notarize the thighs -vi)

Sex continued to sell in a recession-proof kinda way. A woman could turn a profit, with only a fuck-all mentality pushing her envelope. Boys and girls on the streets, of course, could reap whatever they chose to sow. They had youth behind them. They could do very well. So long as they did not allow the reaping to be turned over to any of a thousand common sneaker-pimp, grim-reapers, sizing them for pawned Fred Perry tracksuits and enticing them with Baby Phat faux leather. On top of spaghetti, all covered in cheese. In return for a personal attendant pickpocket leech motherfucker who will make a misery out of anyone, with some coke and a smile.

Sex continued to sell in the USA, despite any casualties on the streets. Despite rampant victimization. What was the attraction? Who knows. Sex continued to sell despite all opinion polls against it. Both predators and victims alike, took advantage of the resources offered by the county coffers and non-profits. Wolves in sheep clothing were abundantly known but rarely snitched on. They might try and make it worth your while. Though they had nothing of value to offer. Smart girls on the street, inevitably found it better to notarize the thighs. Become self-employed. Make her own bed. Awash in entrepreneurial spirit.

Sex continued to sell at all times, and in all conditions. Meanwhile, the grande eras of upswing stock markets easily navigated any overhang of massive U.S. debt, like Kelly Slater coming through a Fiji wave tunnel; one million salty tears a second rolling over his beautiful aquarian-californian head. Awash in passionate, competitive, entrepreneurial spirit.

Meanwhile, even the mention of legalities could not exorcise the dollar signs from the retina of the corporate maelstrom surfing the jetstream libre, por favor. Freedom on the backs of tax incentives and lobby concessions. Though many an executive took a personal interest in getting bound and whipped by a dominatrix of choice, in a dungeon of his choosing, there would be little interest in remaining bound or tethered to any law that impeded clear and present profit for his corporate entity holdings.

The corporate executive. There at the top of the food chain, on the hill overlooking the streets of skid row. Far, far below, the seemingly effortless give-and-take on the streets. The corporate exec. Even this karmic nightmare of a lifestyle, could be somehow justified and embraced. Casual, episodic subservience appeared to help balance out his power-tripping and episodic fisting of mom and pop cottage industries. Domino's to be lined up and knocked down, mercilessly, so to make ample room for his twenty to thirty-thousand square-foot monstrosities, to capture mass consumption in the crux of commercial real estate purchased up in the aftermath of heavy rotation roadshows to drum up institutional investment, internationally.

Katya Mills, 08/13

notarize the thighs -iv)

You became at that moment - for something. What a relief. Even if you were not exactly sure what you were for, anyone could tell you were for something. By your healthy pulse and that certain laser light, in your eyes. You would be one of those walk-ons in a method acting audition, who couldn't act your way out of a bag, but whom, without a single line spoken, got the part. Cause of the way you carried yourself, of course. Props to Marlon Brando and Tennessee Williams. Props to Faye Dunaway and Charles Bukowski. Props to an effortless way of being. Props to the effort behind it. Props to you. For the je ne sais quoi. Your vox accompli.

Gone are the days in the margins, barely alive. Still a loner, but no longer alone. A non-subscriber, but only by choice.  A subscriber for certain to your own gliding voice.

Throw out the bricks and mortar old rolodex situation. With the tinted glass cover and the black plastic foundation. With the earmarks from contacts you once had relied on. In a corporate scenario that paid real damn well. Welcome to owning your own ebullient label. The style is touching, though the earnings? unstable.  Welcome to endless contacts who you have not yet met. There will be no more rolodex and no more personal jet or jet-set.

No need to monitor some worked up fabrication, to keep you employed in some unforgiving niche. But you may have to pull a Rod Stewart, and start your wave digging ditches. Those who dare not to step out the parameters set for them, are worth all your compassion and benevolence. No doubt. But never look back for too long. Amassed is an archive so full of the evidence, of what happens when the spirit is packed up and stored in the attic. Or firewalled off from your heart, until it hits static.

Not a pretty picture, the motionless scene. Of the spirit once blazing, now lounging. In limousine. With a whiskey and water, and lips wet with saying; some day it will happen, some day maybe soon. Some day I am sure, and maybe next June. Some day, and now pass me the map to the treasure. I am almost halfway there, and at my own leisure.

You and me, we are different. It's quite a dialectic! There's nothing to demeaning or ill-willed coming from us, we wish all the best of each of us, always. But some can relate to another so well, you just start communicating and fall under a spell. Your spirit informs you all the way up through your chakras. The moment we meet becomes an instagram memory. We cannot privatize our sense of fellowship. The generosity of spirits aligned in a moment. Captured true and irrevocable. Outside of time, space, locus, place. Defies x,y and z axes. All around us fades to gray, for a second. In the flash of a conducted energy across the impenetrable body armor. The primal scream is released. Props to Reich and to Tesla, and the Orgone Accumulator. Props to spiritism and its history, quite alive through the centuries. Like a redwood rising above all the mundanity deluxism.

Take the lux out, and there! The je ne sais quoi. Notarize the thighs, but don't break the law. Just live like you're living, whether homeless or funded, keep giving! That's all. We are the ones who come so far to surpass the situation. The whole enchilada of titanium insensate fear-inspired, fear-financed, mass indicated, mass appealed, safety-sealed, moment in time treasured, intricately coded and measured, bureau monitored, otherwise insurmountable, cultural affair.

by Katya Mills, 07/13

notarize the thighs -ii)

And there in the alleys, lay the sweet marrow of culture...

With ink on the arms and legs and the core. boys and girls who seek safety in all diverse self-expression; who know no other refuge in a lifestyle recession. all races and creeds and classes unite. welcome to the miracle of usa subset! creative. inspired. inspected by #444 yet mostly misunderstood. resistant to the tool and die cast condemnations. flipping the script on all morality-play machinations. the courageously stumbling around in the dark. the seeking to define a new future for all. taking chance to defend the foundation integrity. shooting down any luck of the draw. this is where we found shelter, or where it found us.

where you found me, and i found you. the intimacy between us, beyond any screw. the end of the end of the end of world wars. the anti-authoritarian seam. running up and down the side of some chix flicking-eye-lash. An awesome metallic spark for the scene. The rebellion burning through the black-leather soul. A heavy-hearted embrace, from one to another. In the eyes, we see home. We drink sumatra. We eat seaweed. We laugh and we cry. Back home and we missed you, the whole place got shy. Without the wild heart of a beloved lost soul out at sea. Nourished back home now, and got love for you and me...tbc  xxoo

Katya Mills, 07/13