Anna Karenina

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I did not love it. I liked it. I was able to conquer my attention span and read 1,000 pages. That was more enlightening than the book itself. Tolstoy of course - a master. You see him in Levin. You find the most honorable writing in tribute to the Russian peasants. They are like the true heroic figures of this novel. All the society crap Anna was destroyed by. So sad. So predictable and timeless. All countries' societies are the same. How people treat people. Drive some to suicide. Vronsky was very typical in many ways. A typical man with ambition and a sex drive. I hate how he left his horse to die and didn't seem to care. In a way he treated Anna the same. But not on purpose. Unconsciously. The peasants with their scythes clearing the million acres of fields. Laughing. Not caring. Working. Living. Beautiful the way Tolstoy describes them. Levin aspires to live with them before he gets married. Maybe even after. Anna's son and the scene where she returns to see him one final time - this scene is truly magnificent. Tolstoy's gem. The best thing I got from this book was humbled (as a writer). Also delighted. By the tour of Moscow, St Petersburg, and the descriptions of hunting and farming in the Russian countryside.

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freedom square

it's easy to wanna give Russia all we got

one would have to be spiritless to not wanna join 

the citizens of Ukraine in this fight against 

country one hundred times in size

yet the Russian people... they are good people

they should not be subjected to war

either   

#katyamills

march 4

listening deep into the night to the radio 

reports from Poland Romania Moldova

the only invasion i know

by ants after a heavy rain

the only shells i know

pasta. the only oppressor

bad memories and nightmares

and an occasional ignorant 

other

#katyamills

on the front lines

they dig the trenches and play cards they 

wash in the river and hang their cottons

on a line to dry swap stories to stay warm
cooking over a stove they lock load and shoot their rifles
at the likeness of Putin. shouting
when they hit between the eyes
long live Ukraine!

#katyamills

ten. indivisible

i breakdown, too. useless, not unlike a chevy silverado, nothin in the tank. if there's no coffee in me by 6am, make a lawn ornament outta me. so i start early, crackin those beans through the grind, by hand sometimes, yawnin bedhead and all, spring winter summer and fall, gotta keep myself runnin and runnin along, so i can be luscious good and vitamin k for you, my love, roarin my middle age burnin fuel with that special manner makes all the millenials turn their heads, double take, slap their faces to wonder where the hell i came from? yes, i am my own sensation, out in the wild west of this great nation, one being, guarded, sentient, indivisible, under god, and irreverent to the core. last week against all odds ran my first ever ultra, just ran and ran eight hours long like a lunatic, up and down quarry road through the american river canyon, drawing poison oak for the second time in three months, so sore for three days i could hardly walk and find me thrilled through the pain... just now i saw the county job i applied for has hit processing stage, so juicy like a quarter orange shall i climb out of my navel and squeeze on to the commodity, precious life, dear god, and hopefully get around my self center and finalize my time, this life, on the carrying about in service to those less fortunate, county state country corner, with a beating heart and a backpack and a rushing spirit glancing off the darkness like light does. that's all i want, anyway.

K READS... four lives to tell. everlasting

A Spoken Word Original
by Katya Mills

4 LIVES TO TELL. EVERLASTING
from kissilent.wordpress.com


the first life. somewhere in the former soviet union. 

i was daughter to a cossack warrior. my mother died at birth. 

i moved to St Petersburg and learned the city.

the second. Germany. i was a boy. an aryan specimen. 

my father was a treecutter. he worked the black forest. 

mother was an herbalist.  everyone was apolitical and thus

 good-natured.

the third. unknown. ended in miscarriage. time in womb was rough, 

as mom was falling victim to the machinations of a cruel and heartless world. 

stress levels caused an chemical imbalance, which turned deadly.

fourth life. Paris. daughter to a Huguenot. 

the dove hangs from the symbol. 

this is how i remember. a good life. 

parents artisans. life steeped in loving wonder.

around this time, my creative energies, once dormant

and passed over for to meet the great thirst of survival, were planted. 

seeded for future manifestation.

many lives later the blossoming of creativity encompassed my being, 

strengthened and fortified an otherwise tenuous grip on life and sanity. 

a portal opened up to a great and spacious flowering,

 imbued with fine tuned intuitions and novel purpose.

in this world now, the magic has culminated. 

rooted in compassion. 

ancestral stories to be told. shared 

to help turn the darkness to light.

everlasting.

some freedom for sale. a limited edition

Static. to think
with the heart in
the stillness

on the axial
tilt of the earth

some freedom
appears there
an inkblot montage

static. revelations
appear

it's a real
          tangible
           responsibility
 our freedom

i found
  the founding
               fathers

static.
automatically
engaged with it

it's a limited edition
decidedly precious stone
rare bling

i'm American
it's all i have left in
         control of
      my mind...
maybe

motion. awash in
permalink
          heartbeat
rhythms

star thistle
cat whistle
metro the metric
electric

foster freeze
the heart sees
Ukraine...
awash in tumultuous seas

static. the
commotion.
electric black sea meets the
ocean

static. the heart sees
Korean seas. black
listed
to the lees

awash away
- sanction squeeze -
a few hundred
obedient
kids

walking on walls
saying goodbyes
laughing at gravity

south of no northern
selfie mentality

orders
and lies

pro-Russian forces
Putin divorces
too far away
is the world

the audio feed
ambrosia the mead
incongruence grows like a weed

'remain in your seats'
it's nothing at all
just put your head
over your feet

orders
and lies
there's no surprise
someone is saving an ass

enough tears
to fill the place

labor day marches
communist flags
any creed
any race
any face
just no fags


red square
nowhere
pink triangle
tilt

pussy riot
flowers won't wilt
all thanks to Georgia
O'Keefe

under oppressive weight
gravity wins
      captain sins
             natural forces
                the world spins

in a Winslowesque
 Homer

Geneva accordian
waiting
   watching
        reporting
            witnessing
                 pressured
                       media
                          outlets

discordant
      anonymous
              militant
                     downrisen
                           up trodden
chess
become checkers
violence
                  home wreckers

capture the flag
deny that you did it
rewrite history
deny that you did it

union
    confusion
         reunion the
              Jungian-Freudian
split

reign of oncoming
terror. trafficking of insidious
homeland insecurities and
lies

Siberia awaits us
all

cold
  dark
    frozen
      tundra
       
in the heart
of a leader
like Manson
like Pol Pot
drink the Kool Aid
laugh a lot
deny everything
drink the vodka
reinvent the Archipelago
call it home

jump off the George Washington
 bridge
with your mate
drowning

step off the foundation
without reservation
bid your families
farewell
    

lost
floundering. black seas
check
     please?

           checkmate

accordions
push all
             the air
        out

the hate
    it's...

too late





- K

repatriation flash

a star
was born
just last year
with dated expiration

some soldiers march
beneath a drone to
orders for
repatriation

a giving tree
taken down
to make room for a highway

a leader of an Eastern realm
tells the world
let's do it
my way

and the dandelions saw
their heads
lopped off

the roses all
dead-headed
too

all was left
by even
time

an imprint from
a single
shoe



Katya Mills, 2014
all rights reserved

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the author, k



Ozzy-medium

Sandstorm

ozzy
Mediums
get worn
down

Sandblast
Water sun fast

There's a riot
At the hyatt

crane
your neck
to see

An internal affair

glass house
emitting
truths

cold
Watch it unfold

Dirty laundry
dominoes

fear remoulade

Regime changing
Exodae

Larval stage
mothra

Cossack cosignatory
Voices singing
Glory!

Run the numbers
Run the streets

Run away

Nationalist
Instant lottery
Losers get mauled

unanswered
Slot machine
Victims

Sandstorm
At dawn
Sandblast
water fast

how does life
go on

She got more high than school (a chemical romance -1)

She was a dandelion chewin, flatbed lyin, urban cowboy screwin, truant from way way back. Like high school. She got more high than school. He was a youngbood creepin' west-side posturin' punk from Detroit, and he must of run game on her cause she thought he was the shit. She called him the m.o.a.b. thats the mother of all bombs. He called her the m.o.a.b. too. Mother of all bitches.

Her friends sought out to neutralize his fake ass masquerade, and win her back like a scratcher recompense for a month long losing streak. Her friends lacked mercy. Here it gets worse, see. Their connection grew more intimate, exclusive and chronic. He had stepped out upon her moonscape. She revolved around his planet.

Little did she know the gravity of his influence: demonic, sideways, maybe halfway satanic. Her tides came in rushes, in spurts, twice a day now. She was emotionally rewired to his synthetic new standard. He watched her do dishes, he watched her ass move. He lay listless in bed, like nothing to prove. The only extension he gave to support her? A bourgeouise yawn, with laisssez faire torture...

to be continued