april

a dynamic and fogcutting roast 

followed organic wheat toast

into the belly of one nation

under god. indivisible. with liberty 

and justice 4 some if not

all      #katyamills

back.ward

yes freedom also means you have the right to believe anything no matter how patently false unequivocally backwards and unceremoniously walk away from common sense and wisdom to devote your entire being to the pursuit of social injustice and economic inequality. you live with yourself. 

thoughts post publication

i got some distance and six months later went back to reread the latest book i wrote. TROUBLE’99. i read the first half on friday and the second half on sunday. i don’t think i would have changed much. i was really happy about the first half. the character development and the plot and the struggle and the setting were all crystal clear. dialogue was good. no typos or obvious grammatical issues. in the second half you saw an intensification of the problems my characters faced, both internal and external pressures mounting: socioeconomic hardships leading to sacrifice of values, addiction, conflict, suffering. a reader hoping for them to see a way out of their dilemma will be disappointed. they struggled to make enough money busking and selling weed to get off the streets. for them this was a great success. Kay freed herself from an unhealthy relationship with Aden. the hardships they all faced together clearly strengthened their friendships. 

yes i allowed for a little light to enter the story, but mostly they marinate in their problems. i admit as a stand alone TROUBLE’99 fails. this book is intended to be the first in a series, so there will be a sequel.

my point in writing these somewhat dark tales of hard reality these past several years is to highlight very real social injustices. to give names and faces and make these people real. it’s so easy to walk down any city street in America and ignore a large segment of our population. to recoil and turn away from those faced with addiction and homelessness and great depths of mental illness and trauma. i know many readers read books to escape reality and go somewhere that fills the heart with joy. my books may not always offer that kind of escape. they may take you somewhere you never wanted to go. but if you are looking for an adventure of a different kind, if you are hoping to have your heart stirred with understanding if not compassion for the downtrodden and alienated among us, my work may interest you after all. #katyamills

un.feeling

if you had a heart you cried if

you had a heart you shouted out

against the unspeakable 

horror if you

if you had a heart it broke and maybe 

you could not control yourself 

for a while

grieving these systemic patterns 

you could not bear to remain

orderly

calm

respectable

peaceful

out on the streets

where a drop became many

a stream became a river 

an ocean of

feeling
against the unfeeling

dredging up a particle of hope

there to see where
we were not
alone 

minnea.polis

they wield extreme power they can kill you in public
and will. and did. again. George Floyd. we expressed outrage
six feet away from the sidewalk to the ends of the earth. we
who have hearts alive and beating
theft and what did you expect? fires. broken glass. mayhem and what
america? what did you expect? you hunt and trap our friends our comrades
helpless. caged. handcuffed on the ground all the breath forced out of them. another life
stolen another family loss. a community. a nation of communities.
america you will wake up from your imperial dream you will. the
institutionalized isms will be eradicated. we won't let you sleep our country
means to much to us. leaders arise to deliver
social justice. free shipping. cops accused of murder. found
guilty. based on facts. convicted. sentenced to life
or death

color of mud

sorry we don't accept your currency here, it is awfully divisive. we might take bitcoin though insecure and often inflated. you can have anything you want -- guaranteed -- no shoes or shirt, feet and hands raw, the color of mud

killer -vii

how powerless
modern life has made us
giving us all that we want

we take up guns
and knives and
our personal
weapons of mass
destruction

so we
RAN
to the
NRA

for caliber
for freedom
to bear arms
to feel powerful
in the face of
burglary
assault
accosted
by fear

and what has become
of us?

consumers
victims

hunters
hunted
how

powerless

omnipotent coffee pot

goodbye to this old year and all her worries and wonders. goodbye to those who died in the struggle for right over wrong, and may you live on, in our hearts, in our slogans, in our tireless pursuit of social justice. goodbye to this old year and her snaking contradictions. goodbye to the mirror and faded reflections of ourselves. goodbye to the ones who had to move out of town, may your adventures be long and dreamy. farewell to the useless imprint of ugly headlines. goodbye to the addicts who took one too many. goodbye abused powers and the fear you inspired. goodbye to new threats of nuclear war. goodbye to depression and not getting out of bed. we are young and inspired, facing 18 hour days. we will not be tired. we will not be phased. out of mainstream culture there arose such a clatter, boys and girls turned their heads to see what was the matter. the bells began tolling, the sunlight was rolling. good spirits were working and smiling a lot. they had so much to offer and an omnipotent coffee pot. 2018 the new year just begun. there was plenty to do under the sun.

in memoriam - Jennifer M.

You were my friend. You had reached out to me in January of this year, randomly, and I was so glad to hear from you, I don't know why I did not follow the way to see if we could hook up for a moment in this life, one last time? Life gets chaotic and there's nothing much you can do. Suddenly starts, suddenly ends, and gradually you realize you never know when. We can try, though, and that's exactly what I forgot to do, about you. Jennifer Mendiola aka Alana Kane. I will miss your enduring smile. I cried very hard tonight when I discovered you sailed out on a Ghost Ship and never to return. The clock struck midnight and you and your lover, you were dancing, you were gone. I remember back in 2009 when I met you South of Market, San Francisco. We were counselors at a painful place. Sixteen beds for sixteen lost and homeless souls. I brought my desire to help. You brought your presence and your smile. We got along easily, though the work we had to do was hard and brutal. Just outside those double locked doors in this sanctuary city, people were driven to desperate intoxication and suicidal panic, and all the time. I could not believe you at first, I wondered how could you smile all day long like that? From dawn to 3pm when we got out. There were times I thought you must be faking it, I confess. All the methadone nods of sixteen souls all around us? The cutting scars and track marks? The lonely vacant stares, up and down the carpet stairs. But we knew we could make a small difference in a semi-safe space. Listen to them tell us their stories. Hold them if they cried. Teach them simple skills if they wanted to learn. Laugh like we were family, and for a time we were. Everything about it could be cold, day by day. Yet you smiled. I guess you had just recently been married around then, I didn't really know or maybe I forgot. All I know is we worked well together and kept the place running, which was the best we could do with phones ringing, doors buzzing, and sixteen souls in need of something all the time. I really admired you. I knew I could trust you, you worked real hard and really cared. If I walked in the door and saw you, those early foggy San Francisco mornings, some of that tension, that burden a social worker experiences inside, fell off of me immediately. I could take my earbuds out, warm my hands with breath, take a deep breath and look to you. Talk to you. Get willing with you toward the day ahead of us. I will miss you my friend. I will think upon you when the work gets brutal, and try and smile through.