fight for it!

He served in the Navy and had been a pilot. They thumbed through scrapbooks together and he showed her. There were photos of him arm to arm with his brother and father, both who were aviators before him. It was an intergenerational thing, a legacy. She didn't have to act impressed. When she fell on hard times he volunteered to cover her lodging and food until she could get herself situated. He would not take no for an answer. She said she could handle it but he read between the lines. He would have kept her safe to perpetuity. She loved him a little before all this. They were both fighters. She would love him a little more for loving her, afterward, by heading out into the world with renewed strength to fight for her life. 

 #katyamills

wanting to believe

if i could help you i would. maybe i can by being grown up and not so easily hurt. i guess we all struggle with wanting to believe we are loved.

transcend. journal 14 july

the great force i sometimes seek to embellish or highlight my mundanity, is located in the heart of the stillness of the chaos. somehow every day i manage to pick myself up (and coffee helps) and put my old self together and step out into the responsibility i feel to live a full if not helpful life in the chaos of old earth. i have a little ocd compulsion while driving the midtown streets whereby i check back to a purple inked textbook i rely on professionally, which sits in the center of the backseat catching light beneath the canopy, my only passenger, and bring my eyes back to the curve of the chipped windshield and my path before me, and i will reach an arm back and press the heel of my hand against the glossy finish, too. i don't know why i do this but it grounds me. life is fucked up. we ought to be good to ourselves, be caring.

bastille day 2017

i wanna be helpful to anyone i can, when i am at my best. in the heart of the stillness of the chaos, is located the great spirit i seek to sustain me. somehow i manage every day. i realize more and more there is nothing we cannot overcome now. we were born to be here and handle this. we can transcend any challenge no matter how large, simply by having the guts to face it. show up, confront it, walk through it. we were born to love and be loved.

once dream cars now we need help

We need help, too, our once dream cars now smoking on the freeway and off the next exit not far from home, thankfully, pulling over to the side of the first street off the ramp not being swept today and no meter, thankfully, and not the worst neighborhood in the good old usa, thankfully, and release the hood and look under it at the old beast, V8 like the juice, and the radiator's miserably old and fucked, she's gonna need to be cool before we wanna twist that top, we need help and we drop the hood and head in any direction, searchin ourselves for the local friend to lend a hand, cell phone's dead, legs dead from a heavy day of work in the city, week long and no one's home to put an iron to those worn out clothes, the way we dress reflectin our feelin inside, we need help, edging over a desk into an office space, delivered back with an easy full swipe of any screen, lit like a lamp with a high wattage eco-unfriendliness in the atmosphere

after hours cuz there's nothing else to do, overtime cuz extra cash is a screw, locking into union squares with high echelon affairs, all these bios laid out sick and sweetly with photos on websites pushing free streams well into the vingt-et-un of our recorded history, centuries upon centuries of layer cake separated by cream cheese, thought we had a whole generation of twenty/something concentration high kids worldwide leaning and dancing into our wondrous worlds of fluff, they definitely related well with our sundried front street placard mentality, they did our snuff, waxed with plastic veneer smiles over reality. we thought we were badasses big thumbing and wet through sacred pages now soiled -- and oh how we fell -- cried when we came across our beloved mimeo-copied verse, generous endowment long, sticky fat thumbprints on the cornices, pages I through XLX... who needs sex? not us, thankfully. we need help.

future.past.present

My future

innocent

untouched
pure

delicately woven
by my touch

i cry
to think
upon



My past is

starved
pale
and dark

thinking about it

i burst into
tears

sometimes



My life now

simple
not effortless

thrilling
not lonely

creation
behind the
keys

just

 
right


KatYa

Journal # 03.15.15

Aquamarine is the color for today. I found it in a meeting room in Sacramento just this morning. You can call it forgiveness. Don't let these resentments burn you up inside, please! You can do something about it. Sometimes it starts with remembering a time when you did something and felt unforgiven. You wished desperately for some way to forgive yourself, and even when you found a way, you still felt unforgiven -  the one you had harmed never spoke to you again. This has happened to everyone, somewhere along the line. From this memory of your own undoing, you have a chance! The chance is aquamarine. I think it is. Something warm and cool at the same time. I talked to someone I had been scared of for a long time now. Then I talked to someone who I had felt resentment toward, for a short time. In both cases, I made myself stay in the other person's presence just long enough to relax a little. Talk to them. Respect them this way. The feeling was aquamarine. The moment was forgiveness.

Journal # 03.12.15

I wanna stop all the nonsense and get back to the real. It is not for you to question me about what is real. It is not for me to decide what is real to you. This is what I like about it. Reality is personal. No one's got a lock on it. I used to smile watching people try to force their brand of reality down the collective throat. What an hopeless endeavor! The smile has gone away. I don't like to see how it hurts them trying. What a desperation about it. That's cold. Maybe I can talk to them. Maybe someone tried to shut them down, and told them what they think is real, is not. So now they are on a mission to show everyone just how real their real is? Maybe they just need to be seen and heard, and appreciated for a moment. Reassured that no one's gonna take their real away from them. Maybe that would help? There's a lot of wounded little children out there, in big adult bodies. Who am I to hate a wounded child? I wanna help a wounded child. I wanna help! Well, that's my real, anyway. I guess I just got back.