euphoria

 

she took a train 

from mundane 

thoughts packed full 

with aspiration 

outside the gps 

thumbprint 

she wrote and wrote 

with elation 

downing hot cheetos 

with coke she 

signaled from 

her station 

unleashing creative 

energies ... 

connection ... 

euphoria

‪Katya Mills‬ ‪@katya444ever.bsky.social‬

· 3d

de.fin.ite.ly

she watched everything unfold

with a nonjudgmental eye

the world flipping channels

addicted to celebrity worship murder porn 

character assassination

she had a terrible habit when bored

indulging other's opinions

forgive me

she announced

i have to go and define

myself

#katyamills

findings

the microclimates 

produced by particular social medias 

had an insalubrious effect

on them

they began to feel distant

the more they connect

#katyamills

the day social media died

cat out mousing 

to sharpen his claws i

 stuck inside dredging 

the twitter feed like some 

weary curator 

in a third rate watered

down shop of intrigue 

and horror

#katyamills

un.friend?

they streamline their friends like an org making layoffs. they do not for a second bother with how it could feel to be unfriended. you thought you were enough of a companion to be allowed in the sacred space of reposts and detritus like body shaming humor and emoticon hell. you thought saying happy birthday on their birthday in 2015 made a fair enough splash on the double helix steam. there are no goodbyes online anymore. put on an old beatles record and howl at the moon. find twenty new friends to replace them by noon.

how sorry you are

the rain fell ona slant and i imagined they were all my tears i could not bear to cry. i raised my face to the wind and felt the sheets strike my skin. i stayed outside all morning long with you, reading the paper. we drank coffee without any intention other than to be helpful. lord knows we had once been thoughtless and unkind. you make mistakes. you demand more of people, places and things than you ask of yourselves. now i wanna grab hold and empty life of all its discontents. someone expects an apology outta you, and hunts you down. they may never know how sorry you are. the remainder of life, pushing and pulling those notifications, needled with predicate .coms and .orgs. comradery relocated to social media. if we subscribed it would be too soon... gimme the shelter of the rising sun, full moon. all these things we hope to have eternal, here and gone, then come again... to the faithful, pulled and pushed in the tug-of-war of a life. how sorry you are proclaimed deep space, to the star.

journal. march seven

We hung on to the social medias lookin for compadres, someone who got us, who felt what we been through, so we could identify and reclaim our forgotten selves. our standard was downgraded to substandard. we were told our employ of social medias was a worthless trade and destined to further alienate us. why would we let them take us? why then let go, to fall on an easy clawed at chair of fake news? we held on tight, we lashed our wrists to the planks and spun around slow in electric current, just the same. we were hard-headed creatures not easily concussed. our hearts then soft, thawed into spring.

like flowers

When I wasn't busy fighting for your attention, I was championing my own, to exist in space undisturbed by visual and audio cues. Social media was some hallucination. You could call it a hallucination inside of a hallucination. Any moment one could lose one's body and have to shop around for another one. Humans are like flowers and get erect in the sun. Out of bed. You cannot always see the roots. Black flowers like skin color get the shaft. White flowers went to weddings and funerals. Baby's breath was a delicacy, trembling in a fragile atmosphere. Fertilizer might help like steroids and hormones and minerals and daily chewable gummy vitamins. But sun and water usually did the trick by themselves. Only for a while, though, cause ultimately we all got mowed down or strangled by some or other weed. But hey. No worries. We will rise up again. Hopefully our passwords will still be saved so we can access all our friends.

painful good

The rains came and washed us all away, and it was painful good. The sheets were in the streets and offline. The beats were pushing out your feet as you walked to work and back, the rhythms had to find their way into the greater sound. The image of what we once were working toward dematerialized again, and it was painful good.

Will you lunge at me all the while and try to fade me to your shade, boy oh boy, can I stand there and stand this. Let's reduce the whole equation to a single interaction and then may I stretch and remark how my bones are brittle and my tendons torn apart and, boy oh boy, let me politely tell you how it feels, so painful good. Can we scream secondary to the silent psychosis ripping down the spinal cord?

Without saying anything, can i stand letting you miss me entirely? In your all caps demeanor. Your bold face. Project jaw. Maybe we have been online too much, can we waterproof the devices and take them in the shower? I wanna exfoliate your facebook. Into another decade. A dimension floated out upon an ocean shelf. Waiting for the tectonic plate shift. Fuck all and painful good.

Should I forgive the foggy weed, too much tar baby tar, sheets of white snow blanketing your septum. You could have showered more and shaved. I see you in the star wars. The acid razed the ego. I took the kids by their little hands, the orphans hung out their shingles in a palm. Then we all stuffed in there, creaking chairs in the dark, buttered popcorn and wrinkling plastic chipped off the corners by a fingernail, straws drawn like bows across the plastic. Waiting for what.

Make them hum again. Some easy screen in some hood, and painful good. Predictable lazy guesswork again and again and again.  Firestorm; the white light is infected. I went to suck the foam off my latte and got puss. I had to retreat to google plus. They might love me there, I thought. They would love you, too. So little did we know. The painful good in all of it, all.

i care a whole sky full of rain that oughta fall

IF someone speaks nonsense, maybe you can listen to the nonsense and make sense of it. i don't care if the sky refuses to rain, who am i to refuse the sky for refusing? words travel eons across the shared medias, and not all of them say anything anymore. some say the same thing over and over. some people in your life repeat the same old hurts, again and again, walking over the ashes in the aftermath and trying to pull you across with them, where the coals are still hot enough to burn the soles of your feet. even a few seconds and you may burst into tears. even while you are rejoicing in the adventure of a rekindled life. maybe there is a nuance. maybe we need to be patient and wait for a brighter day. maybe we don't know how long we will wait to have the past fit snugly into the past. seems a cheerful thought to be back in time to when to your words and deeds would go with you to your grave. maybe a few old letters bound up and stored in someone's bottom desk drawer who once was in love with you, nothing more. incommunicado post mortem. i care and it hurts. i care a whole sky full of rain that oughta fall.

Journal #03.22.15

I am not even close. I must be still healing. Please forgive me. The static waves of radio fill my head. Tonight I work in silence. I wonder about this fleeting sense of power, the delusion of self. I do not mind it anymore. Worry and anger and fear get us nowhere. Pain and the effort to feel and transform it. These are my tasks. Forgive my always anti-social media. I would that we were closer. I see you in my mind. Smiles. Meaningful connection. The ones who ignore me tell me as much about myself as those who meet my gaze. Purple frosty haze and lemon peel. To feel those feelings I would not feel. I searched the swirling seas for you. Through volumes and volumes thrashing. The truth would not lie still. I wanted to believe in what you said. In your words, in those books I read. I began to move and be moved. The mountains entertained the sun, one slope at a time. We raced our minds and won. Solitaire was King. Derrieres did swing. The hydraulics in the bus felt good under us, and the windshield wipers washed away everything. The nose was born to bleed. The harvest came of seed. The dogs and cats at best were friends, the mice we did not need. Times were rough of an industrial age. We raced the clock and lost. Turn the page. Come now to middle age. Cellular floors kept clean by the slaving macrophage. My work begins today, in middle earth. Accompanied by an orchestrated abandonment of fear, worry, and anger. I am getting closer now. I must be still healing. Please forgive me. The static waves of radio fill my head. I will always be grateful for you. Endless life.

Journal # 03.18.15

We got drowned in social media after feeling all alone. Lost then found in social media. Drowned in social media, could not find our way home. We found some new friends but were they really who they were? Drowned in social media, under waters all a blur. They popped some images on a screen, there were some soft some jagged edge. Drowned in social media, we fell right off that ledge. Sometimes it was all creamy, like a milkshake made of bits. Drowned in social media, we could not keep our wits. Someone caused an uproar, demanding this or that. Drowned in social media, who when why and what. Emoticons and pros, inhaled up the nose. Drowned in social media, bundled in our clothes. Shivering through nights with smouldering lightbox eyes. Drowned in social media, try on a new disguise. POETS in communion, headlong through the day. Drowned in social media. Captain Kirk, warp speed away. And yet the memory lingers, of inspiration city. Drowned in social media, what a shame and what a pity. So when you're tired and cold, with a buzzing in your head? Close up shop and shut it down, try something real how about, instead? Find someone you love,  an old beach by way of forest. Hold them by the hand. Feel the real with courage.

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.