California

formless in her ex boyfriend's sweatshirt she walked to the end of this dreary American town. no one could tell how fast her heart was beating. formless before the heat of a dull summer day. how very long she had dreamt of this moment. this highway. California. 

#katyamills

ultra tons of glitter and glue

their opinions 

dragged on inside her skull for years

carrying the tune until

one forlorn day

she picked up a despondent note

by the handle

stuck it with ultra tons

of glitter and glue

crafted an off key

to unlock her super

future

#katyamills 

what was coming

dye their hair
various shades of blue
swallow a hundred social ales
generous at the bar
with me and you
purveyor of bad deeds
known by many names
which stood up
even if they fought off a few
by closing time
never fails
toss a coin
head or tails


they got what was coming

#katyamills

write off

try living it

try being it

then may you honor its rightful place in the 

universe

and yours   

#katyamills

murder hornet spelling bee

my friend was labeled can

no longer fly the sky free they

put a target on his back the

sweetest bird i know! my friend the 

only uproar he ever caused back 

in elementary when he took on 

the bumbles and won the

spelling bee 

#katyamills

what the hell

i didn't know

what the hell i 

was doing

i lacked insight

i lacked judgment

but i did what i did

and i did

what i could

and survived and

now i know

what the
hell

where do i go

i spoke up for somebody 

no one wanted to 

listen 

they had lodged their 

beliefs. the ones huddled

in the cold waiting their turn

at a room got turned

away

i was left shaken

almost defeated

unable to defend 

a friend

where do i go

when the system fails?

where do i go

i go home i drink tea i

read books i i i i pray i

get lost in my thoughts i

do not wanna care

you and me we

exist

missing

they missed me
they did. i was over under
 or around their little
ideas of me

they will miss you
too

so will i
i will miss you
will you
miss me?

what are we
if not missed

kids (life as lab)

When I was a kid I witnessed attributes and played with them. I wanted to know what would happen when I behaved a certain way. This was life as laboratory. I tried lying and got caught. I tried being super nice to people I didn't know. I tried bullying, after I myself was bullied. I tried kissing my friends (with their consent). I tried doing chores without being asked. I tried fighting with fists. I tried reading a book from beginning to end without stopping.

If an adult caught me experimenting this way, I would often be earmarked from that moment forward based on my behavior. This was called judgment and came very easy to them. I learned not to trust adults very well.

wednesday again

I took off my glasses so I could see you clearly. Out from under our shared history. Outside of cultural narratives and bias. Free from all rumor and gossip and media glaze...i loved what I saw.

who you are

My sweater has holes in it and you will not forgive me.
I tell you I bought it this way and now you really cannot forgive me.
I tell you I lied, I made it, I cut these holes with knives when I was bored.
You stop blinking and stare.

Trying to smoke
me out.

I shrug and pour myself a cup of coffee.
I'll never be who you want me to be.
And I forgive you.
You seem to always have that look on your face. In my kitchen.
It's who you are.

under the influence of and blindsided by life

what is left to do but live when all the other meaning i ever thought life carried no longer holds me, no way, all is left is the life itself and whomever orchestrated this party clearly let me figure it out for myself, hey, there's nothing can be figured by it, there is little use for an outline for a story that changes every instant, imperceptibly most of the time, punctuated by obvious dramatic incidents, unraveling in a rhythm decided by greater forces than self and self-will - whether you call it god or not, there it is showing you up all the time - and i could begin to really love it if only i could accept it, but tend to fight it all the while, not sayin' im against change, no way, but i guess i get attached like any young fool i wanna hold on to the meaning i created and not let go, the meaning i share with you, as we unravel the way we do, pretty sometimes, funny, tragic sometimes, for i cherish it and maybe that's what a book is to me, writing a book, capturing a sliver of cherished meaning, so we can have it, you and me, so we can know in twenty sixteen this was how it was for a hot second, glorious, tumbled off of a platform and raising dust, confused and intoxicated as life is, under many an influence, troubled and reflective, comin apart at the seams, belligerent, graceful sometimes, then colliding again with the water, the air, the earth, blindsided by the spirit, chanted away on a fallen sun, going dark again, colorful at dawn, vital, full of hope and bloodied shows we're made of something, and - no matter the violent wannabes tryin to ruin what we got - the sure thing won't ever change is our rising up with an ever touched fortitude to show them we can love them, too, despite themselves spun into lost causes, for we have been lost, too, and only found ourselves like old friends to embrace and move courageously into the lucid dream in precarious identities under our skin, deepening the experience only by giving and giving into. And out of my mind i go, crazy and unregimented - sometimes in ink - zigzagging under the influence of strange and unseen elements, having a grand and grainy absorption, laughin and cryin, talkin and sleepin, knowing no other way but here, but now, discardin the limited perception, struggling to make somethin of it, and so what's made is what is, and what is is pretty damn spectacular, i mean, what is left to do but live, when all the meaning you ever made no longer holds you, no way, is that freedom or what? Whether we want it or not it's not about what we want, is it, it's only lived and the living never wears out, just as sure as perception has its limits, we see death when nothing ever dies, life keeps living and nothing will stop it! Not even the end of this earth, so goddamn! Whose to worry? All is left is the imperceptible ever changing, punctuated by obvious dramatic moments, spaced by space, unitive when embraced, divided when not, judged all along, fading into sunsets, risen into colors, drawn out over time, blessed by the blessings, covered in earth, supported on the back of the wind, falling like the water, breaking in a wave, bleached by the sun, suffering in darkness, and tremendously reunited, partying til dawn, siesta all day, coffee in the evening, writing at night, diving into books, driven into meaning,  making use of what we've been given... loving every second if you are lucky and figure out how to give in: so give in, my friend, give in.   - KatYa, 2016 (celebrating blog post #1,000)

i write books

The past was in the past and there was no changing it, I had come to accept some of the terrible ways that I was, at a time when i knew neither how to love nor take care of myself, love affairs that got hot and then got colder than ice, and died on a silver platter served up to the gods because we could no longer manage our own broken human entanglements. The gods were angry at us for sure. We were like selfish children fighting and pulling each other's hair but neither of us was more dangerous than we were to ourselves. The only solution I saw was to surrender up my lifestyle and admit personal defeat on all levels, and I did. The year was 2012. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence, loved me still and showed me some light. I was ready to end it all and start from scratch, and I did. The following years would be painstaking, with nightmares and memories nobody would want to claim as their own, anxiety and depression stirring up and weighing down the bones, feelings of loneliness and shame, sadness in seeing what I had done to myself and how I hurt the ones who loved me. Yet as I worked hard to forge a new and enduring lifestyle, the gods began to smile upon me again and gave me a little more light every day. I raised kittens from six weeks old, Boo and Mouse. I wrote books and made some new friends. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence began to come a little closer. Soon we would strike the heart of the matter, and my basic faith would be restored. I tried to reach out and heal the wounds of the past - not everyone wanted me back - the point is I tried and would keep trying hard. I was honest and accountable for all the worst parts of my nature; the lies and deceptions and attempts to manipulate situations to my favor, out of fear, out of avarice, out of selfish desire, an endless burning inside of me. A fire I channel now into something worth giving, to make up for the sad way in which I was living for so long, the addiction clouding my vision back then, when I was lost and alone subjected to contempt and derision. Life works itself out you know, and over and over I had to acquiesce, dropping to my knees in a helpless and hopeless emotional state. I wrote books. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence gave me a chance and I took it, and - look at me now - I have come a long way and doing my best, out of the clouds and feeling refreshed, coffee my drug and fuck all the rest! The haters still trying sometimes to get into my peace and into my head and sometimes succeeding for a moment - like last night - but when the emotions stirred up and I cannot breathe anymore, feeling the pain they wanna inflict, all I have to do is stop absorbing it and don't fight back and remember I am only left with myself and my gods and what we know to be true, the pain can subside in the rain. I wrote books and I wrote them for me and for you. In the darkest of nights like tonight we will find, the true design, the judgment of others wash away down the grate to their fate, and the time people spend knocking us reflects more on their character, for what would they want? an apology? something more? why they are pressing to hurt my old feelings is not my affair or concern anymore. Impoverishment of the spirit is a dead end you see, I have given it up for life. I want only the best out of anyone I meet, whether it be at home, online, in the coffeehouses, on the street. They can hunt me down to hurt me with their jealousy and rage, bringing up the past which has already been played. I won't give in to hypocrisy and lies. I won't have my character assaulted or assassinated anymore. I write books. I work hard and am cleansed by my craft. I dedicate my life to this cause, fait accompli. If you have not already seen in me the life and the love - pay close attention - you will see.

Journal # 02.20.15

Thursday. Judgment Day for the squatters, next door. The leasing agent was pissed. She woke me from my semi-caffeinated slumber around noon, yelling at a girl on the landing of the second-story apartment which has not yet been rented. Who are you? she shouted up from the yard, her platinum hair falling behind her. Her cobalt blue Scion was still running, in the alley.

"I live here," the girl lied.
Oh no you don't!
"I do!" she insisted.
You better get out. I'm calling the cops.
"The cops told me I could live here!"

The girl burrowed back into the house. They had tacked newspaper over all the windows, inside. This mess was gonna play out all morning. The cops wouldn't be here for an hour. The mp3 track was titled 'Leasing Agent's Lament'.  I could have used some more rest. Oh well. I went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

A friend of mine called. He was doing laundry down the street. He instant messaged me many times, and I got the feeling he could use some human contact, so I pulled on some jeans and a hoodie and stepped out for a little walk. I was daydreaming on the soft top of the kindle bestseller list, when my friend saw me by the laundromat and called out. Light like a spin cycle. He and the sunshine warmed my heart.

I gotta go, I said after a while.

Some guy had given us a strange look before stepping into his truck. This particular intersection was the kind of gentrifying line you don't wanna cross. I knew better than to stand there in a parking lot for very long, talking. The folks on the gentrified side were always armed with presuppositions. My friend looked enough like a drug dealer, anyway, and had been, long ago. Whatever a drug dealer looks like? And I once had a habit. In a past life.

Time to split, then. My friend, he gave me a a hug.

We could have stayed. It's not like we were breaking any law. The cops were pre-occupied down the street, placating the leasing agent. We could have hit the donut shop and interviewed the junkies. Then crossed over the imaginary line to the other side of the spinning cottons, to the fancy Italian delicatessen, and interrogated the special white mozzarella.