semblance of a plan

she was determined not to end like her friend. the one who sold her lungs at auction in a state of abject capitalism for an all paid month in Hawaii (prior to debt coming due). she got a Gen Z to hack the encrypted lock on her faucet. stole the hens eggs. made a plan. 

#katyamills

capital losses

some joined the merchant marines some
emptied their bank accounts got in their cars and plain disappeared

if you asked them
they would cite neither 

love of travel nor 

moral obligation 

but a desire to escape the drudgery 
working for a balance sheet fighting
inflation

#katyamills

new high

sunday morning

jazz club

Tampa Bay. 1997

struck by a social chord they 

got the beat back

having failed to prosper

in willful self

isolation

#katyamills

society high

society refused 

the likes of you and me

too bad for society. high but not whole

unrepresentative 

by the difference

#katyamills

doomscrolling

the birds gave up 

stopped singing they

mulled about their nests 

feathered up and tucked

in. lost in a doomscroll

from hell my phone 

was chirping about

something i friendless

tuned out 

#katyamills

go on without

I'm not certain why it's so hard for me to be around people, I guess I may be sensitive. There aren't just unfriendly ones. There are ignorant ones. Mean ones...

Yet the hardest kind of all are the ones who you fall in love with, the ones who you treasure, the ones who you cannot go on, without.

wallflower social

may the social sphere be elastic, i wished, and expand without cracking and breaking off, falling like an icicle and killing me where I stand.

in the meanwhile i got my couple hours a day good medicine in writing my book, my blog, and making out with words.

the tongue kissing was the best part and the audience swooned by the character studies i inhabited.

inhibitions were wall flowers to our garden variety virtual open microphone affairs.

The Crush -- Journal # 06.22.15

Culture can be honest in subtle ways. These days they tell you you are insignificant one moment, and then remind you how special you are the next. I am coming to terms with both. This is what they want from you, to come to terms with both. They want you to want it for yourself, and why? Not because some starched shirts sat around a table and decided. No this is different than any corporate takeover plan. This is the truth hammering down. Culture can be  honest. You could have an emergency and 99 of 100 witnesses to your emergency may have absolutely no interest. You could have a situation where you need help, and one in ten friends may not respond in time. I see it every day. Someone is harrassing someone, and people just watch. Someone is in a car accident, and people drive around. I confess there are times I have been the one watching. But I have also been the one who needed help. Help eventually arrives, but maybe not as quickly or exactly how you wanted it. Culture can be honest in obvious ways. This past weekend a friend of mine saw I needed help, when somebody was harrassing me in a public place. Someone who dislikes me tremendously because I showed no interest in The Crush. Sometimes you feel so insignificant, and then someone shows you how special you are. Your culture, wherever you may be, is a good place to set out to find the truth, or just stand there and let it find you. Culture does not lie.

Journal # 05.28.15

I grew up in New England. If I found a lucky niche for myself within a group of people, I would try and hold on to that belonging with all my might. These were times I fought change. The study halls were quiet except the rustling of papers and scratching of pencils on paper. And the heat pushing from the furnace into the pipes. Some kids wet the paper and pulled the pens apart to shoot spit balls. I showed antisocial tendencies at an early age. I would really be inconsolable over something which happened, and no one could reach me. So I would mutiny for awhile and just be upset and burning, unable to stop burning. There were certain trees I liked to sit under. Certain classrooms would be empty at certain times of the day, where I might go to be alone and do my work. When I was well-liked, I wanted this to last. I did not want myself to change, or the circumstances had coincided to make me whole again. I hoped for a snapshot of the context and to keep it in my pocket with the phone number of some new friend all folded up and handmade. I was troubled by and by.

you could be your own nightmare part - i

She found her knowing when tabbing through cerebellum's internal ledger. Frontal cortex set for auto-pager alerts. She envisioned a world she knew would never be. Those who disagree would be free to disagree. How fascinating the freedom was, to this world's masses. They witnessed it like men in night clubs witness ladies asses. Even in this world you could be your own nightmare. Learn about apathy, how not to care. Fill with negativity like a car up on gas. Suck up to the deacon, attend every mass. Learn to revere the most ass kissing fascists....

 She saw how her world could go way out to lunch.
She saw with eyes open her very best of intentions?  Could lead her off.
Beyond her wildest extension.
This caused her anxiety; she manifested tension.
The knowing she knew, was not playing.

She decided she must stand with her believers.
Or whatever you wanna call those who disagree with disagree-ers.