journal entry #4

1.27.26 unwilling to stay in line or lane we produced some wax for the #wane went against the grain and got chided and derided which was only reinforcing as we sang and danced to music they could not even seem to feel and is not that strange? #vss365

1.25.26 there is no #ruse left you could use I have seen them all. and when you haunt our shared location you will feel my distance. you lose. i give flowers only to those I choose #vss365

1.29.26 the title was dropped in the wrong box of which I was unaware. they placed it by my door at the top of the stair. my little head put it together and I was serene. for this thoughtfulness did #obfuscate the general malaise which saddens my gaze #vss365

1.28.26 a #quiver in the river of thought and I made this mistake. to follow one of a thousand diversions. and the river dried up. its bed harbored coyotes traveling west on the train tracks needing to rest. good. i was left hollow and still. breathing #vss365

1.31.26 little could #soothe a jaded heart but he brought over an ice cream cake just the same. day before their birth. joy sparked 4 a sec. is he dead yet? naw. what kind of planet? idk. but we have our dreams. #vss365




by #katyamills 2026

(originally posted on twitter and bluesky's daily vss threads)

x twitter

 

Vitamin K

@Katya444ever

little good comes out of being rushed like words expedited to publication. twitter was what it was. an echo chamber run by a billionaire who long ago lost touch with a commoner. a first draft machine. and a social diversion with like minded heartfelts.

#katyamills

hostile takeover

resting in a meadow 

on a day only god could cook up 

the poorest being on earth

became the wealthiest man 

alive 

#katyamills

doomscrolling

the birds gave up 

stopped singing they

mulled about their nests 

feathered up and tucked

in. lost in a doomscroll

from hell my phone 

was chirping about

something i friendless

tuned out 

#katyamills

twitter handle

Katya444ever 🏳️‍🌈


latchkey kid and #indieauthor. nonbinary (she/they). genX. as the sun rises i morph into a #psychotherapist. i hold out hope for anyone and u

cross examine yourself

A winter's day. The mercury stood up and shouted. The polar bears' coats were dirty and keeping cold would be next to impossible. I cross examined the witness and the witness was me. The argument in favor of the species had lost steam with the jury, and we were running out of time to ruminate. Better hire a platypus to come in and dash the thing apart, then dish about it all to our confidante on the Twitter feed to Mars.

hunting the unforgiven

I find it wild and a little unsettling to see my country focusing on witch hunts as the ranks of the unforgiven grow, though the feeling is matched by the redemptive quality which forms in our cultural atmosphere each time someone's longheld secret is released and truth stands up finally to power.

This year we have witnessed several figures of great power in Hollywood and the District of Columbia and Manhattan blasted on Twitter and sued and denounced on mainstream media, and a few who have been stripped of power, in those cases where they are clearly (if not by forensic evidence than by the numbers of allegations and survivors) guilty of abusing and betraying the public trust by their actions.

How do I reconcile my mixed reaction to these media moments of horror and truth and compassion? I was once guilty of betraying public trust. Day by day, for several years, I have been working my way back to respectability. Society is giving me a chance to learn from my mistakes. A life cut up by addiction. I left myself behind and lost my mind.

Only god knows if I will make it tomorrow. My past is history. Today I do my best to participate in life and help out, bringing all I have learned with me wherever I go. Sharing. Caring.

What of these public figures whose pasts have caught up with them? Outcasted from society and unforgiven? Why does it disturb me to see them disfigured and disrobed from their fraudulent personas? Isn't this justice and long overdue?

I guess it's sad to watch people die that way, publicly, and sometimes their loved ones have to die alongside them. Meanwhile the victims of their crimes survive. It is unsettling to uncover what they have lived through, the survivors. I know because I am one, too.

I wonder where forgiveness fits in, when it comes to the unforgiven? I wonder if there's a certain hell where healing never starts? A tail end and no beginning. And how it came to be this way?

casino

Fashion thought so highly of herself, she lost her sense of humor. Twitter took advantage. Meanwhile, over at the Red Hawk Casino, nickel games plied the minds with dazzling wheels of chance and free drinks. The tribe was making bank. I looked into a mirror and gave up on my face, you dropped another twenty in timeless space.

indie author KatYa

indie author KatYa

I am an Independent, self-published with several books to my name. I do hope to become a ‘Hybrid’ author some day, and am currently seeking representation (of course I wouldn’t wanna lose my humanity or anything). I’m proud to say there are now close to 100 total reviews of my work on Goodreads and Amazon combined, averaging better than 4 out of 5 stars. I also blog daily and publish flash fiction and creative nonfiction on my website, which has over 150,000 pageviews to date. I started a storytelling project on my youtube channel, where I read my work and enjoy creating video books, reading and writing have always been close to my heart. I get a lot of my ideas while running along the American River, and ran my first marathon last year. Soon I will be running in the ‘Way Too Cool’, my first Ultramarathon on the trails in the American River Canyon and I cannot wait! I do have to slow down my superhero once in a while and morph into a social worker to pay the rent, and have been counseling indigent peoples with mental illness for over a decade. In case you fancy degrees, I have a BA in English from Northwestern U. and a MA in Counseling Psychology. I play guitar for my 3 cats in my spare time, and have lost many a boy and girlfriend over my screeching insolence. I also roast and drink a lot of coffee, what’s new? I love to walk around cool neighborhoods and loiter around sweet coffeehouses, too.

soft blanket statements

The urge is to break away from the pack and recover my own heartbeat, whenever I am lost in the crowd, and like Debussy's 'Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun' my pulse on its own stands wobbly and inquisitive at first, wishing for the comfort of the soft blankets left behind, and gathering my strength with the first light to see myself through to some incidental rhythm which might pick me up and love me a little and carry me, not unlike a waltz, a Kachaturian favorite at the Bolshoi Ballet, anything that begins to throb and push my blood out for more, more, more... 'cause what we have here is not enough, my friend, not enough at all to justify the effort life demands, no, to go on living requires an advancement of faith sometimes, a personal loan of decisive courage written off an account in arrears, I mean therefore a great risk of sorts only could be taken by a fool or someone who cannot fail. And that would be me, dear sir, enfathomed in the stabilizing clay of primordial pockets, ready to be fired and glazed, a modern day rockstar sold out to the streets and kicked by a label, stretched to the capillaries on short supply of sanity, appeal in the curiosity of all that's gone wrong when dipped in the culture, coming out bold print with a comic sans striation. A modern day American girl with a penchant for obscurity and woven matte finish regalia. Loving you, loving life and ready for anything. Turning to old masters when I don't have a clue, songs from the cemetery when there's nothing better to do, yes, punching up the pulse to a lively arpeggio, ascending off a decline and here I sign.  - KatYa

Journal # 07.20.16

My new blanket, sea green, provides comfort against the squalls of the world. Wrapped in soft waves of blended cotton, I am hard to convince. Maybe it's the celebrity twitter fiascos and heat waves, the political conventions. Maybe it's the people who let me down. Maybe it's the many gods, the guns, exploitation and fear. Maybe it's my great expectations. Endorsements bought and traded and ringing in the ears, racial tensions expansive in the cities in the nights. How we go about reaching out for our implosives. Some of us are down on our luck. 

 I am up on my luck and not scared to get close to someone in need. Outside of car troubles, empty wallets, degradations, and syncope spells... loneliness awaits the life of living on couches in cars on corners. Nobody should ever feel left completely alone. If all I can offer is my company, kind words and home cooking, this is what I shall give. No one oughta feel no one cares. 

I pray that you will make it and come back to us like Spring.  For now I fall back to my routine, preservation of sanity, and settle down to read of the exploits of pioneers attempting to cross the Sierra Nevadas two hundred years ago to reach our sacred, sweet valley. Thank god for family and community, and cheap, blended cottons. I had just enough fight in me, in Walmart, to open mom's palette beyond earth tones.