american farm

headlong

into your production

up at scratch every morning

intermittent flapping of eyelash

your ineffable ways 

like the moon but not a phase

ina daze you amaze 

every harvest  

#katyamills

m by memory -xi (fin)

Yes, being WIRED had coalesced cultures all across the earth, simply the most powerful force in the paradigm shift. What normally took the flash of a couple hundred years in the pan, took only a hundred plus, facilitated by the mighty conveyance of internet connection. Many subcultures rebelled against the seated powers once they became aware (almost instantaneously for common citizens, dependent only on the functionality of a modem in an electric grid) of the relative freedoms other cultures and countries had which they had not and wanted. They got restless under the thumbs of a ruling class they had limited stake in appointing. None of these performances on the dramatic stage of sentient theatre had the innocence of virgin material, there would be no immaculate conception by so and so producer, writer, director, star, or egocentric asshole. There would be no trailblazing invention at all. It became clear that you go with what you have, your essential ingredients, and make something more of it. Make a clearing and let it grow. Any farmer could rule the day. Meanwhile the old controllers and their desperate need for control would be stripped to the wire,  primitive and unworthy looking, and frayed. Easily spotted for removal by the arbitrators of theatre in whatever form they chose to express: tv, movie, made for tv movie, short in some indy festival, drawing on some ipad, page in some kid's sketchpad. It didn't matter! Just as the tarnishing of heart and soul, in a rusty mechanical sort of perfectionism, could be caught on an intellectual hook and pulled up and out of the path of vital life,  so could the real, unblemished heart and soul of common decency be ever sparkling for us to see and believe. And so we would have cause to celebrate again. Love was out in the open. Then back to work again.

strawberry. a reaching

Strawberry season. I try to get my teeth to cut in and meet just below the stalk, so none will be wasted. The taste is so refreshing, so full of cool water and sugar. Always cool in the middle. The spectrum of red in the flesh is sweet to the eye. Eye candy. And the flavor hits so many spots on the tongue. I can't take it! Now look closely and touch the surface of the berry. The seeds are spaced quite evenly apart, yet one is lucky to draw a straight line through them. Run your finger slowly across with your eyes closed, and you will feel how they protrude from the flesh. The forensics told the tale, and the strawberry was there at the crime scene. The imprint matched a particular berry patch in Solano County. Some berries had gone missing, a farmer testified, and they were known to run wild! i was invited to investigate this case. i took a cross section of the strawberry. i was supposed to use an exacto knife, but (please keep my confidence) i used my front teeth to slice through the tender berry sample they gave me. so delicious! then i examined the cross section as indicated. amazing what i found! all the seeds you see patterning the outer reaches of the berry, pressing out from the corps, are actually attached to white tendrils which connect to the heart of the berry. in its evolution, the strawberry has literally shot its seeds out from the center! and around the clear paths, the white tails and trails, the transparent flesh has formed, and calcified in the center. the strawberry looks to be full of a network of straws! the straws end at the reach of the seed. the strawberry, i determined, is not a berry at all! it is a reaching! a striving! toward destiny!