key to the crime

discovered by a librarian working in the stacks it was key to solving the murder. they knew she had met him there and was his type and was the last place she was seen. the correspondence on the paper in the book matched both their handwriting and tied them.

#katyamills

library

 

the stillness

cut by the boom of a thousand

covered pages closing 

on a fantasy 

#katyamills

type.writer -ix

i carried paper with me
everywhere

in a knapsack
or an overcoat pocket in the winters
of west side chicago

alleyways
my back against bricks
i held them under weak hanging
lights threading open mics

the Appalachian trail
did not stop me

the subway trains
the bars
the libraries (of course)
into parks where the sky
opened up all my thoughts

often i lay them out
beside my jack
 rocks

i felt the social
vacuum
around me

dead air

i didn't
care
so alive
was i

hierarchy of need

librarian by day
book burner by
night


the transition 

was natural 

gotta keep warm
she says
you understand

did it have to be

my books?

page 100 and the twisted sister

Here is page 100 of Maze, I just got a lovely scanning application on my phone so I scanned my actual award-winning book for your reading pleasure, page 100. Meanwhile I wanted you to know I am locked in with the twisted sister, the next book which I hope will blow everyone away with its extravagance and dark beauty. Haha. I have relocated Kell several times in the narrative, she keeps ending up in strange places and I finally got her out in the fresh air, and she is hitting the streets of Oakland hard and finding her fresh psychic powers. 

Here's the link to the book if you like what you read and want to read some more. Thank you for supporting indie authors! MAZE THE BOOK

in my twenties and thirties

i was the kind who got kicked out of bars for mouthing off, demanding attention, who wandered off and misplaced myself in different American cities, found myself thirsty, dazed and alone some afternoons, in alleyways woke by the sun, after nights i would rather have forgotten but stand in my memory still ... yet i could always find refuge in the nearest public library or local reading room where the silence could be so loud, you could even hear fingertips striking keystrokes to the tune of the turning of pages, and there in the warmth of centuries of collective wisdom could i manage to wonder how am i alive? there must be a God or the spirits of my predecessors looking out for me, i am so blessed and cursed, i am ... my twenties and thirties were absurd at times, my natural privilege did not always work for me because i convinced myself i oughta earn anything. of course i held a job down most of the time and was responsible about rent and stayed mostly out of jail. i was neither thief nor leech on to another's good fortune; i mean i made and paid my own way. i was often in a relationship. i thought i was in love a couple of times but in the end i wouldn't work for it, i wouldn't make the sacrifices and maybe, just maybe, i did not want to be loved. i was critically self-centered and bursting with pride as i walked solemnly toward my next humiliation. i think i wanted to be punished. back then, i was not interested in god.

Shine cafe in Sacramento. photo by K

Author Festival - Sacramento

read me from a safe distance

i was killing someone off in my book today. in the library sitting at a table reserved for teens and no teens around just books. it was awfully quiet. i like it that way, my killing floor. nobody would suspect anything. i have been meeting more people, and they aren't turnin me off lately. i almost wanna meet another one today. very unlike me. maybe it's the weather. maybe it's because i got my hair done, my eyesight fixed, and my teeth drilled. i am about to paint my nails for the author festival on sunday. i plan to meet a lot of other murderers, i mean authors. we usually look so sweet at face value. we can take your attributes and turn you into monsters. what would happen if your families fell apart slowly? don't worry. we will put them back together. you won't look the same but you will be made of many pieces and cool to look at like a glass mosaic. it's therapeutic. can i sign that for you? you see my blood red nail polish. go somewhere and read me from a safe distance