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.

Rolling Allostasis -fin)

This girl. My great friend. She would be in her thirties wherever she may be today. Don't get me wrong, not all is lost. I have her in spirit. And she. She has me. Our paths diverged, converged, and diverged again. But that only makes room for a natural confluence in times to come. Until then, I will remember. Every day I must remember. How we braided one another's hair. Mine was dark. Hers was fair. Softly tucked into one another's love and friendship. Spinning in ascending spirals of synchronicity. We both had hard lives. Spare moments, like tires, we reserved for felicity otherwise contraindicated. Our belief systems ran through us, like a syndicate. We talked serious about light things like cloud formations, on an otherwise sunny day. We fried our eggs runnyside down, on an otherwise sunnyside up ticket. We had this magic of making light of what was always considered  heavy serious, and vice versa. The kind of deep shallow friendship most everyone's always looking for. She made me laugh and inspired me to see things her way. We had an benevolent kinda influence over us. Sunnyside us, in our evolving door of trust. She thought i was hella cool, and i thought her the same. We were never disappointed. Except by all those earlier years lost, passing one another by in the great halls of our separate schools of life. I was held back because i broke too many rules. She was pushed ahead, because they couldn't handle her. We didn't hurt anyone. Just coloring outside the lines, creating new paths of learning that veered sideways of the clear expectation. We made them uncomfortable, so they made us the same. But until we found one another, we could not feel fully appreciated. I guess.

Culture began to stall, when shit got comfortable. Unable replaced the able. Complicated the simple. Made no sense to us. We were easy targets based in our culture of fringes and folds where those marked and judged can be pushed and hidden, you know, like this great free country, yes? But still a box, a little ice tray mold into which the spirit is poured and then frozen. And then consumed? Not us! Though assimilated, we would never be accepted. We would not melt in any mouths. So we became something of great fortitude. Thank goddess we found one another for that great moment in time! While the populace fell to platitudes. Unremarkable. Mid-range.

And all her life the others in it, they considered her strange, and preferred her estranged. They watched her. Invited her. And tried to embrace. But she was bouncing that spirit all over the place.
Could not sit still. To her, life was to no end, a thrill. She listened to short wave on transistor. When the short wave broke, she cried. Your outdated! her little sister said, watching her sipping from a crazy straw planted in a New Coke.

She raised no objection. Circa 1985, and she knew it. Just liked to get under the nerves, hit the CNS sideways. Like pharmaceutical Adderal's gonna save you from stress? There was a shiver. Transistor radio. She shook it hard. Still wouldn't deliver. Purely mad for a moment, was she. Mad mixed with strange, created a rolling allostasis. She arched her back, crossed her legs, and entered held prayer stance. Energy flowed through her spine, chakra to chakra. Short wave breakbeat broke through pores of wood - so slow she could still catch it...and she would.

Remember. She is strange. Oceans of sound = place she reside. With flora and fauna, she lets herself wash in with the tide. Found often by fishermen, but never side by side. Incomparable. Unusual. Only self-referential. Be careful reading into her! If she trusts you, she may confide.

Remember, she's strange. Handle her with care. Whatever your arrangement, you must rearrange. Reconfigure central cortex, adjust it two firewall lengths down. Then you may be lucky to touch into her-  but only if she looks to be found.

Often hiding in shade with the lights drawn blue. Often sharing her heart, not what's in it for you.  She's a catfish among perch. She's treble to the bass. She will come up for air when you just got attached. She was a champion of indigenous peoples for the better part of the past century. She was indigenous to herself, and life, her own fascination...

She had only understood her life was hers, after a long drawn out anticipation. Like the breath of the divine into the void...for creation.

Katya Mills   07/13 kissilent.wordpress.com