netflixxx

the last episode of the last season pulled
all the feelings
outta me
 today

god it felt good

katya. 2016

Grand Theft Life Book 1.5

stigmata. a tease

"There’s no time to brood and worry, what a waste worry would be, like playing your xbox until you’re utterly xuded and eyes tend to bleed, walk outside and get mobbed by the faithful seeking miracles and stigmata. I believe in Kell, and she believes in me, or at least I wanna believe she believes in me cuz I believe in her. We lost our connection, so what? Lines get cut every day. May we be among the faithful, abiding miracles."   --  from Ame and The Tangy Energetic (Book #3)

cover book #2 by katya

two quotes from book three

"I imagined she was right here beside me, pressed up against my ribs, our bellies greeting through our clothes, what hips we had trying to push around, and I could catch her tears on a fingerprint, cupping my hand to her face."  - Ame, on the telepath with Kell

"He had a foul mouth like a carnie. I thought about back in the days when my parents used to take me to the carnival and the way the cotton made my fingers so sticky and I would lick them and the rides were flying overhead and everyone was petrified, screaming, and oh what a wonderful, terrible place it was, drunks stumbling around cursing, girls getting pushed over giant stuffed animals on the outskirts, expected to give it up for what they got. Guns and the hammer coming down hard to push the metal up to ring a bell. Primitive. The rides were old machines and not always safe, the carnies loud and uncouth, everyone so happy to be scared. Everyone but me. I was turned on."  - Ame, on Black and the county fair

Indy Author Vitamin K reads from her book Maze

In the last episode 2:15:2 Ame and Bless are circling round the anarchy of the cemetery grounds where they once made out years ago. Sunset bleeds the sky. Back at the Imperial, all that's left of Kell is her boosted makeup and Nylon magazines. Bless is watching and waiting for Ame to show her some love.

Book Two
Daughter of Darkness
Chapter 15:3

Maze 2:15:1

In the last episode 2:14:7 Ame is waxing poetic on love and the orphans have come back from the seven eleven and are literally forcing her to play with them. If she refuses they might push her into traffic. Damn kids!

Book Two
Daughter of Darkness Series
Chapter 15:1

Maze 2:14:6

In the last episode 2:14:5 Ame gets the feeling she's just stepped into Oliver Twist, hanging around these orphans and the adulation party. She's concerned they're gonna make trading cards out of her, push her up against a stick of bubblegum... no need to worry, though, cause kids can see through you to the real you - to your heart.

Book Two
Chapter 14:6

Maze 2:14:5

In the last episode 2:14:4 Ame confronts Kell's known drug dealer, kicking his door in. The kids there watching her, have her figured for the one who took care of the thief who disappeared not long before.

Book Two

Chapter 14:5

Maze 2:14:3

The papers bemoan "the death of a skater."  In the last episode 2:14:2 Ame is cooped up indoors -- meditating.  

Maze 2:14:2

In the last episode 2:14:1 -- "Oh, what would I do? My little sister was hooked on pills and could not be found. My best friend was crushing on me. The Pakis were on my case. Hendrix was slipping in and out my consciousness and wanted to help but was unable to come down to earth. Freddy was being Freddy. Black was hollowing out humans. Humans were being human. And my thirst was relentless. Oh! I really had to get away from it all..."

Book Two

Chapter 14:2

Maze 2:13:1 Storytelling

Book Two

Daughter of Darkness Series

Chapter 13:1

In the last episode 2:12:6 Hendrix looks in on Ame watching over her while she sleeps with Maze and fights for the blanket. In the morning she's inchworming down rain gutters to avoid the Hollows.

Maze 2:12:6 Storytelling

Book Two

Daughter of Darkness Series

Chapter 12:6

In the last episode 2:12:5 Maze and Ame part ways with Kell and go off on their own to celebrate a kill from up on high, overlooking Oakland at night, and tapping into the source light. Ame has no regrets by the killing, but she may be on the edge of self-doubt. 

Maze 2:12:1 Storytelling

Book Two

Chapter 12

Part 1

In the last episode 2:11:4 Ame and Maze and Kell go to the Mission in San Francisco to hear the third billing. Kell was finally able to meet Maze, after Ame tricked the Pakis by dressing up as Maze. She might not remember, though, she was high as hell on Oxys. 

Maze 2:11:4 Storytelling

Book Two of the Daughter of Darkness series

Chapter 11

Part 4

In the last episode 2:11:3 Ame is challenged by a petty security detail but nothing will stop her from seeing her love. I mean, Maze.

Maze 2:11:1 Storytelling

Book Two

Chapter 11

Part 1

In the last episode 2:10:5 Ame finds sustenance and nourishment in love with Maze. Tide pools and Hollows and love. 

enveloped in media glaze - v

there we are
the us in nostradamus
under the bridge of celebrity
worship

drinking coffee
eating the media glazed
donuts

promising each other miracles
just to stay sane

there we are
lacing and weaving
the words
some of the dopest beats
just to stay sane

you and me
took the same classes
on different streets

hell razors
on a cold day. indeed

internally enveloped
not yet delivered
preoccupied with raising hell

a roll of the thumb
carries the imprint of culture

we made some premonitions
and put them in the freezer
no problem at all
to thaw

with the orange juice
on the counter
mix with water
then drink

effing with the time-space
continuum

she whose temples were rubbed - ii)

she whose temples were rubbed (a series of posts)
by Katya Mills, 2014

27 June 2011 at 01:24

PublicFriendsFriends except acquaintancesOnly meCustomClose FriendsFamilySee all lists...The Sequoia CenterOakland, California AreaNorthwestern UniversityJohn F. Kennedy UniversityAcquaintancesGo Back

Part -i) ::: revisited

Anecdote from the cutting room floor, circa 2009 …  cuts fresh falling off her aura, this girl. Locks of her soft layers of dyed hair flashing in the fluorescent light for the last time, in silence, her silence, the silence of her stylist, of her boots up on the old steel footrest.

She was sickly aware of being one of millions in her country. one of billions in the world. Any megalomania of her youth had been drowned or subsided into a pale ascertain of some kinda amegalomania minority status in the pantheon of petty class passive-aggressive weaker-than-war fare.

She was sick from feeling cold and sick of being stepped on like every footrest in every goddamn hair salon or rickety down home kitchen in the not so deep south where she hailed from. Snailed from. Slow to wake up out that hot and humid daydream.

Part -ii) ::: with tribute to Kurt Cobain, on the 20th anniversary of his young death

She knew she could neither recover the day nor the dream. She knew she would not recover, for she had nothing she wished to hide from herself anymore. What she had uncovered, well, it was all the darkness you could expect to find under an old rock toward the far edge of a garden, revisited after years of neglect.

 

She was a despondent girl.  Our girl. And still people dared to stare back at her silent icy stare. For they knew her as the daughter of disgust and disgrace.
Fuck, she thought, hers was the legend she would carry all her life and to her grave. Hers was the standard by which all could measure, even the lowest of the low, and still be seen as if from below. Her only entitlement for all she was aware, was straight up misery. Not unlike Kurt Cobain. And she wore interesting sweaters over floral button down shirts, not unlike him, beneath her cold hard eyes true. Looking back at you.

So she stared. And she could have cared how you reacted, whether you cared or did not care. Or did not care enough not to care or care. Many if not most were subjected in her presence to having her eyes upon them. The uncomfortable, unwelcome, malevolent glossy glare.

The silence of falling years of color, could not have felt more free on this day however. She sighed in the chair, having untied her hair. By the weight of her breath, one would not have thought freedom. But feeling was the heaviness set forth in the room, bouncing across mirrors.

Rippling earth through the room.

Folks shied away, children started crying. For what sensation she lacked, she made one without effort. A natural audience surfaced from magazines.  A natural uneasiness surfaced from her longstanding psychic wounds and kept people away like the bubbling molten rock volcanic.
It was said that those who ventured too close to her -- well... all anyone might hear was gutteral cries someone lost somewhere in their spleen. No one needed to know anymore.

She had some feelings about feeling. She did. She was not therefore unfeeling.
Who was?
Not to feel might be too plastic.
Whereas feeling was often way too dramatic.
So she strove for some middle path.
Which, despite her fair effort, often led her to static.
Whats wrong with static?

The silence that followed or preceded both her stares and her static...
she considered 
This silence was beautiful, she thought, like her glock automatic.
This was her gun, not a clock, not a toy.
She found it beautiful yet deadly. Two incompatible traits. Incompatible but not impossible.
 Her gun was something she kept neither to use nor enjoy. She found it in the pond by the old shed, where the shallows found coy.
Some spirit had told her she would find it there, and not only that she should or could - truly she had no desire to - but that she must go and retrieve and polish and learn the gun.
She did so reluctantly.
Then sent the spirit away with her stare...         --  to be continued --