the land of anything possible

a mile off the Strip past the Crazy Horse III to find a bank because you don't use plastic. i don't care. i could walk for days. behind us the Luxor. streets named after rat pack. guy in a pickup pulls over to proposition. things quickly go awry in the land of anything possible

#katyamills

even social workers get the blues

I tracked the thought to the very center of my brain, where I detonated it at the precipice of a heartbroken synapse. Only then could I tussle with my hair, drink my coffee chocolate and head out the door, down the stairs and out the gate. I ran to the river, over the train tracks and into open space where the sun denounced the darkness. You will be mine, forever, how I remember you. So I chose not to create any more memories. There is no other way. I am like the sun now.

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.

may the force be with you!

katya selfie star wars

katya 

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katya by katya

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