thanksgiving

If life has worn you out, be worn out for a while and let yourself surrender. Try and be grateful. For only can you be tired by living if you have truly lived, and it is the living that you did that made you feel the way you feel now. Some don't get the chance to feel beat down by a hard day's work because for some reason they are not living like you are, maybe they are not now capable of really letting themselves go and get carried away. May today be a day to give thanks for the life that beats us up and wears us out, working, raising kids, building something, caring for someone, devotion, fighting for something, loving someone, learning our lessons, taking our licks, falling, getting up, pulling ourselves together, asking for help, succeeding, failing, crying, laughing, running, shouting, breathless, dreaming, getting quiet again... and looking back we would do it all over again.

under the influence of and blindsided by life

what is left to do but live when all the other meaning i ever thought life carried no longer holds me, no way, all is left is the life itself and whomever orchestrated this party clearly let me figure it out for myself, hey, there's nothing can be figured by it, there is little use for an outline for a story that changes every instant, imperceptibly most of the time, punctuated by obvious dramatic incidents, unraveling in a rhythm decided by greater forces than self and self-will - whether you call it god or not, there it is showing you up all the time - and i could begin to really love it if only i could accept it, but tend to fight it all the while, not sayin' im against change, no way, but i guess i get attached like any young fool i wanna hold on to the meaning i created and not let go, the meaning i share with you, as we unravel the way we do, pretty sometimes, funny, tragic sometimes, for i cherish it and maybe that's what a book is to me, writing a book, capturing a sliver of cherished meaning, so we can have it, you and me, so we can know in twenty sixteen this was how it was for a hot second, glorious, tumbled off of a platform and raising dust, confused and intoxicated as life is, under many an influence, troubled and reflective, comin apart at the seams, belligerent, graceful sometimes, then colliding again with the water, the air, the earth, blindsided by the spirit, chanted away on a fallen sun, going dark again, colorful at dawn, vital, full of hope and bloodied shows we're made of something, and - no matter the violent wannabes tryin to ruin what we got - the sure thing won't ever change is our rising up with an ever touched fortitude to show them we can love them, too, despite themselves spun into lost causes, for we have been lost, too, and only found ourselves like old friends to embrace and move courageously into the lucid dream in precarious identities under our skin, deepening the experience only by giving and giving into. And out of my mind i go, crazy and unregimented - sometimes in ink - zigzagging under the influence of strange and unseen elements, having a grand and grainy absorption, laughin and cryin, talkin and sleepin, knowing no other way but here, but now, discardin the limited perception, struggling to make somethin of it, and so what's made is what is, and what is is pretty damn spectacular, i mean, what is left to do but live, when all the meaning you ever made no longer holds you, no way, is that freedom or what? Whether we want it or not it's not about what we want, is it, it's only lived and the living never wears out, just as sure as perception has its limits, we see death when nothing ever dies, life keeps living and nothing will stop it! Not even the end of this earth, so goddamn! Whose to worry? All is left is the imperceptible ever changing, punctuated by obvious dramatic moments, spaced by space, unitive when embraced, divided when not, judged all along, fading into sunsets, risen into colors, drawn out over time, blessed by the blessings, covered in earth, supported on the back of the wind, falling like the water, breaking in a wave, bleached by the sun, suffering in darkness, and tremendously reunited, partying til dawn, siesta all day, coffee in the evening, writing at night, diving into books, driven into meaning,  making use of what we've been given... loving every second if you are lucky and figure out how to give in: so give in, my friend, give in.   - KatYa, 2016 (celebrating blog post #1,000)

i write books

The past was in the past and there was no changing it, I had come to accept some of the terrible ways that I was, at a time when i knew neither how to love nor take care of myself, love affairs that got hot and then got colder than ice, and died on a silver platter served up to the gods because we could no longer manage our own broken human entanglements. The gods were angry at us for sure. We were like selfish children fighting and pulling each other's hair but neither of us was more dangerous than we were to ourselves. The only solution I saw was to surrender up my lifestyle and admit personal defeat on all levels, and I did. The year was 2012. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence, loved me still and showed me some light. I was ready to end it all and start from scratch, and I did. The following years would be painstaking, with nightmares and memories nobody would want to claim as their own, anxiety and depression stirring up and weighing down the bones, feelings of loneliness and shame, sadness in seeing what I had done to myself and how I hurt the ones who loved me. Yet as I worked hard to forge a new and enduring lifestyle, the gods began to smile upon me again and gave me a little more light every day. I raised kittens from six weeks old, Boo and Mouse. I wrote books and made some new friends. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence began to come a little closer. Soon we would strike the heart of the matter, and my basic faith would be restored. I tried to reach out and heal the wounds of the past - not everyone wanted me back - the point is I tried and would keep trying hard. I was honest and accountable for all the worst parts of my nature; the lies and deceptions and attempts to manipulate situations to my favor, out of fear, out of avarice, out of selfish desire, an endless burning inside of me. A fire I channel now into something worth giving, to make up for the sad way in which I was living for so long, the addiction clouding my vision back then, when I was lost and alone subjected to contempt and derision. Life works itself out you know, and over and over I had to acquiesce, dropping to my knees in a helpless and hopeless emotional state. I wrote books. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence gave me a chance and I took it, and - look at me now - I have come a long way and doing my best, out of the clouds and feeling refreshed, coffee my drug and fuck all the rest! The haters still trying sometimes to get into my peace and into my head and sometimes succeeding for a moment - like last night - but when the emotions stirred up and I cannot breathe anymore, feeling the pain they wanna inflict, all I have to do is stop absorbing it and don't fight back and remember I am only left with myself and my gods and what we know to be true, the pain can subside in the rain. I wrote books and I wrote them for me and for you. In the darkest of nights like tonight we will find, the true design, the judgment of others wash away down the grate to their fate, and the time people spend knocking us reflects more on their character, for what would they want? an apology? something more? why they are pressing to hurt my old feelings is not my affair or concern anymore. Impoverishment of the spirit is a dead end you see, I have given it up for life. I want only the best out of anyone I meet, whether it be at home, online, in the coffeehouses, on the street. They can hunt me down to hurt me with their jealousy and rage, bringing up the past which has already been played. I won't give in to hypocrisy and lies. I won't have my character assaulted or assassinated anymore. I write books. I work hard and am cleansed by my craft. I dedicate my life to this cause, fait accompli. If you have not already seen in me the life and the love - pay close attention - you will see.