Rolling Allostasis -fin)

This girl. My great friend. She would be in her thirties wherever she may be today. Don't get me wrong, not all is lost. I have her in spirit. And she. She has me. Our paths diverged, converged, and diverged again. But that only makes room for a natural confluence in times to come. Until then, I will remember. Every day I must remember. How we braided one another's hair. Mine was dark. Hers was fair. Softly tucked into one another's love and friendship. Spinning in ascending spirals of synchronicity. We both had hard lives. Spare moments, like tires, we reserved for felicity otherwise contraindicated. Our belief systems ran through us, like a syndicate. We talked serious about light things like cloud formations, on an otherwise sunny day. We fried our eggs runnyside down, on an otherwise sunnyside up ticket. We had this magic of making light of what was always considered  heavy serious, and vice versa. The kind of deep shallow friendship most everyone's always looking for. She made me laugh and inspired me to see things her way. We had an benevolent kinda influence over us. Sunnyside us, in our evolving door of trust. She thought i was hella cool, and i thought her the same. We were never disappointed. Except by all those earlier years lost, passing one another by in the great halls of our separate schools of life. I was held back because i broke too many rules. She was pushed ahead, because they couldn't handle her. We didn't hurt anyone. Just coloring outside the lines, creating new paths of learning that veered sideways of the clear expectation. We made them uncomfortable, so they made us the same. But until we found one another, we could not feel fully appreciated. I guess.

Culture began to stall, when shit got comfortable. Unable replaced the able. Complicated the simple. Made no sense to us. We were easy targets based in our culture of fringes and folds where those marked and judged can be pushed and hidden, you know, like this great free country, yes? But still a box, a little ice tray mold into which the spirit is poured and then frozen. And then consumed? Not us! Though assimilated, we would never be accepted. We would not melt in any mouths. So we became something of great fortitude. Thank goddess we found one another for that great moment in time! While the populace fell to platitudes. Unremarkable. Mid-range.

And all her life the others in it, they considered her strange, and preferred her estranged. They watched her. Invited her. And tried to embrace. But she was bouncing that spirit all over the place.
Could not sit still. To her, life was to no end, a thrill. She listened to short wave on transistor. When the short wave broke, she cried. Your outdated! her little sister said, watching her sipping from a crazy straw planted in a New Coke.

She raised no objection. Circa 1985, and she knew it. Just liked to get under the nerves, hit the CNS sideways. Like pharmaceutical Adderal's gonna save you from stress? There was a shiver. Transistor radio. She shook it hard. Still wouldn't deliver. Purely mad for a moment, was she. Mad mixed with strange, created a rolling allostasis. She arched her back, crossed her legs, and entered held prayer stance. Energy flowed through her spine, chakra to chakra. Short wave breakbeat broke through pores of wood - so slow she could still catch it...and she would.

Remember. She is strange. Oceans of sound = place she reside. With flora and fauna, she lets herself wash in with the tide. Found often by fishermen, but never side by side. Incomparable. Unusual. Only self-referential. Be careful reading into her! If she trusts you, she may confide.

Remember, she's strange. Handle her with care. Whatever your arrangement, you must rearrange. Reconfigure central cortex, adjust it two firewall lengths down. Then you may be lucky to touch into her-  but only if she looks to be found.

Often hiding in shade with the lights drawn blue. Often sharing her heart, not what's in it for you.  She's a catfish among perch. She's treble to the bass. She will come up for air when you just got attached. She was a champion of indigenous peoples for the better part of the past century. She was indigenous to herself, and life, her own fascination...

She had only understood her life was hers, after a long drawn out anticipation. Like the breath of the divine into the void...for creation.

Katya Mills   07/13 kissilent.wordpress.com

Rolling Allostasis -x)

And so goes the common revolutionary narrative. The opposition carried untold numbers. She took nothing more serious. Scrutiny was their middle name. Some of her prophecies just blew their mind. They shook their fists at times, and threatened great violence. Some of which was carried out in a spectacular show of untold force. They bombed our back yards. Our victory gardens, hung defeated. Falling premature off the vine. Hard and without fruit, the trees scorched the air with barren branches. Many of us looked up just so, and cursed the divine. We became tired. We tried to let some of it go. We let down our guard of which had not yet already been demolished, and awaited some sign. Suffering before the dawn of our eloquently stated, much anticipated, emancipation from any and all relative life support. Only She would let us breathe free again. Like chantix in the blood, but better. She was like willpower, but better. She was like a freeway seam, stitching a patchwork of concrete and farmed family squares, to the wilderness of her personal (collectively scorned) dream. Speaking truth to power would be no bed of roses, though she would not force us to do anything. She modelled her style. We got to witness it, if we only showed up. Her runway was  gigantic like the Pixies : a big, big love. She taught us we could make it, before we even knew what we were making. We received her message via newswire.

Maybe half of us subscribed. The other half unsubscribed. Half of the latter half prayed for strength to endure the former half. The better half. The better half of the half in prayer, became lost. Half of the lost became found. Half of the found, found themselves. The rest were relegated to the lost and found. Half of those who found themselves, experienced an awakening. The other half fell asleep. Half of those awakened experienced enlightenment. The other half freaked out. Half of the enlightened set with the sun. The other half were engulfed by darkness. Half of those who cast shadows, stood seven feet tall. The rest turned into tumbleweeds and tumbled down the hall. Half of those who stood seven feet tall, grew egos ten feet long. The other half checked their egos. Half the ones whose egos became checked, knew that they were wrong. The other half took swan dives whilst singing swan songs. Half of the swan songs auditioned for the Voice. The other took a dive in ratings, because they had no choice. Half of those auditioning, were booed right off the show. The other half went on to notoriety in small suburban towns. Half of those who lost their fame before it came, turned into phoenix out of ash, and rose up from the flames. Half of those who underwent the alchemy, now undertook great hardship. The other half flew south for summer. The ones still there, you could almost count, while lying in bed awake. They were not sheep. They were not dead. They were characterized in universal press, as having five to fifty heads.

Rolling Allostasis -vii)

Hers was not an uncalculated risk
She did not believe in magic

All the magicians
she had acquainted
no matter how impressive
she found to be tragic

A foolish pursuit
oriented to ego

When she came to power
she swore magic
would be outlawed
Illegal

 Her wisdom came mainly from
 old Eastern teaching

History would judge her reign
somewhere between empirical
 and reaching

History has no heart to give
no heart to take
Combs over our lives
like a steel prong rake

Emotional coloring
extracted by intention
So to cushion
 the ache of misfortune