tiktoktiktok

tiktok the time goes by time
goes by stars gaze into our eyes
never stop never drop keep
pushin along. tiktok cannot
kill this song keep
shinin

#katyamills

i wanna be electric

i got my ticket to chino in the outskirts of la trying to hit the grid and be captured by the cable i wanna be electric and extended stay america ina pocket just between the riveting room for you and me... a queen bed in a salt valley flat in the middle of november a room service setup so not to disturb alone in the center of a spiderweb of circuitry flashing mad in the pan like a siamese fighting fish all the betta to see you translucent of the soft sheets you ink on

cloud for sale. sinks in the middle

what with all was going on i began to think the world a dark place i could not find any light for seconds of every day not minutes just seconds not hours just seconds and me i was not sleeping well i had a boyfriend and the mattress i bought off the internet was supposed to float us on a cloud but if a cloud sinks in the middle well i did not know but this one does and what with all was going on in the world i began to think it a very very dark place and even the music i streamed into the audiowaves could hardly make me feel less insecure about our world our dark world our dark obvious future and then well the cloud it sunk in the middle the perfect cloud sunk me into my boyfriends arms and my insomnia went on and on in the dark and my boyfriend he got up and got dressed and left and left me there lying in the middle of a sinking cloud yes floating miserably so in the dark and cruel world you know but when i awoke and raised my head and got out of bed what with my bed what with my bed head and crawled up and out on the edge of this dark cloud and hit those goddam lights right and they were ecologically sound and bright white or not so and soft warm like the way i like them like old school kinda uneconomical old fashioned bulbs from way back when maybe the nineties remember then? and when i got up and fixed my bed head then said fuck it and put a hat over it all and looked me in the mirror and laughed and got my instant coffee made in the shade into my big silver bullet of a thermos in a cold and dark cruel world shattered by old yellow light from the eighties well... got my self to my insecure job ten miles away tryin not to do the old california rolling stops at the stop signs on the back roads dark and uneasy and unstable like sometimes but the highway and the stoplights led me to an open road below a very open and energetic sky for there yes there just above me and my politically disinclined am radio listening loser of an october preceding elections and what was it that blew the dark cold cruel world away but that gorgeous full wonderfully years of light brought forth like an opening in the sky for us harvest moon

the runway runs away (a remix)

REMIX of 'this loves for real .no stopping. all green some whole some lights' (circa 10 May 2011 at 03:48)  -- K by K

k by k, 2016

fuck I have been cold. I have been frightening cold, I have. until some small smile some sarah somewhere in this place post punk and petrified with perfect well wishing winning new paradigm nod to the north. if north is astral. if north is known by certain colors that stand out like a football i mean soccer jersey that’s brilliant yellow lighter than gold yet darker than lemon and loved even lusted after between air -steam- rising top of the crucial team consciousness on soft ground with soft ball and hard handshakes raising the rising roof of random screaming. a world of color a world of meaning. for most this was not so, but they backed on the tidal wave like the undertow, where the passion of the few was sourced you know, the masses go and they flow, the massive movement to go with the flow or go and go blow. rarely was this impressive, mostly nullified after the monument to him or her had been already built and cemented in place for public worshiping and it was discovered she or he had been sidelighting in a darker shade of themselves, shadowing the lives of innocents and extinguishing others candles because they lusted and cause they could. you know who i'm talking about there's so many of those. loved by many now hated by most. one circled roped in focus can distract from the life your partner your wife around you. your son who packs a gun -the heat is beat- and maybe boy or maybe girl, the foil-wrapped careful cut icebergs or powders or icicles or dub-sides come half-baked with home fries for the waiting guys waiting sometimes impatient waiting. sent. sent by that curiosity fills the soul kills some whole. just before the -you don't know now you know- part. the grow on your street that your feet touch and meet there. pavements so hard they killed fred astaire. or would had had he not been nimble. like no bread, just bologna with capers and mozzarella, white wet from the homeland near the river saucony. alive and kicking. kicking down the doors to taste buds. touch memory deeper than sentimental songs, you know. by heart. don’t start, ‘cause I’m not finished, planet earth, the spoon, the black and white, the dish, the fashion statement the runway ran away with. now you come back to reality and fall in love with someone and lose yourself. there now, your good and lost, child, god loves you like that, good and lost in love forever.   - KatYa

k by k, 2016

roadie of a lifetime

spex of dust were everywhere and still we could not see them. you looked immaculate to me (though sullied by religion the word captured what i saw in you). you somehow had not sold out in a world of sell out crowds. and though it left you virtually alone on stage, without lights or ticket vendors, audience or effect, i would be your roadie. and if only i could, i would be the roadie of a lifetime. doing your makeup in the green room. pear green manicure. strengthening your eyelashes with my famous beeswax and used car oil (i tap it from my very own volkswagen). coaching you in the red room, whispers of unintelligible talking points. making love to you in the eggshell room, comingling of hands and the clock. you have the most striking off-presence, haunting the auditoriums. and after your final bows, the curtains hanging still like they never want it to end, I will hold your hand in the dressing room, fording our river of forgetfulness    -katya

stream # subzero

good versus bad could be the subject line in so many stories we tell one another, the backdrop for the narrative tales that thread in and out of the jacks in the boxes, the sevens the elevens, the wall green white hens laying eggs on your bank account until they topple and fall below zero to get charged lacking overdraft protections, the bank tricked out the selections, egg in your eye so all you see in the yolk of your mirror is some bloke whose tramped out and you clean and stamped out with some substandard nonglass maybe bleach infused product, summer tanned to understand and bleached on the beach, privileged to be lazy with your reach for the cell phone to make ends meet in another zip code, a city street, an elevation way up high in a place of certain control and power, soon to be undertowed away having worn the boot too long and through, having anchored yourself in one place. bombs away they say as they raze you -- only you can raise a new you -- a locus among locusts where from all the lofty semi-ideas truck over inferieures in hemis with emmys and gaze, bent over forward or backward or side to side just to hide your true feelings toward someone not quite befitting the mantle, the boss, the one who commands, the one who destroys outside thinking, the one who insulates the factory and checks off on imbalances. on the balance sheet of life its quite clear that the eggwhites of eyes register the very zero so many are fearing and steering as far clear of as may be consciously possible, and who knows where the unconscious is going sometime, personally or collectively dreaming away on a counter. what makes life interesting, makes truth stranger in many ways and harder to pinpoint than an invention of some no good for nothing unemployed poet mentored by purportedly self-actualized dharma bums and beats, optimized daily with new vegan recipes of brown sugarcane juice and cost-cutting and paper-saving methodology, supplemented by earth focused animal-friendly strawberry goo, and rather fascinating for a bonus, right? and that's what they think of you and me, too.

you were. i was

you were seeking (someone after work) you were. i was a little something to look at (we were young) i was, on that night (following no one) awake in a different way, unusually done up (tryin to get a charge in the) senseless world (with us), pretty preloaded (bound to be impulsive) both of us and tight (lonely maybe but not needing nothing) that night.

you were.
i was

i was seeking (for so long comin up empty), going home alone (without finding anyone) you were traveling backward (to remember the past) insincerely, we spoke in whispers (it was the lies in your eyes) i knew, your pain (you were)
i was

breathless at first
some difficulty and all alone (just imagine), you gave me someone to envision (someone who could care when caring was all was asked and running a shocking deficit) being with (being with you) and  you were. i was.

we were somethin (material) random. of a sudden (indebted) rolled pinner of a joint. tight (like that). god is good. baked into the bread. wholesome (hearted) and not having to speak (talking about it was always so terrible anyway and made us feel bad about ourselves) was a gift we both were given. you were. i was

something special is about to go off
and may we make (us) last
as long as we
possibly
can

Journal # 06.03.16

Give me the night give me silence, a destination where i stand, so I can live here - off and on - this land. Give me an apple to stir up my blood - i will give you my all - anything and a juicy story to tell. Find me at the river at dawn - the valley drawn - straight outta my mind. Come and hold me if you can. I made a ring of water and hold no promises - i'm an honest girl - still circling round the fire burned my heart. Now I know I have no control. And when I remember it's better this way. The green glass Tanqueray and all the drunken dreams dissolved, unreal, taken by the current, back to the channel, the great wide open and changed the world. We were left behind where we found us, belly to belly and eyes upon us, down in the dust of the dusk, nine at night. Making out all right, on the bank, snuggled up against a fallen tree, you and me, summer times together, we started something never ended like the war. Fallen in your arms again some day, unexpectedly, you and me, over tea. You may throw your cap into the air - spinning like the dream - left me dead lost in my despair. Tangles in my hair, I will jump off a rock into the eddy. Wake myself up so good to share my life with you. Under the sky, dead heat in the sun. Wet. And ready...

reading backwards

i dont know why but i did grow up in the USA thinking that what was bad for me was good for me and went after it like a turkey hunter after thanksgiving dinner in a secret desire to die. i dont know why but i made it here. where we renounce all that and try to live for the living and its like reading backwards sometimes its so hard. i dont know what but whatever it is it doesnt matter much cause it comes and it goes. i dont know who but they usually love me or hate me and are equally essential if im gonna understand. i don't know when but if its not now i oughta not bother with it. i dont know where but feel safest at home. i dont know how this all happened but i did start over and starting from scratch is the hardest cause youve got nothing to back you and you pray someone will take you for your word though they must be a fool to do that. i dont know how but not without faith and not without help and knowing what happens (and its nothing nice) when you stop trying and dont give in just give up. its like reading backwards sometimes its so hard.

Daughter Of Darkness TEaSeR

An excerpt from my soon to be released novella...

"Stay. Stay here with me, with you, with the world. Stil. Still your fears, let them coagulate into a lifeless form. Pull. Let me pull them out of you, so you can stay. Stay here with me, with you, with the world in all its desensationalism. Draw. let me draw out of you that too which you cling, here in the shadow of San Francisco, in this ageless night of Broadway and her storefront theatrefront shining, pimping, fronting, sinning, drinking, smoking, screaming, flowing trade of flesh and desire to no end. Down Auto Row I walked, secretly chewing on a hundred lost city souls along the way, leaving them each and every one not as dust, no, leaving them no longer weary in their ways, some standing, leaning against the brick facades or street signs, tipping their hats up now so the street can see their eyes, some walking, slower now not faster, able to stop thoughts and worries and feel the air if nothing else, some unfolding out of some hidden corner to zero, shivering a little less, realizing that they are the warmth in a cold dark night and nothing less, and nothing less than zero, so the only way might be up and out, so yes, as you watch me fade east into the bright night and know me for carrying you to some neon orange hope away from fear, the time is now, the energy is available to you freely, sons and daughters of human kind, open your eyes, yes, see that it may not be so bad as you had it out to be, and only you can not be a victim of only your circumstance, only you can hasten headlong to your death, only you can make your very next move or be otherwise static yours, and swallowed by the fear strikes you sound."