5.11.25

let nothing eclipse your heart

#katyamills

1.24.25

 if you lose your way

focus on one word at a time

place your palm over your heart

and ask it to speak

#katyamills

cinco

my heart 

scarred by daggers

lodged with bullets

sensuous

beats on

#katyamills

go fish

back home 

staining they sketchpads with inks

up all night alone they would not buy the lies for free

misfit friends in they head. loner celebration

extinguished the tv and touched the room with radio

they cast they line 

deep and trolled for broken

hearts

#katyamills

dead or alive

sometimes

if you get very still with yourself

and listen closely

the palm of your hand on your chest

your heart will tell you

all you need 

to know

if you get nothing

call the doctor

you may be dead

#katyamills

see by the heart

a fallen mood made my eyes

hide. they opened when asked

to lean into the demands of the day 

then closed like a book of magick

in time i would learn to see by

my heart. in time to see

by the heart  #katyamills 

corazón

the crows fight the wind for me 

and my burrito in this corazón of cloudy misty sea

far from our valley of perpetual 

sunshine where down moods 

cannot anchor

you asked for a kiss

and i gave

#katyamills

8mm

the heart finally spoke out like cinema
ina condemned theatre
tape rolling through a bell howell
projector dug from an archive. the heart
finally spoke out
the light cast upon the wall
bringing the past to life for
the heart never dies

#katyamills

pulse @ 39

The medical tech excused herself to speak with her supervisor. She hid her worry rather well. I was in a gown after an EKG. I had a paperback in hand, from the donated library in the waiting room. This happened almost every time. I was once living at high speeds. Sleepless nights. Racing around to no end. Years ago I exited my madness. Since then life has been something to cherish in slow motion. Few sudden surprises. When I saw her, she looked relieved. I asked her the number. Today my pulse chimes in @ 39.

tamales in little saigon

We got tamales in little saigon on a sunday morning. We were arguing over petty nonsense in the car. I admit I get a little restless in love, for the  idea that some day the one I love I may not hold any longer, i may not have any longer, disturbs me so...my heart recedes into a protective place under a sleeve, like the tamale wrapped in skin and folded in plastic.

capture

if you captured my heart
would you break it?

the days
they are long
and i don't believe i
can survive

envy of a ghost

Would the soul cry out if it were being hurt, or would it take its licks salty dead silent? I don't know but the operation went smooth (they say) and they removed the organ intact and placed it in the care of a preservation society. I don't feel any different, except that I have no soul. I have found myself out politicking and bloodsucking, which were never part of my M.O. in the past, but seem to fit my personality so perfectly now. I think I may write myself in for president next Tuesday. Such are the ways of a woman - sans soul.  Trying to compensate for the loss, I mean, though again I say I never felt better in my life, and shook hands with several doctors and a nurse. They even allowed me to put my palms up against the glass and peer in upon the many incubating souls in one dedicated room leased out by the chairman of some board, and I tried to locate mine and yes, I believe I found it! calling for me from one far sanitary corner. My breath steamed the glass and condensed. I stiffened up to suddenly realize a part of me was gone, and no small part indeed. But I comfort myself with my hand in my pocket wrapped around the thick fold of bills. I can properly say farewell and shout through the long empty echo chambers of my heart: "IT WAS WORTH IT!" Today I shall go and have myself fitted by my personal shopper, with all the fineries of a twenty-first century lady. By noon I can see myself peering into the floor to ceiling mirror, in the deep fault of re-cognition. An extravagant and spacious feeling, I am sure! But an envy of a ghost.

when i hurt i want you to feel hurt too sometimes

I know not where you live
i live here
in the heart of my head
in the heart of creation
in the heart of disaster

dawn by KatYa

in the heart

i know not how you live
i live here

recklessly in relation
bubbling into air
scratching recreation

falling
off glass

here

i know not why
i am passionately
uninvolved

- KatYa

Journal # 03.07.15

Someone will take me apart for sure. In me they will find a small treasure, not long for this earth. A heart which beats unexpectedly strong through all its scar tissue. The scars are dark and long, and tell of relationships all gone wrong. The beat is made in America, though it could be made in your beautiful country as well. It beats for silent mornings of fresh snow. It beats for nights long ago, drunk and high in magnificent clubs warehousing the dancing exuberance. Youth of Chicago. It beats for kittens come and gone, taken by dogs and cars and God. The scars hold the blood in. The blood is blue for me and you. The blood is purple mountains majesty. The blood has thinned in California, steeped in wine and sun and golden gate rouge. My system is a centrifuge. My dreams circulate. Making rounds of institutions. Geometry like a web. The architectural brilliance of our cities. I am but a little chaos in a lined and static blueprint. I am lost and found all over again. Take me apart. I'm yours.

the golden roses technique

i cannot believe
where the mind
will go

sometimes
to hell and back

resurfacing my heaven
in black

under the hot and
featherless
tar

writhing
kicking
screaming
ticking

my heart with her
leavening tale
to tell

describes the only
way out...

i will blow golden roses
up in my head
to fissure and crack
the thoughts
jet black

haunting me monday
to sunday
and back

once i found a way
to turn the black gray
then dilute all to colors
with tears

took me forty years
and one

and now the mind lies
sometimes
vacant and
quiet

the desperate work
has been
done


© Katya Mills

Renewed - gone large label back to navel

Some drama came into the scene. Drama! To excite the stale air. To fuck up anyone's agenda. Anarchy!
Some spent out on long nights and hazy days between command central (some adulator's basement or garage) and the civic center. Planned protest! The sound of it makes most young activists want to switch and become substitute teachers... probably most do. Or join the green party ranks. Or jump off some bridge. Or move to Amsterdam or Vancouver. Or talk on talk radio.  To be located and chicken-wired into a city 4 block radius by choice? Planned Protest? More like planned parenthood for dizzy girls spun dry from wet, half show up to the clinic because everyone's betting they will be -- but they aren't! -- pregnant yet.

All washes away, tears and problems and headaches and trash. But the drama remains. A great decompression hits the air, and electricity unloads upon the city and picks up pavement like legs over jumpropes. Feelings around the block are so diverse and tangential, burning like coals in the eyes and faces of those who live deep in the heart of the American city.  Every American city, from Quebec to Tijuana, Houston to Montreal, Toronto to Rio de Janeiro. Feelings are burning and so alive. Need no lighter fluid because the (sent by the sun) solar flares have arrived.

The fabric of life undervalued and torn. Woven across the city in dust colored thread, corn rows
and baggy clothes. Bare hands. Bare feet and calloused toes. Life in the streets was intense as hell, and when you survived the day and met the night, nothing else could be so sweet. Sewn back together ends of days - and carefully self-placed in the bed. Eye of needle sees the thread and closes ranks. Send in the dreams, the fortified tanks.

by Karen Garman, 2011

I found myself in a jam....reluctance berry preserves -- grown on common kinda ground, and a salve to the disheartened lost souls like myself. I knew. I saw them reaching for the same jars in the same grocery outlets. We had the same eyes and fears and blood pressure.

I found myself in a jam. Halfway through my peanut butter sandwich. But I saw no end to the torment I fought so hard to get over. I struggle and effort and fight and try. And why?  My mood, my status and my affect --my sense of myself in this chair this room this house this hood this town this city this country this world this universe this emptiness. Senseless sometimes. I can feel so foolish, my reputation fallen. My spirit lost and out there somewhere lookin' for me. Callin' and callin'.

I feel the shift always into drama.  Like when the burn through the subway the burn through the atmosphere the burn through my oats and honey and brown sugar. The burn in my belly. The burn of hot chlorinated tap water spraying out the pipes onto my thin skin.

 I might stop. Mid-sentence. Mid-summer. Mid-night. Or any other time I choose. I might.

 If we are speaking then of course I will not stop like that, no way. I cannot afford to stop! Hey! I might pull too quickly away from vacuuming the room to do the dishes. Or vice versa. Then in moments I realize the track switchers switched my tracks without my clear knowledge, and it burns me but its a slow burn like St Louis ribs or a the extremities exposed to high altitudes, low temperatures. I suppose i will taste good when the fuckers eat me the hell up! Haha. Hey! I did not mean to stop. I didn't stop at all, in fact. Prove it! No no no, give me another chance, will ya? I know its your show. I got carried away. Thought I was the main act! You got me excited, though, it was you! So come on man, shit. Give me a break!

Too fuckin' bad i am still without a studio. Thanks to my big mouth shot off again. Interviews so close to complete. Bank account so far from replete. To shut it all out and pay attention to this channel is all I know to do. All i can do, all i am able to. My last trick, come on. Show some compassion? Meet me underwater, where all distractions die and everyone knows the party's relocated to Paris. And Paris is right there, right fucking there! I swear!

I had to drop the many ways I came to greet you. No announcement. Like you.Your arrival unexpected, split second! Kinda brutal. We like it like that here in this little earthen corner of the sky earth water joint. Don't we get along so well? I study you within the four walls, floor and ceiling. But never confined, no, always free you are to float toward or away from me and us and this condition cannot condition the unconditionable -- that is you. You make me crazy, whatever whomever however you are.

 I was green, yes,  but not for long. Maybe only St Patricks, and felt like an imposter even then. Maybe as a kid? But I felt older then, when I was younger I felt much much older. Can you hear the stress in my voice as I raise to the rafters my own? my drama? I demand it, damn it! They get theirs, so im gonna get mine! I will be juvenile like third grade elementary if necessary. This is the kinda sacrifice I will make.

 I opened the door, yeah, but too many times. The door is now a japanese hand fan. Today and maybe tomorrow. The nickel bags of weed turned into quarter ounces rolled in dimes. This all started in the nineties, and took so long to leave behind me. The ones among them true, dropped out my life in pairs. I took the stairs and waved goodbye looking down at you in your descent, over the rail, and over my head you went.

You may have seen them in the hall, did you? Bounced like checks before they fall. You so fortunate, my dear, to see all this in the rear mirror view. Had you lit up the scene with your presence fine I know, the colors would bleed out. What commenced blue might have finished lacking color. Maybe not completely taken out, but still so far from feeling right. Like putting on those fresh dry unpressed cottons and feeling still too hot and yet beneath your skin you feel cold, ya know? Okay, well what is mine is mine! Something unique to me, calming that way, like I am somebody no one else be, like I am a singular moving object in a forest of trees.

Turn on, huh. Oxygenated really...wow what a turn on!   (to be continued)...