monday

 monday morning. protest. refuse to get out of bed. 

foxy

the cars out scouting and thirsting for gas. every day the same. i boiled the water, prepared the grounds, and poured our mugs full. fire us up and good for what we got ahead. eyes brightening. here's a hug the size of California. stay foxy.  #katyamills

monday morning hopefuls

The streets all with soft clean shaven faces at hard angles in the reflection of glass, city life came out brilliant and optimistic on a monday morning. Lovely. Even the brisk walkers had a sparkle in the eye, for they were done languishing at home for the weekend and wanted in on the gamble of a bull market, if not to hedge a bear. Pinstripes and creases ironed out flat, and parts held accountable. Enough after shave lotion to make a lady swoon. Must have been a first-rate contender, an economic boom. Nobody was gonna jump to their death off a high rise, today. Nobody needed to check their watch 'cause it was way before nine. These were the early risers, the hopefuls, out early by design. Time would wait for them. They could stop and open a paper wide, old school. They could have a flirt with a barista, share a laugh with the baker, face all white with flour, popover in the big oven. They could get their goddamn shoes shined, and time would still lag far behind! Leave the taxi at the stand. Take the long route through the park, into a new and prosperous land.

The Crush -- Journal # 06.22.15

Culture can be honest in subtle ways. These days they tell you you are insignificant one moment, and then remind you how special you are the next. I am coming to terms with both. This is what they want from you, to come to terms with both. They want you to want it for yourself, and why? Not because some starched shirts sat around a table and decided. No this is different than any corporate takeover plan. This is the truth hammering down. Culture can be  honest. You could have an emergency and 99 of 100 witnesses to your emergency may have absolutely no interest. You could have a situation where you need help, and one in ten friends may not respond in time. I see it every day. Someone is harrassing someone, and people just watch. Someone is in a car accident, and people drive around. I confess there are times I have been the one watching. But I have also been the one who needed help. Help eventually arrives, but maybe not as quickly or exactly how you wanted it. Culture can be honest in obvious ways. This past weekend a friend of mine saw I needed help, when somebody was harrassing me in a public place. Someone who dislikes me tremendously because I showed no interest in The Crush. Sometimes you feel so insignificant, and then someone shows you how special you are. Your culture, wherever you may be, is a good place to set out to find the truth, or just stand there and let it find you. Culture does not lie.

Journal # 06.15.15

House in Locke

Had some nightmares last night. This is not unusual. I woke up spellbound and made some coffee from scratch for me and a friend. Poured the steaming black brew into some paper cups I saved from the cafe, and outside we walk into the dawn. Same old ragtag crew at the location, a place we go for meditation. Monday feels fresh, especially when you don't have to go to work in the morning. I have had my share of stressful monday mornings commuting to work. Not anymore. Today is my day off. I have the chance to feel my medication while in meditation, and then I read a book.

I don't know why but it happens. The mind makes stuff up and convinces me. Not always. If my mind turns the sky dark and rains fire, I break out my fireproof catsuit. I borrowed it from the spy who loves me. This morning I left it at home. I saw some ember specking the eyes of someone who doesn't care for me. But the fire was on its way out, dying. There's not much to hate about me anymore. My pride got levelled a long time ago. My ego is mostly in check. Life is not so friendly anymore. But it is worth every second breathing. I can float up out of my body and use my spirit as the hammer. Blow the mind up by golden rose in the center of my gray matter. Then approach the day lightly, like my good friend awash with kindness.

Journal # 03.09.15

The sights and sounds have left me with feeling and vision. I broadcast from a dark place. The dream of you and me has crumbled into memory. And life goes on. Today could be a real day, if I stay out of my way. Out of the past, with no certain future. The way I meet the world with open eyes, if not a smile. If the world is not so harsh and terrible, I will bloom. If not, I will go on broadcasting from this dark place. Somewhere beneath the bubbling grounds of coffee. Scorched by tap water. Come off a boil. Which is not so bad at all. For what I broadcast, to anyone who watches closely, is warmth.