ponopticon

she took a train and they could see her

tear two sugars for her coffee

while the china rattled 

she contemplated her navel 

should i tell them what's

on my mind? she 

thought she thought

she thought

#katyamills

envy of a ghost

Would the soul cry out if it were being hurt, or would it take its licks salty dead silent? I don't know but the operation went smooth (they say) and they removed the organ intact and placed it in the care of a preservation society. I don't feel any different, except that I have no soul. I have found myself out politicking and bloodsucking, which were never part of my M.O. in the past, but seem to fit my personality so perfectly now. I think I may write myself in for president next Tuesday. Such are the ways of a woman - sans soul.  Trying to compensate for the loss, I mean, though again I say I never felt better in my life, and shook hands with several doctors and a nurse. They even allowed me to put my palms up against the glass and peer in upon the many incubating souls in one dedicated room leased out by the chairman of some board, and I tried to locate mine and yes, I believe I found it! calling for me from one far sanitary corner. My breath steamed the glass and condensed. I stiffened up to suddenly realize a part of me was gone, and no small part indeed. But I comfort myself with my hand in my pocket wrapped around the thick fold of bills. I can properly say farewell and shout through the long empty echo chambers of my heart: "IT WAS WORTH IT!" Today I shall go and have myself fitted by my personal shopper, with all the fineries of a twenty-first century lady. By noon I can see myself peering into the floor to ceiling mirror, in the deep fault of re-cognition. An extravagant and spacious feeling, I am sure! But an envy of a ghost.

bubble tea in the rooms of death

Conservatism surrounded me. A comfortable keeping to ourselves on the wings of transaction, give and take, society set up such that any otherwise lively action be tourniquet by predictable social etiquette, unnatural at best, dull and senseless concession to an all American model of commerce, profitable for sure and devoid of interest. I enjoyed my bubble tea in these rooms of death. Taking my sweet time, a sidestep from life. Only the tapioca between my teeth would burst with lifelike flavor amidst the somnolence. Then shot down the esophagus to the only exit from the constriction of our numbered days. God bless America.

society has come to polish off the self

I need complete silence for as many hours of every day and as many minutes of every hour and as many seconds of every minute as I can get. There are big ideas circulating which will otherwise be lost to dark matter, casualties of the smart phone alert system. And if comprehension of these ideas are lost, I will be lost with them. Society has decided communal is the only way, at the expense of any self. Myself, yourself. Society has declared the individual no longer to be trusted, no longer significant. Society has come to the internet to polish off the self. There is a war being waged for control over the web, a war of individuals demanding free expression against the ever matriculating constituents of the giant dark formless blob. Hold on to your hats!

normal sucks

 There was no time to have a nervous breakdown so I had to find another way to fall apart. One idea was going numb, it was quiet and unexpected and not violent until the very end. I had tried that method but the end never came. Sun, fresh air and alka seltzer got me back to baseline. I began interrupting my mother during our long talks when she was the only one talking. I started pacing and thinking and talking to myself, which was much more normal-like; there were even five expressions for my face, all of them different shades of unrealistic. I could fall apart that way maybe. By diving into a fantasy. I did this for a while and I got bored as hell. I had begun to give up on ever falling apart in a way that was acceptable to society. There was even less time anymore for a nervous breakdown. I was walking through a strip mall with my head down, depressed, when I saw a dollar store. Well, the pavement in front of a dollar store where someone had spraypainted 99c in blue. I went in to press my luck. Every dollar store has something unexpected that you didn't know you needed, and usually it's not a dollar. I saw them and had to have them. The slippers. Blue, purple and white stripes. Fuzzy and open at the heels. My feet were aching in my usual black shoes with no support and black soles. I bought the slippers and put them on and went to work in them. Everyone was totally impressed. I'm not sure if it was the slippers, or the fact that I came to work in them. I didn't really care, either. My feet congratulated the floor. It was totally unacceptable.

end of technology?

Improvisational
comedy

by
KatYa

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