drops like that

Backs pale against the carpet. I knew I was getting close when the titles stood out. The Shining, his pained psychotic face at the door. American Dream I got from a yard sale in Largo, edged in blue, Mailer and his shotguns. She pressured the 20th Century Russian Reader with her palm and we came. I held her as we slipped down into cotton fibers. I turn my head to the side and face The Waves. They are breaking and rolling outside. Russian vodka drops me like that, blacks me out. Soon I will be far away. Another city. Another state. - by #katyamills

less than likely

we watch the kids

play pinball at the city arcade
selecting broad beans for our coronation
quiche. the lands we lived on
shaped us. it had nothing to do with sex
get the mind out of the gutter
ball. the clothes cling to our body
and the line in the garden

closing the book over the mark 

we go to sleep

#katyamills

vod.ka

on a Sunday morning

vodka flirting with tomato in the bloodstream

they drove the Cadillac up on the abandoned railroad tracks and followed the river home

same way they had when they were teenagers

   #katyamills

pay-per-view you

I wonder if some of these power players who are being cast out of Hollywood might end up cast in porn flix to make ends meet or just get off? They could easily relocate to West Hollywood or commute and reinvent themselves. Then anyone too lazy to call an escort could lean back and pay-per-view you.

Girl Without Borders 2.8.1

Journal # 10.08.2016

This morning I found myself splashed across the walls like water. This morning I woke from a nightmare being hunted by a man with a shotgun. Before dawn I am docile and careless, the sheets you tore up and me within them, before you left for your job and an eighteen wheeler and ten thousand gallons of oil. If only I can gather my self and my focus, today, the cell phone my natural enemy flat-backed on the dresser. This morning I shower and untangle my hair. I wanna good cut, I wanna change, I wanna punk it out with a streak of black and some sharpened angular curled tight at the nape of my neck in the back. The necklace my friend gave me several years ago, the silver icon hangs just below the the new one on the thinner chain, the hanging dove I got to remember my own ancient history. The light comes up blue in the city around me, loyalty and new love arises in me and I don't know how to handle it. How can I fall in love again without fear? I cannot withstand another fall from great heights. A burgeoning skepticism clings to the edges, the water mark, and won't wash away down the drain. I wanna live is all i know anymore... i wanna live or there's nothing left.

random free thought

We are bodies we are animals and then dead. we are energy we are light we are darkness we are dead then alive. we are angry we are happy we are grazing star gazing and thinking we are free we are imprisoned we are special we are selfless we are powerful we are alone we are in love we are aging we are regressing progressing learning forgetting remembering. theres nothing to do but be what you are and then be what you aren't anymore and be something else and keep going? how can you not keep going? like its within our control to fast forward rewind control time place good bad whatever so you just do what you do and be who you be and thats it. i think so. sometimes i'm more optimistic sometimes despairing sometimes just okay with everything and nothing u know. i got laid last week and first time in a year or more and it was fantastic to be. he was a little inconsiderate but not on purpose and i got myself off after. a good friend of mine (not some stranger) and just happens to be uninvolved (don't ever fuck strangers anymore, it's no good!) i was a puzzle. now solved.  -- KatYa (this fragment was inspired by Chloe and Jay (Justin) H).

Journal #

Politics goes on like usual in our country and some people take sides and others don't and everyone seems to wanna espouse something even if it's indifference. I cannot eat an apple because I have a temporary crown. I could cut one up but it's not the same. I prefer not to use a knife on anything if I can help it. Someone once used a knife on me. They asked for money and all I had was some change. This was Chicago in maybe 2001. I had a buck knife I used to carry around then, but it wasn't on me that night. Not that I would have used it, I'm sure I wouldn't have dared. Not with a knife to my throat. Another time several years later in San Francisco I was with a guy in a motel, a dealer, and he took his blade and used it to barricade the door. I guess the lock on the knob was broken. Then we had sex but we didn't make love. And no I never saw him again. All I wanna do is eat an apple but one of my teeth is plastic and it's just too risky. Politicians go on and on, calling one another devils an making promises as though they don't already know they won't be able to keep them. They feign that sorta innocence, as though they aren't really politicians just people who want the best for you and me. That's what's so heartbreaking about it. Someone acts like they're innocent but they really aren't.         -- KatYa, 2016

broken ends never end

Sometimes I paint my nails. Or I polish them, without painting. French manicure is my favorite style. I like to grow my nails out and the paint helps strengthen them so they won't break. But I play guitar so I usually cut them back. Or they break when I am doing the dishes or working on my bike. I have not been to a salon in over a year. I highlighted my hair myself, and there are many broken ends, but I don't care, just let it grow. Life is full of broken ends so you might as well do yourself a favor and accept it and move on.

I don't mind if I look wild. I rarely wear high heels or dresses. I never really did much anyway. I am fluid in gender expression, identity and sexual orientation. I have been with men and I have been with women. I have fallen in love with them, or not. I never really saw myself as one or the other, exactly, but somewhere in between. My fashion is mostly androgyn. I wear what makes me feel comfortable and confident. Because confidence is sexy. I am tall and thin. Light on the dimensions.

I'm not at all interested in being admired for my looks or my intellect. I would rather be known for a kind heart. I challenge myself on a daily basis to convey the loving spirit in my heart. I tend to get shy and reticent with people, I mean my spirit, which is why writing has been my medium. I learned early how to express my true self to you with words. And it is essential for anyone to shine in their own chosen way. So go on. Let's not be shy. Shine!

what 2008 looked like

She met a guy on the streets of San Francisco, she was looking to score and she would, like usual and it was two thousand eight maybe, a distant cry from straight, well she met a guy randomly and they went back to his place to fix, and they made it all night in his place, in front of his roommate who was twice their age and they were pretty young, and the dealer was just down the hall, one of a thousand boarding houses in the city, and it was all just a knock on a door away, the instant sorta gratification and the excitement of strangers meeting in the night, and taking a dare, scoring and fixing and fucking and all that sorta nonsense kids in their thirties engage in, and he knew nothing of her past and she knew nothing of his, and they didn't fucking care! The old man thanking her for letting him watch and stare, wow, what the fuck came into vocabulary that night and then the dawn, and they had made it like all night, she thought there was some music maybe but who could remember? When two became one and then smiling when she come and then and there she goes, walking on down the street, picks up the car after a wakeup and a spike, drives a couple blocks back and puts on the hazards in the excitement of the high and the rain, and the flashing yellows and here he comes again, running out the door and get inside! and they drive to safeway for some odwalla and iced coffee and maybe something to eat, and there's an easy connection in the lot, thanks a lot, thanks a lot, and they are smiling and back for some more? until noon when it's all over, but gimme your number, she says, and he is thrilled to put the shred of paper in her hand, cause he knows she's gonna call, a week later, and do it all over again. She drives away laughing and trying to fix her hair but it's so obvious, hell, it's so obvious so let it go and that's wild.

no sex. by choice

By choice
two years without
sex

hot to the touch
and
easy to
climax




alone

Journal # 02.24.15

A chance. Lives are lost in confusion. A helpless feeling anticipates a real chance for a lot of happiness. Wouldn't you want to make someone smile if you could? Textbook.Very simple. Be kind and helpful and selfless.

 Life is never textbook. Quite the contrary. I once enjoyed the sensation of a man's eyes on me. I was younger. I wanted eyes on me. Life happened and I crossed over somewhere. But to see someone's eyes light up like that! In a dreary working existence, in a seaside working-class town? To know I had a part in it. The smile that followed suit. The expressions. The flowers and friendship, listening and sharing, the efforts to understand you. And a boundary line drawn clear. I drew it between you and me. You saw it. I made myself clear. I know I did. You made sure I knew how much you respected me for it. I thought we had a spectacular friendship. Textbook.

Life is never textbook. I gave freely something you said you needed. You surprised me. Some fantastic extraordinary attentiveness! You found the place where my story was bookmarked. Where I could not go on until an obstacle was removed from my path. You removed it! Often without telling me. Suddenly there's a bike light, so I can ride safely to an important destination. A key, so I can open a particular door. An opportunity. Out there in the wilderness you found a name, or address, or a phone number. A pen, so I could write it all down.

All was really well for a while. Sunshine giving the cool morning dew a chance to sublimate and fly.

But what when the morning was frost, and the sun hidden? What then? A hanging fog. The dew drops fall into the earth, and are swallowed by darkness. The sea at night becomes swollen and dark, and all the eyes in the world are shut tight, except yours. And yours, once so full of light, got avarice and grew a monster. A monster behind the eyes. Devoid of feeling. The eyes became a body and the body became intoxicated, and turned a friend into an enemy and took me...

Maybe that was the moment I crossed over. Maybe. Only I say maybe because nothing feels certain anymore. When you took me without asking. Much later, after great and poisonous bouts of ferocity and trembling, I discovered maybe I could still love. I don't know how, but thank God. Thank God I can still love maybe.

enveloped in media glaze - fin

There i am
lagging realtime...

red is now blue
and blue is now green is
 now gold is now
 silver

silver surfing
edged off a
screen

separated from the sugar
the lemons turn
orange

there i am
doing the dishes
with my eyes closed

day-trading milliseconds
making a moment
per trade

sometimes life feels like
convincing a pig being hammed
was a cure

there we are
we need another miracle
one was not enough

mother nature
on a rampage
the killing kind

there we are
renewal in the rain
refilling a prescription
for affliction

sensation of merlot
down the gullet
some sorta warmth

there it is
the opiated vision
tele path
tele vision sets
a course for
disaster

i used to tell myself
you are just plain rotten
the best in me
i had downright
forgotten

verboten

another fifth of a second
time traded away

there we are
our gps in
reverb

we are the echo
of a sliver
of a moment
in time

promoted unconditionally
shamelessly
feverishly

it is so sad to watch her unfold
fate. nostalgic

like a carpet
stashed away in the back of your closet
you see all the old stains
and remember
and unravel

this is why i roll it up
and choose
destiny

enveloped in media glaze -iii

There we were
beyond irreverence
plain old sick with inherited inattention and hate
the litany of bitter recall
transformed by psychosocial maybe
magical means

our loyalty to us
our caring for us
our sheltering us

into a white
snake

we now hold a reception to
culturally-sanctioned pissing
on modern artists
modern art

on ourselves
because it's hot
and steamy

and toxic
unctuous
noxious...
scrumptious!

everyone's invited and no one comes

sex with us is asexual
fighting us ... (at best) ineffectual
believing in us (good) for the karma
without us (there is) no tension
no dharma

i'm gonna jump in anyway
disappear into it. let it absorb me
that's what i am gonna do!

comfort is manufactured. right here in America.
we won't ever outsource comfort. we like riding
on suspension braking on
air floating in
water softens the
earth for building a
fire

erotiKa #88

erotiKa #88
 by KatYa

not many miles of land
stand between
us

covered before long
from hong kong
with autonomy

then all unravels
in a strand of dna
plucked up from
the sand

the discovery
brazen
without age
phenomenal

comes the imminent
satiated

whip of six eyes caught
in mad uncovered
surprise

cracking inhibition
falls with silks
off thighs

caught off guard of breath
where imagining
dies

casualty of the cut of muscle
toned reality

and before long..
a great and burgeoning towards
finality

the whites of eyes
the cries

Book Review: Tropic Of Cancer

Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Henry Miller is a force. The narratives roll like thunder, approaching you slowly from a distance like a storm with a great and building anticipation, the clouds filling with sexual innuendo and class eveners and antisocial asides, readying to sit atop your head and dropkick any inhibitions out of you, lightning to split any moral codes in half.

The plot mostly involves the spontaneous adventures of a man in the city. Gaining interest in someone who caught the narrator's eye for a moment, perhaps the wife of a friend of a friend, often someone whose not completely satisfied by their ordinarly life or companion (whom the narrator may have a very honest and blunted despise toward, and whose personality and interpersonal dealings he often describes in a wonderfully take-no-prisoners manner, evoking deep belly laughs in the reader), and whom becomes a budding love interest demanding consummation.

The narrator (whom we may presume to be the author himself) takes his sharp falcon's eye and passes judgment securely over all within range, including himself.

The way HM captures a personality over a few pages (often in free-ranging passages with minimal dialogue or punctuation to hold him back) is really a phemomenon. Like a coarse blueprint. He finds a target and dives down headlong for the take. Spares no expense in wringing out any character defects. Usually displays his victims as prisoners of themselves, in carefully constructed worlds they have created, often trapping their companions (again, usually the love interest of the narrator) in their webs. So when these worlds are suddenly exposed in the act of 'having unexpected company', delicious madness ensues.

Tropic of Cancer is a wonderfully orchestrated design by HM. The writing style is unique and unabashed, very honest, and no doubt a great atrraction to the Beat Poets in their heyday, many of whom held HM to the sky and often visited him in his home, when he was an old man. I recommend it highly, though not for the faint or romantic at heart. Then again, in the spirit of amnesty, if you have an open mind/heart, this may be exactly what you need to read!

A special recommend to writers and authors, as Henry Miller can teach you alot about writing, and was certainly a mentor to me as I forged my own writing style, towards writing my book, 'Girl Without Borders', which involves an unrequited love triangle, and is available now on Amazon.com.

Thanks for reading my review! -Katya
View all my reviews on Goodreads.com

WHAT GIVES (A LOVE FLASH)

Yesterday i was half.... today i am whole.... being with you made it so, you made me so. I was really sitting pretty on the front porch calling you. the immediate downcast when you did not call back, made me soft. The stone under my behind chilled me cold like a front. I took down my guard and got my credit card, hit the atm for some retail therapy. Pulled myself up a little taller on the sidewalks. I thirsted for you. You made me tremble. The chills ran up my legs and down my arms. So deep was the feeling. When you looked down at me from above; blurred out of focus was the ceiling.

In my mind i remember so clear. Yesterday you were there. In my mind, you are here. As i look up, daydreaming of you, you tumble away. Why cannot i locate your dangerous self in the streets? When can we again roll comfortably between the sheets? The wave of your passion riding over me. The latest fashion you peeled away from me. The whole day long the music....you and me. And close to one another, we had another way to use it. To ask the kinds of questions you ask when you desire. In your eyes i witness the fire. Fear and great excitement. Reflections of my own.

Stone to stone, we rocked the house. You rocked me over on the bed and got me pretty well... the ten minute tremor is how i could tell. I fade into your spirals, I drop into your pattern. The music of your soul, well, your music squares my saturn. Fresh marked parameters. I love us all around. Up through our solar powered chakras. Down the whole united states of soul. You make everything i bought into turn over. I am sold. You cost a lot less than holding. possession charge? I guess i'm guilty. The weight of evidence, ice cold. All the way down the block. You are the puppet in my sock.

I'm losing energy to the thoughts, without you i may be nothing. You come from the past and scramble me. Bringing me to some progression on my knees. Our hearts in two beat out one pattern so bold and true. A place where all choices get lost in the fold. Some complicated simplicity, some droolin fools gold. I'm really wrapped up in your mystery. I love you.

if K ruled the world

No one would be expected to smile or greet you, though they could if they wanted.
No dogs just cats.
Yes to miniature tigers and teradactyls.
You work at what you choose, and you may sleep when done working and work when done sleeping.
No more cell phones just walkie talkies. 

No mayonnaise. 

No social media, in fact, advertising and marketing are banned and punishable by tickle torture.
No more pavement and the animals live freely among us. 

No sentient being owns any other living thing.
You can still own property.
No currency just barter.
You can still fight wars if you want, but no draft and don’t involve anyone whose peaceable-like. 

Punishable by hippie farm segregation.

Sorry but no more cars or planes. 

Let the birds do the flying and everyone gets a bicycle on their 5th birthday. And a bell.
You can live in a house but you won’t need one. 

You can fall in love but that’s your business.
No weddings, and funerals are called commencements, and celebrated madly.
Only assholes and bitches get disappeared. 

This includes wannabe dictators, sociopaths, and tattoo artists who decide to deliberately ignore your design and permanently mark you up with their sad art.
Creative types get to create whatever they like wherever they wish, so long as its divinely inspired and not hurtful, just helpful.
If you like my world, please follow my website @ katyamills.com and buy my books on Amazon.
And feel free to write me in for mayor of Toronto, to replace the crackhead whose got the malignancy in his belly. May he get well soon.

effing effed

im so effing
effed

once i was smart
now i am dumb
once i felt feeling
now i am numb

only god
can judge me!
ice cream in your face i
scream in your face
cream in your
face your
face your book your
face ina book youre
not listenin to
me

wrapped up in cellophane
wrapped up in cellphone
locked up in cellphone
locked up ina cell

take this napkin
its white
draw whatever you want
its art
stick figures
its wiping an ass
swiping an idea easy
off a perforation

origami and you
and a cigarrette butt
and a cigarette
but...

we're so effing boring
so effing
effed

reading the mind
reading the stars
reading the paper
reading my lips:
so effing what?

eff you! and your effing
effingness. sir eff-a-lot

hold the phone!
hold the tablet
hold your gaze on me
softly

read my lips
quiet the mindless
inaction

no faxes from Asia
no instructions
no faction

no mickey mouse
fantasia
no brakes and no
traction

no roses
no hips
no more LSD
trips

just vitamins for us
essential yet boring

no banana
silk-screened on a t-shirt
it detracts from the
logo

no velvet
no underground
no Warhol
its boring

personal headphones
sleep apnea machines
no music. no snoring

effing effed

no winning
no losing
no flying
no boozing
depressing the
snoozing

get high like a junkie
on pre-natal vitamins
another pill head
how boring

no touring the world

im at home. effing effed
just eating my grapefruit
its juices runnin
down my lips my
chin

purple liquid pooling
on to Sexus. page 177.

no living vicariously
through the dead authors

the girl after
girl described in the pages

a dirty old man
beats off in a corner
how boring...oh wait!
its the author

from inside the pages
hes watching the purple
drool down my
red lips

how sexy
to know you're alive
to know we're alive
you and me
both

how boring
to die

a girl and a
guy and a guy and a
girl after
girl

give me a mission
give me a message
give me a bottle

effing effed
ill crack someone over
the head
with it

Rated X (it won't be pretty)

The ocean had a lake effect on the sea
the sea had a lake effect on me
the feelings fell in line
one two three
agree?

the oil eaters unleashed on the spill
saved some corporation
a pretty penny

the pretty penny went for absolute nothing on
the loving kindness market
panhandlers started skipping it
like stones
between the legs of passerbys
and out into the streets
of any city

shiny penny
in the street

someone said would you hit that?
meaning a tall
                   cool
             glass of water walking by

- American for
rated R for
sexuality -

some poor slang-lacking bastard
melting in
from another country
ran out after
the shiny penny
between two parked cars
any city

by the time rush hour traffic
got the green light, well...

let's just say
it wasn't pretty