pact with the subconscious?

the subconscious made a sycophant 

of me. night after night i made a case for the material of dreams 

not to torment

i offered up classical music and salt lamps and feathers of goose 

down 

i got nothing 

but the same so I took ahold of this 

and charted my course 

by stars

  #katyamills

un.con 39

in the thirty-ninth year on earth the uncon appeared and became conscious. a new formidable player in my life. uninvited. she had to be held up at the gate, a credentials check was imperative. this puppy has some torque to her, i thought, my adrenaline rising at the sight of her. she might turn over the apple cart (the stomach the sole beneficiary). i made a quick decision and i killed her - with kindness. i could no longer survive being conned.  #katyamills

night sequence

big city by choice, you and me, we came in together on the back of big city adrenaline rush. we had a fight, you got upset and turned your back on me. i got lost like i did in those days, running away from all i knew, on purpose. a magnet for manipulation. surreptitiously hunted by strangers. most of what i had with me would be stolen, especially my pride. threatened and blamed and treated with derision. magically thinking, i wished for you to appear on any corner. some girl had a mind to show me compassion, but even she turned and twisted the knife, being skeptical and not buying my incredible story. lost and no obvious avenue home. no money, no phone, no friends. those I turned to for help could not help me for they were all too embedded in their ways. became convinced i was less so. how quickly one can go from respectable citizen to  vagrant. if anyone decides to hunt you and rough you up, for kicks, you're a goner. that night, like many before and after, i got myself into such a world, so deeply, i almost did not make it out. why i was such a lost soul for so long, i may never fully understand. now i get to wake up and thank god im no longer insane, for these are only night sequences, bubbling up from the depths of traumatic memory, and the unconscious.

killbot 2000. soul reclamation.

'people work better when driven (insane)' -part ix / x
originally published on kissilent.wordpress.com


Some money making murder mystery venture was proposed, to save the world. But money could not help us now. Unless we wanted to sit on a sidewalk in san francisco. For the park-your-ass meters. To keep the park-your-ass enforcers off your ass. You got to have dry wall for brains or some quiet desperation, to wake up one day and decide to act out by some innovation on pickpocketing. But that’s exactly what happened, when it was clear the world was not for saving. Maybe the whales, but not the world. Just as Steve Jobs and crew were in his garage creating the macintosh… just as Packard and Hewlett were in a garage creating the printer…simultaneously as all garage bands ever were in their garages plugging in and cranking their amps to eleven… some asshole was learning how to steal your identity in his parents’ garage (because i am sure he didn’t own a garage, himself, not yet anyway).

So we take the good and the bad, together, naturally. All of those garage experiments evolved into cottage industries and then empires, over the course of thirty years or more. While you and me were coming home from work (or not), and planted in front of the TV. Could we reclaim all those hours lost in front of the former tube now pixelated flatscreen phenom, we may have devoted them to better causes than working our marvelous retinas into a pulp.

People work better when driven. Better than being coaxed into a couch, sucked into that singular, savage and brutal addiction to the once marvel of engineering become luxury item become mass-produced producer of idiocy via artificial contrived morality tales to snakeskin sales pitch to fear-propagating political weaponry, become feng shui killbot 2000, become that which we must now look out for as gravity takes it from the arms (through the window, above us) of the desperate if not suicidal multitudes who, having lost all personal integrity and dignity to the thing, found, in reactionary thoughtfully thoughtless rage, immediate end to the problem and all its projected yet false happenings which made superfluous the very lifeblood flowing through any man or woman or child. To the sole singular purpose of pressing a few simple buttons to todays essential pseudo life-giving (soul stealing) contrivance or advertisement or other lobotomized offal better known to drainage pipes and sewer systems and other some such forgotten, abandoned, set away from human senses so as not to offend, offenders of our tentative and more than ever before gelatinous hold on society…finally did the right (though mad) thing by throwing another sorry-assed lightbox out the nearest window…. which, i propose, never would have happened, had they not been driven insane.

Memory #2009. Zero points. Tidal wave music. Current of gratitude -- ii)

Continuation of an earlier suggestion by K, years ago. Completion of a semi-conscious thought...

Religion was unpopular in areas where its leaders did not sway political power. In those areas, religion still dominated and tormented millions and was smoked, ingested, digested, inhaled, and slammed by minions. Obsessing minds like Helen of Troy.

In supposedly 'free' countries, those who believed they were free wore spirituality on their luxurious auras and referred to east meets west and quoted prominent thinkers and spiritual teachers so to keep good standing among social circles.

'Keeping it real'

They often ended where they began, these social circles. true to being a circle.  Comfort came in being in the same place and unevolved; they called this state of stagnation: HOME.

No words meant anything, really, because all words could be traced back to the dead language, which was alive in all words. They called it dead because they were free and unconscious. Only when the people slept did consciousness appear, and they called these 'nightmares' and spoke of consciousness as though it were a horrible curse upon them.

And yet they spoke of consciousness with great philosophical energy made viral, and some claimed to be more conscious than others.

[These were know as sleepwalkers and allowed to exist in a harm reductive state, and went back far in time in hopes of rejecting the notion that anyone (anything) like them could possibly have ever existed before them, for they considered themselves unique.]

Fortunately, their condition was terminal at best. Rebirth would be promised them for centuries before termination due to the giving up on them by the divine (he who giveth up on no one).