blonde

you came to my door selling candles
and applespice tea in blonde wooden
boxes. i bought the one with a dragon
holding a sword. the kind you wanna
carve into your arm some day

#katyamills
remix 1998

imprinted. 4 life

These are not simply memories which are recalled to haunt and thrill me from time 2 time, no, these experiences I have had, the powerful ones, are accessible always, and you will find them in the way I speak, the way I think, the way I walk, the way I feel... you see, my friends, we have been imprinted and this is 4 life.

The life (lived) sinks to the deepest part of you, floating in a pendulum arc to rest upon your bedrock, where all is cool and slow-motion, your hard drive, safe and preserved, and takes form of an emanation, begins to glow! The loves, the friends, the places, the losses, our greatest moments and cavernous falls. The rush of it all, and yet resides in us, and when we meet again following some passage in time, you see the change in me, and I the difference in you. This light is not unlike sitting down with the beaten back pages of your favorite book, water-stained and dog-eared, tarnished and soft in your hands in your belly in your heart on a rainy day, deeper than any tattoo.

A song comes along in the cloud, have I told you how it hits me? Any one of the numbers between 1973 and 2017 and now I am all curled up focused in the center of the novel, all the many faces all the actors situating themselves inside the pressure of my blood. The world is one of endless colors then. I am who I was all over again, and it makes me.

It made me so. Made me who I am and for that I am thankful. I will never regret a drop of it, a day, an hour, a starstruck moment in my own endless night.  I may have changed, my dear, but only for the better and only for the best!  I am and we are all of the world which has touched us, though we maybe long ago hiked ourselves right off that decrepit map... we found bypass.

  - KatYa, 2017

the plot. ecstatic

A while back i was wearin a floral print shirt i bought with a gift card leftover from the holidays, and found myself perspiring through another busy day, what with the excitement of life in this little city, and my sweat comingled with the pattern, the print from the inside out, and the material began to stick to my skin. i tried to tug it away from time to time, whilst talking to people about their problems, then had to take my coffee break early, smiling as i excused myself, when to my dismay i found the print had firmly rooted itself into me, and my upper body was one big floral tattoo, a colorful garden up and down my arms and fingers, across my shoulders and breasts, around to encompass my back replete! i quickly made my way, unacosted, out a side door to exit the building, and running home from there i had many uninvited acknowledgments and gang signs flashed my way by passerbys, all in the breathless spirit of the life of ink, and finally i got over myself by a chain link fence a few blocks from where i lived. as i caught my breath in a lean i saw the clouds open up to the sun, and closed my eyes to feel the sudden warmth spread over me and fill me with a feeling i have never before known, a sorta ecstatic love! last thing i remember i was leanin more deeply into the chain link, which was giving into the weight of me, the side of my face and body getting waffled, one eye fixed within a quadrant of link. i opened it to see within, a community garden with plots for anyone who cares. i always wanted a plot of my own, beside pumpkins, green pepper and garlic. now i kinda sorta do! i seem to reside there, and they tend to me, watering and cutting me back every so often. i don't mind my rectangular confines, so long as sun can reach me and provide the ecstatic love, here where the plot thickens, in the heart of midtown, i have lost interest in anything else.

cold war on ice

Hi, i am the States, your distant cousin. remember me? you used to like me for my blue jeans and my cowboys and maybe even my coca-cola, and my Hollywood stills, and my D-to-the-V-Day march as your Ally. You weren't so fond of my fast food and how i was secretly recording you, or my global subliminal influence, or my secret missions to throw money and guns at some fine one with more my interest at heart than yours. Once you seat him in office, watch him kiss my beloved ass. i am the States and i'm still All Wall Street and a walking contradiction. Catch me beaming over Putin's recent remarks, you know how he called me the only superpower. Sure, he's about as appealing as a nuclear warhead with nowhere to go, but it's nice to know i haven't been throwing my weight around the pond for nothing since we put the cold war on ice. LOL. Speaking of ice - does everyone in Europe still drink our diet cokes at room temperature? So bizarre! But so long as you buy. Hello high fructose corn syrup! Who else can boast a cash crop made of air and bubbles and caramel color, with the preservative fortitude to withstand the end of the world? A real punch to the kidney, eh? you know you can't get enough of me. if i hadn't created the internet, we wouldn't be face-timing and you'd be feeling lonely like Queen Cameron, Brexit the stage, just in time for Wimbledon and her lovely lazy summer days dressed in white and all polite, left to graze the green grass while the markets recover and come to your mother, ya me, over here, with a ring in your ear and a sleeve up your sleeve, superpowering the jetstream to blow you away.

Review: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Great book. Very sad that Stieg Larsson did not survive to see the success of his Millenium series. Apparently he had a heart attack after climbing 7 flights of stairs when the lift was broken down at his office. This was not long after he had submitted his manuscripts to his publisher. Conspiracy? Bad luck? It feels natural to wanna question everything after reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, which is a story about a missing girl and a magazine editor hired by a wealthy industrialist to look into her disappearance. Digging into the family crates will be complicated and dangerous. He hires the title character, the girl, to help him hack computers and keep him loving company on an island where he is housed to do his research in the 'back and beyond' of rural Sweden. Generations of the family he is hired to investigate live there with their long established animosities, in-fighting and secrets. Meanwhile our stud journalists beds almost every woman he encounters (the only part I thought to be slightly less believable and a little annoying) with ease. The title character has her own secrets and a painful personal history, but she is quite wonderful and lovable in her antisocial and eccentric ways; at one point in the narrative he suggests she is a high functioning autistic (aka Aspergers). Her story intertwines with the main narrative, and recaptured my attention whenever the story became a bit dull (which was rare) or oversaturated with the intricacies of high finance (it helps if you have an understanding of business when reading this story, but it's not necessary). The writing is clear and easy reading for the most part. I found there was great action, a compelling plot and characters. Big business is mostly the enemy, in irresponsible hands. I was rooting for the journalist and the hacker the whole time, particularly the girl. Fascinating character. I liked this book enough to have it while I sat in the dentist chair getting my teeth drilled. I was given a few minutes between sessions while waiting for the novocaine to kick in, to read the final 80 pages. One last thing: the author apparently witnessed a gang-rape of a young girl by some other kids when he was a boy, and, according to his girlfriend (who has been fighting his estranged family for years for the rights to his literary empire) this colored his worldview because he always regretted not intervening. She says he was a feminist. This would explain the statistics he wrote below the chapter titles which relate to sexual crimes against women in his homeland. And be prepared to experience graphic representations of such violence within the text. Great book! I may very well go on to the next, but I would also be content to stop here, because the book stands well on its own. Great ending!

View all my reviews

silent sees me

Black tea
Green tea
White tea

the things i cannot see

Persian
Siamese
Maine Coon cats

tatted* up
with sleeves
like maps

cast my eyes
above horizon
forty-five degrees

if i can find
my way
back home

through streets
low-lit
alleys

on converse all-stars
on wiki dreams

on salient
flecking
waves of hope

dear god!
the pope
francis, assisi

the truth appears and
silent sees
me!


-copyright K, 2014
* slang for tattooed

skating - a poem

http://wp.me/s1qcWq-skating

message in a stare

Sacred. Holy. One week to press.
With the weight of a half thousand years
i confess.

So many months deluged with so many hundred tears.
Will we find our way home
or the renaissance of our fears?

Half of no one really cares or cares
to think about her.
That girl allison who left her bike locked to the school bike rack
yesterday. Helmet like a cradle still hanging from the lock.
Fifteen & this young american life
sprouted up bold

with spice & kick !

only then to a stand 

still?

Please don't get me started. cause i understand the pain. i feel it tonight just worse than ever. I am tired. Half insane. Weary men and women listen! Cause we are here. Well, some of y'all will listen-- those who have enough left to hear. And other unidentified walking objects get a shout out. dripping off the gate like morning dew. cradled by the wind. back to source through the air. A message in a stare.

Like those before us, we shall be tracked by tracking systems until we can be tracked no more.  Then we are lost or free. or both, if both may be... Just not downgraded to immobile media coverage task. Just not downloaded. Not forced into play.  Just not packaged with advertisements. God help us that we not be, no way.

No time for us to be distracted, to be distracted eats up time. Take your files and get in line, steady forward to the task. every sector in the urban 50 mile sprawl must be covered, just in case they ask.  The year might be 2027. Or it may as well have been. So far gone and yet far ahead of them. We meet in present time, of course, in future time united. By spirits of our past, energetically protected.

The pharmacological solution for weariness sxs is just to reach market! Her derivatives are Non-narcotic, uncontrolled solution. Spirits, triple variables, this is the scenario! One constant holding ground like an anchor pressed into the seafloor forever into dissolution. Reunification with source spells the end of all fragmentation, source is like light, enlightens the solution.

Source is sacred ash and vulnerable.  Spiritual energy. Source is humble. Anchored in the message. Means running around in circles searching and searching no more.

No longer feeling lonely.

going out there with courage.

Encouraged! Where loneliness gets discouraged. Where death cannot flourish. Keep moving! Dropping to the hardwood floor. Dripping your feelings fast between planks. Bye bye to Loneliness (its confidence tanks). Its global toxicity becomes local then less.

Human duplicity fades away,

spun out of the spokes of

true unitive rims rolling away.

Girl, the world aint pretty when you're all fragments. Its sharp and cuts us something terrible. To reconstitute may be by means agonizing. Tragically stitched. Exposing that which was self-inflicted. Self-dealt. Out-played and played out.... sounds exhausting this transformation but let me tell you... she is universally-felt.

Our world she gets broken apart, polluted and cut into, whether or not we or you think its a sin too. Then she's swirled together like Missouri, Joplin weather.
Disconsonant elements,
mashed through and through.

Sacred if you accept it, if you will
through and through
Turns black to red to blue and back to black again
 like your dragon tattoo...

The flavor like white stripes to
detroit heights, higher. Up to the upper peninsula! So inspired.

Hike and hike your skirt and let the clothing pull away

and  plant your self 

(your body glistening white like source

bright against the moist earth, dry clothes)

directly in the maelstrom
in the very vortex of

the maelstrom of

your life.