impress.ion

A stamped imprint is an impression you have on the world. Once the ink dries, the thing upon which you (the idea of you) have been fastened, takes flight into the crosscurrents of daily life. These energy fields we run in are countless! Everything changes. You can become something else in an instant! Years later we will all understand. Only then may they know by what became of your impression, what they missed.

imprinted. 4 life

These are not simply memories which are recalled to haunt and thrill me from time 2 time, no, these experiences I have had, the powerful ones, are accessible always, and you will find them in the way I speak, the way I think, the way I walk, the way I feel... you see, my friends, we have been imprinted and this is 4 life.

The life (lived) sinks to the deepest part of you, floating in a pendulum arc to rest upon your bedrock, where all is cool and slow-motion, your hard drive, safe and preserved, and takes form of an emanation, begins to glow! The loves, the friends, the places, the losses, our greatest moments and cavernous falls. The rush of it all, and yet resides in us, and when we meet again following some passage in time, you see the change in me, and I the difference in you. This light is not unlike sitting down with the beaten back pages of your favorite book, water-stained and dog-eared, tarnished and soft in your hands in your belly in your heart on a rainy day, deeper than any tattoo.

A song comes along in the cloud, have I told you how it hits me? Any one of the numbers between 1973 and 2017 and now I am all curled up focused in the center of the novel, all the many faces all the actors situating themselves inside the pressure of my blood. The world is one of endless colors then. I am who I was all over again, and it makes me.

It made me so. Made me who I am and for that I am thankful. I will never regret a drop of it, a day, an hour, a starstruck moment in my own endless night.  I may have changed, my dear, but only for the better and only for the best!  I am and we are all of the world which has touched us, though we maybe long ago hiked ourselves right off that decrepit map... we found bypass.

  - KatYa, 2017

Journal # 04.05.15

The curious case of a furious pace we establish over the mean dream of time. The still life was painted all around me. I was a blur. A gif instead of an image anymore. Do you see me clearly? What I mean is what you mean to me. Yes I find myself blasting the walls with forgetfulness. Whitewashing the pain. The photos of my family getting old and unimaginable. The dust settling. In a time exposure it collects like snow. That mean dream of time. I want you all to stay still for a moment, can you, while I inhale you? Drive through and discard the materials. Take the Home and leave the Depot. Inhale me. Leave me with your days of heartfelt laughter, nights of lonely pain. Do not worry. Together we will walk the tracks. Then momma rings the bell and calls us home. I will see you clearly through windexed windows but we cannot touch through the glass. There will be white gloves today, and soft hands. Church-like.

katya by katya '15

Underneath the facades the fingers with fingerprints hold the history of all our lives. The indelible mark the world has made on you and me. Watch me close as I play a song out of my tummy on my breath, and call the fingerprint up like a cobra, unraveling and floating into the air. Then we will wrap it like ink into a sleeve around our arms and be amazed. You are much more than you ever intended. Blow up your french pressed purposes and back to the source. The single origin flat whites in the whistling sand of the Sahara. The white cottons will protect and camouflage us from the drones delivering x and y boxes to the consumers. This is not our business. We are on pilgrimage by the path of our black and blueprints. Many days together, all alone, in the open space of many flavored silences. The nuances will delight us. The flood is coming. It comes from within. Do not distract away from your own birth rights. The pain is only immediate, flashing. The redemption is outside the club. In the cool night air. Passing the smokers remanded to their habit, hugging the walls, friends for life. I talked to them. I was a blur. I chased my fingerprint without demur. The dream become reality. A furious pace. A curious case.

enveloped in media glaze - v

there we are
the us in nostradamus
under the bridge of celebrity
worship

drinking coffee
eating the media glazed
donuts

promising each other miracles
just to stay sane

there we are
lacing and weaving
the words
some of the dopest beats
just to stay sane

you and me
took the same classes
on different streets

hell razors
on a cold day. indeed

internally enveloped
not yet delivered
preoccupied with raising hell

a roll of the thumb
carries the imprint of culture

we made some premonitions
and put them in the freezer
no problem at all
to thaw

with the orange juice
on the counter
mix with water
then drink

effing with the time-space
continuum