live and dream

life will tell you straight up

I am what I am

so direct and yet we go on dreaming up something different

like true love and world fucking peace

in my many years i discovered

you can live in reality 

and dream

 

#katyamills

night fight

must we always ruin a perfectly decent Saturday with our Saturday night fight?

#katyamills

afterlife

all this stuff won't be useful 

to you he says. not after you're dead and gone

i saw through and hung on tight 

his aim clearly to separate 

me from it. for i was young and nowhere

near the after life

#katyamills

make reality

when 

the world has beat you up

long and you let it

finally you scream 

ENOUGH!

lean into the mountain 

a seemingly impossible 

angle and move forward

for you make

reality

#katyamills

june 25

capture my imagination
provoke it. feed it beans and
rice and release it into
what's left of
the wild


#katyamills

january 18 meditation

Today i prepare some words for a reading... i am fighting... i am grieving the loss of a spiritual teacher... i am celebrating what's left of winter in california... i am breathing... i am thinking and trying to stay in gratitude... i am in the past... the future... i am breathing... i am curious... i am noticing how sensitive i am... i am noticing how angry i can get... how easily i can give up... how resilient i am... how i fight for my right to be fully awake and alive... i am lucky... i am fortunate... my life has been funny... tragic... almost monotonous at times with repetitions... life is a reality worth facing not running from... full of things i love and hate and have to accept... fear and anger and sadness are various forms of energy... i breathe into them toward some truth...  with a wish to live and love and be loved.

finding real

I am on a mission to find reality. I won't find it in my phone or in the dark. I cannot find it alone, nor in a crowded park. I step into my jeans my boots my leather jacket pulled around my hoodie. Here behind the wheel, eyes open and coffee steaming at my lip, waiting for this old train to pass through town, exhaust smoking in the cool morning air. A smile pulls over my face cuz I know I am real with you. Yesterday we ran. Today I'm gonna break out the draft of my book and mark it up somethin' fierce.

dream #98

living made sense against a senseless world. each moment a firefly encasing light. we are protected. full of meaning we do not die. slow down a sec. come near. it's you and me. walking through all our pain to better versions of our truth of ourselves.

not.getting.it.ness

I fell into my own fantasy as a keeper of the flame for the children new to fresh books books books. Even fantasies have antagonists and she was a beast, she related well to the kids what with her smiles and false promises. They wanted what she did not have, and fresh matte finish covers became less attractive as the eyes tend to follow the shiny dangler. So what? An asshole relates quite well to other orifices, I imagine, and cannot recuse themselves from toxic flushing, outlyers from anywhere life might thrive. I could only bring a few around to the treasures of reading, but we could proliferate from there. You know, kids tell other kids about a book and soon everyone is reading it. That was the best aspect of my fantasy. Funny how it used to be a reality, back in the Harry Potter days, the Chronicles of Narnia Days. These children were born with google roadmaps of life, and Marvel movies where once we had comic books. Maybe if I pulled the old trading card trick and attached sticks of bubble gum to the spine. Anything to greet them with language and keep them from falling into her world, the common unconscious of not getting-it-ness. Fighting for space. Craving intimacy. Technologically sound. Animals equipped with smart phones doing three quarters their mental work for them. Grades by emojis and trading in texts, subjugated to a subhuman comment thread without end. I dont even consider her subjects of the same genus as we. I just see elephant seals fumbling about for dying, flopping fish. Mammals with computers and electric outlets. Mall grubbing video grabbers. Android celluloid.

trax

the weekend came
with rain and the grasses fantasy
green

reality was dishes
was rent and quarter
moons and abrasive

the train tracks are so
godddam polished

when the weather clears
i think i will go eat lunch
on them

or paint my nails
or lay my spine out
or straddle them in denim
and ride them

choo choo
like a freak

or follow the vibration
to the end of
the world

like church bells
like prayer

like god was in doing
the thing which
when done

made you smile
shut up and
write

journal #07.17.15

I had a technology crisis no more, all the broken pieces lay before me on the floor. i picked up the space bar which was pinned under what remained of my hard drive, and cut myself on a shattered screen. held to the light, the space bar had lost all its power, a sad shell of black plastic. i must have counted a hundred geometric shapes before i realized what a great day had arrived; i was finally free of technology. i walked outside and wondered what to do? then i saw you know who, yapping away on her cell, ha, what a waste of time.

yes, i was gonna be lost and disconnected like never before.

i would not know the weather before it happened. neither would i know the political climate in the country, whether Greece was bailed out again, or the latest on the Kardashians or the royal family or Hollywood, or any one of the wars being fought here, there, and everywhere. i would no longer be able to shop from home, socialize from home, work from home. i would not be able to fight my battles by text, or hide behind emails and instant messages.

yes, i was gonna be lost and disconnected like never before.

and i could not wait. no more 3D printing how i feel, no more facsimile of life. i was gonna be the real me in the real life, circa 1979, i was gonna be a child again and see the world through fresh and open eyes, i was gonna talk to everyone out standing on our feet, fight my fights in person, give them a taste of Katya Mills, rolling up my sleeves and fearlessly flaunting my personality.

we are gonna have a great time, you and me, no longer stashed away behind our technology. i sure hope you get this message. i know it was past tense, but it's a prediction for the future. i know the future is not here yet, and i am behind this keyboard projecting. i could not find any emoticons to describe how i feel about it, so i wonder if you understand? how will you get back to me? feel free to tweet me. i plan to turn my phone on in about 6 hours after it's charged. presuming my alarm clock wakes me up. we can meet somewhere, okay. did you google that cafe i was talking about? the one behind that classic old theatre you know the one we read about on wikipedia, very cool, but...

ummm, i know this sounds stupid but do you think it's really real?

fear. south carolina

They could kill you at a book study. Pull a gun out of a fanny pack. They could kill all your friends, and leave you alive. After reading with you for an hour. After getting second thoughts, they could go back to the first. They could do it anyway. They could not care. They could be so afraid of you, they think they would be better off if you were not here, anymore. They could express remorse yet still stand by their actions. Killing you at a book study. They could.

Journal # 03.12.15

I wanna stop all the nonsense and get back to the real. It is not for you to question me about what is real. It is not for me to decide what is real to you. This is what I like about it. Reality is personal. No one's got a lock on it. I used to smile watching people try to force their brand of reality down the collective throat. What an hopeless endeavor! The smile has gone away. I don't like to see how it hurts them trying. What a desperation about it. That's cold. Maybe I can talk to them. Maybe someone tried to shut them down, and told them what they think is real, is not. So now they are on a mission to show everyone just how real their real is? Maybe they just need to be seen and heard, and appreciated for a moment. Reassured that no one's gonna take their real away from them. Maybe that would help? There's a lot of wounded little children out there, in big adult bodies. Who am I to hate a wounded child? I wanna help a wounded child. I wanna help! Well, that's my real, anyway. I guess I just got back.

Rolling Allostasis -xi)

She was as unsuspecting as I had been in my third decade. She spaced on budgeting (heat and ac) in her summer heavy, winter heavy, urban gps. Her chakras registered (like christmas lights) the previously unappreciated, suddenly luxury shit, as artificial temperature adjustment. Her eyes gleamed silver. Hammered steel.

She came out of March half frozen, only to suffer in June (and beyond) perpetual dehydration as humidity crept up to a resting allostasis. Right before everyone and everything got really fuckin wet.

The truth dripped around out there, making puddles. Only to be splashed out of reach, again. Reflecting hammered steel.

She saw herself in reflection. She suffered, and by her suffering became more intimately connected with her reality. This time. Others would have to suffer more, to digest the whole raw deal.

I liked this about her. She countenanced truth. Yeah, she gave the world the middle finger sometimes. The warrior in her clawed eyes out. She knew. Truth need not eyes, to see.