1983

our senses gone

an unbroken dawn 

cracks and poaches its whites by the sea

the folding of time into the sun and elements 

overexposed the same

no one to blame 

adventure magnificent and tragic 

we will never love like that 

again

#katyamills

1980 kid. Halloween

Reaching for pulp in the pumpkin. Adults are huge with long arms and legs. Telling you what not to do. Tom and Jerry. Oriental rugs. Big painted doors and backlit doorbells. Holding sweaty hands. Candles in lanterns and long shadows cast by the moon.  Itchy Fuzzy sweaters. Trick or Treat!

IT'S HARD

i remember our old town, early eighties. we were kids, riding our ten speeds out for some records or ice cream or pizza or movies, and usually to your house same day. find some trees to climb or trouble to get into. even then i felt different and it made me uneasy around people. painful sometimes. but i always felt i could be myself around you. i wonder what you're up to now. life is hard, isn't it? i wish i could find you and take you down some dirt path where we could talk, and i thank you.

the opening is tbd. byo latchkey

we were...

latchkey kids. made deaf beneath 

the wall of sound

of the industry

of the landscape
in the head

we played arcade games

to recover and chewed bubble 

gum and drew on ourselves

with ballpoint pens 

dumb kids. not stupid just 

contextually thin

lacking or without sense or

the means to make

sense

hungry for relevance
starved of context 

ignorant of our rights 

we no longer studied our 

country's constitution

in high school

we microwaved tv dinners

and rode our bikes into the 

night with duran duran baking

our heads by transistor

radio

stressed kids. the trance-like induction 

of environmental stressors fill

the internal auditorium

teeming life of feelings acid-washed
a sensitive study of self
unreleased

abbreviated from an lp to an ep

the world stops when the record store is closed
the opening is tbd

you are all invited
statistics will be gathered

and fall upon us
with friends

new cokes slim jims leg warmers

byo latchkey

KatYa, 2017

read books sipping new coke outta crazy straws and dub the nights away

The only news i'm gonna read anymore is about books. i will read books and write books and read about books read and written. i will also be happy to read about unwritten (and therefore unread) books and books remembered that once were forgone or forgotten.  banned books will be a priority. translated books will be fine though i will prefer the native tongue. i may even learn another language if it helps. i will hashtag books in search queries all over the dam place. i was once an english major and truthfully got sick of reading books and books about books. most of them were novels. and i even stopped reading them though i never stopped writing them. i went into the dark room and redeveloped a fondness for paper and letters, alighted by fixer and tongs. the chemical baths in the house woulda made an ordinary old maid very sick. but this strange one (i call me) saw words appear out of letters in the shallows of the print trays in the shadowless red light district of my kitchen. digital was a four letter word in my house and if you spoke of oneupmanship in megapixel cameras on mobile phones, you would find your throat cut and the crime scene captured on old minoltas. we were in love all over again. we had books and manual inautomatons. we had tinfoil on the windows. the smell of formaldehyde and the spinning of drying prints in the hamster wheel (minus hamster). we locked ourselves in closets with one finger on a tape lead to a cartridge like a silver rubix cube with a hard on for mysterious. our lexicon was unadulterated by robots. ink from an inkwell was in fashion. we got the led out on old boxes with long silver antennae. newspaper print sullied our clothes. the speakers splashed by many a paint project outdoors and dual tape decks whereby we would sip new coke outta crazy straws and dub the nights away.