000 on the bitch. I gave her my full attention, and my pressure cooker started heating up a bit. Not a good feelingstate for my mental. I tried to channel it out of my shoulders with a roll and a couple of shrugs. But it got locked up inbetween the blades and started bouncing around in there, my chi, like a video game gone beserk. Damn. I wanted to slap the bitch already but it was just a thought.

So we went and she got her gingerbread shot or whatever, and I sat impatiently on a cold dry laminated redwood waiting. I always wondered how I got into this kinda mess. Some double-blind study was I. Blinded first by her beauty, then by my own future idyllic daydream of what life could be in the presence of said beauty. Never once did my mental suggest sitting on a plank in central yuppie, california, while holier-than-thou got a gingerbread.

Reality crept up on me and backhanded my chi out of tilt!

Rolling Allostasis Revisited -iii)

Shaking hands while shaking hands for votes of approval. What got overlooked: trash removal. On the other side of the trax, the real suffer the facts. Streets we cannot walk, hardly even drive. Cause our sense of reality got wedged between the seats, somewhere back in ‘85. One would statistically be wondering, how we're even alive. Check the pulse. Nothing there. The world under siege by an ergonomic chair. Lots of media distraction still keeps us at bay. Expecting, demanding conscious or unconscious reaction.  Poor self kept immobile. Poor spirit. In traction. A quick study, in quicksand. We need a bubble bath. Dear Calgon! Take me away! 

So we pray for you. And we pray for me. To get well and get conscious. Paradigmically free. Because it's hard every day. We fall back in odd patterns. Relearning our rings, all the way out to our Saturns. Whoops. There's another infraction: for shooting your mouth, your gun-- or your plan to extend nafta  further south. Like to yucatan peninsula. Somewhere most US Americans cannot locate on a map.

The media takes a nap on the reporting of corporate rule of one-star countries. Per Zagat new rating. Comp the countries like comparing motels. So offensive and intended, cause lord knows that shit sells. Controversy creation  a frequent occupation; if the interview for the position ends in controversy... you're hired. The placating drone in some den of iniquity down the street, getting wired. Lets pray another drone will not be sired. One model getting old? have it retired. Controversy prevention must be hardwired.

But what can we tell you about the one going sideways? The one whose engineering was perfectly misdirected. The one who took the controls away from the autopilot? The curiosity to all? The female Nietzche down the way? The fascinating one down the hall?

We could say chosen one, not for wanting to mislead. We can tell you for sure she was easy to love as the female lead. We learned to care about her, respect her, feeling her. Connecting on non-verbal levels. Collaborating on astral planes. Jumping the devil. Or 1940's era trains. The beat signature line. Ooh la la! She’s a part of you, a part of me. She may be difficult to see. She will get us out of our really tight spot. Shes the fancy persuasion. She's your connect. You're liaison. When she walks the street these days. Let's put it this way: its en masse, an Occasion...

[to be continued]