a thousand one liners

they was not asked around 

folks bein focused on the arts and crafts 

of survival they was not missed 

a thousand one liners later one young gun 

she lit a candle and prayed for them 

with implicit permission by god they

took a holiday from the street 

to tweet

#katyamills

thessalonia

you will not need a platform

a purpose a cell phone you

do not need money or friends 

or water or food you just 

need to pray around

the clock give thanks

and speak truth 

they say  #katyamills

a chance

waking up 

useful and alive and awake

with a chance. come what may

every american

oughta be given this

experience 

#katyamills

im.print

shooting the mouth off

another infraction rolled
up tight end over

end i gotta stop
anywhere
to think

sometimes by light or water

beneath the wind whipped
trees the city speeds the violent
dust up of paper flying about 

there
by the koi pond in some
anaerobic muck the
beta swallows the
alpha. all is well
again


#katyamills

prayer

carries to god then

back down to 

earth palms touch

marked by crescent lines

destiny moves in

and out of self

brokering wilderness

in a heavy

 heart

squirrels revenge

i was going about my day with the best intentions when the squirrels started to chatter, telling me all kinds of things none of which were true. they were gnawing on acorns and leaving the shells scattered around my mind. i was gonna have to commit to a deep clean, sweep and mop. they almost had me convinced i was no good, and the world a terrible place. problem was i live in the world, and i live with myself twenty-four seven. so i found a nice tree to sit under for a spell. i lay my head back against my hands with my elbows and arms butterflied out around the trunk, closed my eyes and prayed to god. i stayed in that position for several days, and the squirrels they finally jumped out from the crown chakra and clung to the tree, testing their little claws and flicking their puffy tails and gnashing their teeth. they took off chasing up into the high branches. when i finally stood up, my thoughts were peaceful and friendly. you gotta make the most of what you got.

peel session

my version of aromatherapy was dropping a grapefruit peel down the sink and turning the switch to obliterate. i met someone like that. her life like a grapefruit peel after she lost her daughter to suicide. i did a lot of deep stretches. i wrote a letter on greenish colored paper with a pinkish colored pen. i had an assortment of vivid dreams and got up easily every morning at four am. prayer got me through a couple rough patches. the rain materialized and cleared into sunshine. i got to feeling so very alive.

fullness

drink more of 

water and

 air and prayer

downtown sacramento by katya

journal. september 27th. 2019

i seem to always be working on the residuals of my mental illness, sweeping them up and out of my life. this is a maintenance thing, i mean, i have to radically accept the eternal presence of anxiety and depression. they no longer stop me from living my life like they did before (and after) i got clean, six and half years back. yet they are like a snake and threaten to constrict. i have to maintain and keep building. thank god i have a career that enriches me. i have a home and can cook my own food. i have my health and no longer take psych meds. the recollections of traumas have subsided though they sometimes resurface in nightmares and an uneasy mistrustful and guarded relationship with both internal and external worlds. i am working on self-discipline. my stress levels fluctuate but are more manageable when i eat healthy and exercise and stretch (yoga. asanas) with greater frequency. this requires mindfulness. i am drinking more of water and air (deep breathing) and prayer. i am devoting more time to reading and writing. i read at night, before bed. on weekdays i get up before dawn and write, more and more frequently. it is hard to build the life you wanna live but it sure is worthwhile.

only prayer

only prayer draws me up from this lacking, this demoralization. this devastation. only prayer can restore me and my faith in these times.

sleepy

when I'm feelin sleepy
I like to go to bed
say a little prayer
rest my weary head 

the days are long and tiresome now
my life is very full
I rarely feel a lacking
or have the time to kill

there are a few who love me
I do have what I need
I try real hard to turn my words
Into the honest deed

tomorrow's coming soon
royal with persuasion
tonight I pray my dreams withstand 
all imagination

fear and the medulla

Back in the desperate place the mind likes to take me, where the thoughts are all discouraging and fear walks unaccosted across the oblongata, tamping the vessels until blood pressure rises, I see that I am troubled and finally say a prayer, as my breathing heads for the shallows where the shore has disappeared...       

from King's 'The Dead Zone

what saved me, this time, was drawing the Dead Zone, the paperback, up to my face, my nose tucked in towards the spine, and closing my eyes and inhaling deeply the scent of the pulp, which transported me body and soul into a lovely forest, some forgotten place and time,  from which this pulp was hewn. 

the ides of march upon us, here is my wish...

may we overcome all our fear, live long and prosper

- KatYa, 2017

three chances

Cancel my subscription to the mobile phone.
Cancel my subscription to the ozone layer.
Cancel my subscription to politics and gas.
Cancel my subscription to lethargy and cable.
Cancel my subscription to drugs and alcohol.
Cancel my subscription to tap water.
Cancel my subscription to other people's pain.
Cancel my subscription to being led on.
Cancel my subscription to recycling the same old crap.
Cancel my subscription to acquaintance by text.
Cancel my subscription to an inside job.
Cancel my subscription to middle east oil.
Cancel my subscription to grocery store mailings.
Cancel my subscription to cage free hens.
Cancel my subscription to ad-free tv.
Cancel my subscription to barnacled rituals.
Cancel my subscription to imperialism under wraps.
Cancel my subscription to liars and thieves.
Cancel my subscription to half the world religions.
Cancel my subscription to new and old waves.
Cancel my subscription to smoking and vapes.
And modern day slaves.

Give me an endless cup of coffee
Give me someone to love
Give me someone who loves me

Give me a song with no words
Give me a room with one window
Give me a book with no message
Give me a laptop with no hard drive
Give me a friend with no agenda
Give me a chance

And I will give
you one
two
three

to be who you said
you could be

four five four five three

Dope me up with novocaine
This life is hard to take
When I am numb
You can tear me to pieces

Then when you're done
I can be alone
Putting myself together
One cup of coffee
At a time

Read to me
One word at a time
And i will read
To your grandchildren

Then when I'm done
I can be alone
Putting myself together
One silent prayer
At a time

Some day
I will tell you
How i feel



KatYa © 2016

Journal # 05.25.15

Doing the dishes could be delicious, especially around four am. I am easily entertained by chocolate chip cookies on a sunny day with milky clouds and a friend. And fall I fall back into pain like another home in my heart, and feel i feel my way back into life from there. There are some people missing in Texas, flash flooding washed them away on memorial day... pray i pray they will all be okay. Summer is here and wait, i cannot, for the coin in the slot, and the hot delta breeze with a lime-lemon squeeze, and all the tourists give me cameras... say cheese! 

identity theft

Home. eleven hundred hours
symphonic birds.
eleven thousand drops of local rain.
my blood stains the inside of my skin.

my fingerprint I print it.
i scan it into my computer.
i post it, like a fool.
it got reshares. links.
i get plussed i get
non-plussed.

cross my heart i
hope to live. 

Someone stole my identity. how could they?
Someone stole my identity. who am I?
My fingerprint pressed into glass. my labyrinth
I cannot translate myself to me. must learn braille.

I get down on my knees
and pray but who am I
praying I know who I am
praying to and toward 
dear God!

Someone stole my identity.
They will get caught and go to jail.
With my identity.
That's me! In jail? Oh no!
I am innocent!
I swear!


The kindred spirits call.
Jim Morrison walks on down
the hall. He sees me at the end, or
I see him but who am I?
some consumer of the doors
my ego falls four floors.


Work.
I work it, girl.
I go, girl, go girl. who am i?

am i worth my weight in
gold I feel so
old I know I am too
young to feel so old.

Kurt Cobain has a shotgun in his mouth.
toe searches for the trigger.
a hooded bone, numb and blunted, searching for a way out.

Don't do it!
Here we are now.
Entertain us.

Courtney Hole fell in one.

Pablo Escobar went down fighting.
They named a chocolate bar after him.
Called it esss-co-bar.
It was made from 50% cacao.
50% co-cai-een.

Without yourself, you can do anything with
you. You can shoot speedballs in your arms and legs,
and between your toes.
Hooded bones. Groping for a trigger.
Blind in the alleyways of life.
Searching for a way out.
Going down fighting.

Fallen into holes.
Dancing poles.
Gone down.
Fighting.
Toes.

Someone stole my identity.
It took five years to get it back.
Many letters to the bank.
Trying to restore my credit.
Actor out on loan.
To the head. Cellular phone.
Lick the bone.
Clean.

Fingerprinted.
Clean.

Ready to work. again.
eleven hundred hours
symphonic birds. blood stains.
it was me. again.
someone stole my identity.
eleven thousand drops of local rain
someone stole my identity...

it was me

Profile: filter systemics, twenty thirteen

She was pretty cool...
before she became lead singer by her own self-election
within the band she formed of her own vainglorious self-promotion
after years on the trail of herself (like a bloodhound) and her own self-unfolding...
in deinterlaced leaves of cascading simplicities.

She was pretty cool by unfair prejudicial standards.
Like teenage mutant ganja standards in the lone star state. Or one of the many states that share its borders, despite vehement sworn disassociation.  What made her cool, cooler, was the precision marching up of bands of heat. Such efforts of interstate hate would not go unnoticed. Unfortunately.

Her reputation bubbled up over bunsen burners, in the kinda legend-making labs only the usa could conjure. Some of the same labs that produced our torrential downpours of cultural insomnia and paranoia, within the context of widely consumed sheets of shards of glass. Ya. A greater misfortune could not have been told by the third of three eyes, in the great psychic trailer pantheon of the sky.

Outside, the lamentations of the past, present, and future loosely-affiliated yet heavily congregated fearful remnants of the war on drugs, were not enough to put out the fire. Perfectly phalanxed in picket line style, yet penetrable nonetheless. Penetrable as a whose-who of crackhead ho's short-on-crack and long on tar black.
Penetration was not even the word for it. Much more subtle, merci dieu. Like those black and white b-flick wannabe cowboys and draft dodgers and other escapades escape-e's wandering into some sunken like forest and high or low-stepping right into quicksand. Sucked into the earth. That kind of sucks. Kinda sux.

 firekiller by katya

This was twenty thirteen. This was filter systemics. Filter politics. Filter engineering. The language obeyed its master. Penetration became Permeation. And permeation defied most laws of geometry. Thus rendering the phalanx useless. And linguistically defunct. Thus turning up the dial on the lamentations. Which only made what sucked, suck worse. The filtercone for swaths of glass had not yet been perfected, by the labs situated conveniently across the street. They were too busy shrinking the nuclear families of warheads for the current fear lobbyists of nuclear war, by government decree, and the tax of psychosocialspiritual stressors on such an endeavor was so high, the barrier of entry was one wrinkle short of a homeland security sanctioned fingerprint. So what sucked worse, only sucked some more.

Ya. She was pretty cool and out of touch-like, and going cold now. Heading toward hypothermia and frozen hysterics. She and her minions would need to purchase a really cool team of youthful fronting lawyers, by cagey corporate costly law school standards, to even gain a fraction of a chance of a snowball in hell with a colonoscopy-probe-probability following on the ass of a seldom struck facebook page. Open the fucking fan club vault, minnie mouse. It's gonna be a reach!

by Katya Mills  @ kissilent.wordpress.com
July 2013