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with all the violence and its deleterious effects on society i begin to wonder what sense is there? we are emotional we become our emotions and this gives rise to all the varied works of art we cherish and the same capacity taken to extreme can end in murder. 

#katyamills

have a (violent) cry

emotions had to be worked through but not like this. they could not afford a ticket and did not wish to die. maybe bars - pick up men - drink for free - duck out? the spirit had so many terrible suggestions. they settled on a film. cried violently when the heart broke.  #katyamills

the one that got away

if the mind had its way

like a hungry perch i would take the hook

giving its thoughts some radio play

fighting and jumping 

reeled in 

today needs no rebellion

fins tattered lip scarred i swim the depths

the one that got away

#katyamills

wild

question everything

and the thoughts running 

wild across the

synapse  #katyamills

heavy metals

dissociative

staring at the wall again

they turned up the volume

zero calorie heavy 

metals to defend against they

demons  

#katyamills

so damn sugar

i fall super behind i

take a hundred breaths 

gotta be kind 

to my poor sodden 

mind. battle the ants 4 

sugar i won't say sorry 

for being damn

sweet 

#katyamills

snow me over a lather of denial

There is always me and my mindbodyspirit. The spirit cannot be touched nor seen, yet is the cornerstone of the experiment that is me... this truth left the subunified districting in the hands of the mindbody to battle it out for supremacy. The mindbody was not unlike (me) at all, and so much the same it made my mind a furious, raging llama, so furious I decided one day to call the stumbling, hulking mass of idiot flesh and networks of tubes full of bloody hell, something other than what it truly was. A vivid space I typed between the subunified essence of me, smiling when the typewriter rang its little bell. The angels are calling, the angels are calling! The message is here.

A pond of correction fluid grew larger as time (another construct of mind yet several epochs before, the mind says with conviction) went on. The result was the contemptuous subdistricting between which a fence then wall was constructed to keep the obviously related, deep-rooted elements, superficially apart. The divisions grew stronger and the roots were cut off, and soon the sea of humanity institutionalized the damn thing. Children like me were encouraged at a terribly young age (despite our knowing better) about the mind and the body, distinct from the spirit. Groupings of disparate parts could then be made possible for the sake of fun and games. Mindbody. Mind-body-spirit. Psychosocial. Bio-psycho-social-spiritual. Each part could be ritually washed and cleaned and manipulated per se.

My mind had me over the ropes, snowed over a lather of denial, in a plate glass window of time. It was truly obscene! Which I only realized when I finally woke up to the truth.

WIP. plan of attack. (with loving kindness)

Strategy... (reimmersion campaign)


1 - get head out of fog  (yes. established) deeper sleep renews!
2 - attend to physical  (ongoing)
3 - re-reading David Copperfield. learning from Dickens style (ongoing)
4 - sit my ass at desk at home  (fail fail fail!)
5 - consider rearranging furniture. laptop on couch. switch rooms (last resort)
6 - attend to spirit (ongoing)
7 - prayer. journaling. sunshine. caring (move toward causes)
8 - channel switching (yes. more guitar. running. cycling. walks)
9 - minimize netflix (body at rest)
10 - maximize housekeeping (body in motion)
11 - memory (what you do that makes you feel good)
12 - attending to needs vs desires (self-discipline)
13 - work = freedom (purpose)
14 - coffee (is my drug) in moderation
15 - mindfulness. slow but certain

Goal to complete and publication
reality: June / July 2016

Nothing is possible without
attitude of loving kindness

the secret life

There is a life inside each of us, call it what you will. You can access this life, this world, by dreaming, lucid dreaming, various forms of meditation, various forms of process. You can access through silence. You can access it through music. You can access it through ritual. Some of us will explore it by conducting our own far-reaching experiments in our own spaces, laboratories, dance floors. Some of us may create worlds to share with others, through businesses, churches, schools, non-profits. Some will find the secret life by the body, pushing limits of endurance. Some will get there in relationships, loving, an affect or emotional access point. Others can tap in with pens and papers, blueprints, brushes and tools. Some will find catharsis in shared meaning, collective experiments, cooperatives. Others will find renewal hanging off the edges of mountains, alone. Teaching makes a microcosm out of a classroom. People reflect off of one another, and understand themselves better. Mind-body-spirit philosophies. Chanting, mantras, yoga, mindfulness, drumming, devotional practices all throughout the world. Reading and writing and speaking out. Time spent alone, in nature, pilgrimages. There is a secret life inside of us, and what's really wonderful is when you can access it and, catharsis or not, it makes you more alive, with wonder, and gives you a reason to smile and smile towards someone, too. Shining like you do.    - KatYa

little satellite

There is a sadness in not wanting to know someone close to you, for they are close to you for a reason. There is a sadness in walking past the flowers reaching over and through the holes in the fence to greet you. When i have not eaten for some while i wanna stay there, to know this also, you see, otherwise i lose something. I lose a part of the world. the hunger and thirst of the world. You see how everything in our presence can move us? Even pain moves me and maybe away from myself. Undulations in the spirit. Unraveling of the controls. Spinning out of contact into space and disconnected. Stay there. Without notification. Without any sound except the sound of your own breathing. See how you can never be alone, little satellite? Breath is a tide and their are treasures in its wake, in the pools.

eyes were made for reading

My eyes have not been cooperating with me lately. The one on the right keeps getting lazy about the focus when I'm trying to read, and then does not wanna shut down when I'm trying to sleep. Then the other one likes to wander off with my thoughts sometimes, and I gotta tell my thoughts to stop wandering which is not a nice thing for a creative to have to tell their thoughts. When my left eye stays on course, he focuses really well and I can almost speed read again when I come across some boring stuff Marcel Proust had for breakfast or some lecture Dickens is giving me about child labor or the gruesome details Cormac McCarthy might serve up at anytime. I hate it when my eyes cannot keep up with my mind. But even worse is when my thoughts are lagging the sight, cause then I might see where I'm going but not be able to extricate myself from a clearly tenebrous proceeding.

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 # 05.06.15

I ran yesterday. I found a secret to distance running. My dad would call it a trick. I had been sitting on the grass beneath the black walnut tree in the yard, looking up at its many green wings pointing high into the sky. The tree was majestic. A stark contrast from how it appeared in the winter, without leaves. Dead. My neighbor came out of his apartment and started clipping his fingernails on the walk. Next door a man was sitting facing the alley, drinking a beer. One of the cats caught a large dragonfly in its mouth. An fire engine could be heard in the distance. Some days can be so peaceful. Other days your ass is on fire. Here is my secret. My dad would call it a trick. I found I can run almost twice the distance I usually run. It wasn't the Super B Vitamins or the time of day. It wasn't the shoes I was wearing. It had nothing to do with how much rest I took, what kind of music inspired me, how much training I did beforehand. It did not matter what I ate, who I didn't sleep with, or whether I planned to vote in the upcoming elections. The secret was running. Running while running. Not thinking while running, or breathing while running, or posture while running. It was none and all of those things. I doubled my usual distance by running while running. And guess what? There is a bonus for anyone who has read this far along. The trick is universal! It can be applied to anything you do. Because if you are fully immersed in anything you do, you will be better at it, and it may even come easier and more natural to you.

Journal # 02.26.15

Thursday. I did not have to work last night. I took some extra rest, and got up very early this morning. About 3am. Nice and quiet. Aching bones. The heater pushing warm air into the cold. I put some coffee on the stove. Cooked some spinach I left to defrost, with butter. Put collars on and let kittens out. Took my medications. I am a depressive. Right action comes out of conscious attention. I look for cues from my mind, my body, my spirit, and my emotional body. If I sense the depression coming on, I can pause before reacting. Right action is not reaction.

I stayed busy at my desk. A spotlight on a table. It's going to be the best day. I can make it. 

the turnaround

i crash and burn
my world falls
down
i get right up
then turn
around

a letter from a jailhouse
jay-cat
tries to work behind
the tired eyes

take me down
from Dubai heights

strip my inhibition
stark naked
hollering
mad

far
from sunlight

to depths below
the dolomites

recessed
in death's sincere sound
of silence

pervasive and persuasive
fears of senseless
resounding
violence

i'm lost already
in tomorrow's retribution

the fantasy labyrinthine
of my furious
mind

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

Rolling Allostasis -vi)

She was a history junkie. A doctor. phd.
Examining old cultures and wars was her rush.
Anthropology was her fix.

She found what she needed to know while tabbing through her cerebellum's internal ledger, set to siddhartha style scrolling, which kept her mind rolling. Her attention was set to its highest ceiling, steady conscious, you know the feeling. Urgent were these matters she had to attend. She wanted to bum rush the majora with the minora. Do the hundred yard dash toward the cash money stash.

She liked to focus on that heated point where marginalized culture unite, center of the heart of the body of any creative work in motion. After studying each slide of her mind, she would leave it behind. Leave no trace. She set fire to the scrolls after thumbing through the seat of memory with a fine-toothed gnosis comb. You know, right beside the garden gnome. They both stood there, in the corn rows of her dome. And watched the paper separate at its perforations, fold up toward the center as the edges caught fire. The scarecrow shuddered. The crows, they flew away. The margins moved in to drop trails of smouldering ash. The paper chase got chased right out of town.

The revolution was on, like a wheel that's been trued. Effortless and unglued. This was where her mind joined the mind of the people. Territorial boundaries became blurred like some communist conspiracy coming into view. Empowerment via numbers was mathematically guaranteed. They hunted the bloated dumpster raccoons until they were treed. Reduced odds down to one, aka: no other possibility.

She prepared herself for rain. Premonition kept her sane.