eyelids fallen like my guard - cut #3

I suffer headaches

Tension too thick to mention

You know. I know. We all know. 

I know we all know what is 

about to happen

sentiments left touching

 thin air

original

 firm

 comforting handshake

 they had

time trails into some 

second hand see ya

 later 

lead into some 

cold

   late

    lonely night pin cushion

 never to 

return


you, too, would have left it that way...

like i had to... 

let it go...

like i
did

you would have had me

 leave it like up and

    walk away would 

not you

before you
found and held
and loved the fuckin
hell out of 

me

mercilessly

to the expense
of my breath
of my lungs
pressing me

pressing in on me
pressing me out all whole again
in the end

goddam i miss you
goddam

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

once dream cars now we need help

We need help, too, our once dream cars now smoking on the freeway and off the next exit not far from home, thankfully, pulling over to the side of the first street off the ramp not being swept today and no meter, thankfully, and not the worst neighborhood in the good old usa, thankfully, and release the hood and look under it at the old beast, V8 like the juice, and the radiator's miserably old and fucked, she's gonna need to be cool before we wanna twist that top, we need help and we drop the hood and head in any direction, searchin ourselves for the local friend to lend a hand, cell phone's dead, legs dead from a heavy day of work in the city, week long and no one's home to put an iron to those worn out clothes, the way we dress reflectin our feelin inside, we need help, edging over a desk into an office space, delivered back with an easy full swipe of any screen, lit like a lamp with a high wattage eco-unfriendliness in the atmosphere

after hours cuz there's nothing else to do, overtime cuz extra cash is a screw, locking into union squares with high echelon affairs, all these bios laid out sick and sweetly with photos on websites pushing free streams well into the vingt-et-un of our recorded history, centuries upon centuries of layer cake separated by cream cheese, thought we had a whole generation of twenty/something concentration high kids worldwide leaning and dancing into our wondrous worlds of fluff, they definitely related well with our sundried front street placard mentality, they did our snuff, waxed with plastic veneer smiles over reality. we thought we were badasses big thumbing and wet through sacred pages now soiled -- and oh how we fell -- cried when we came across our beloved mimeo-copied verse, generous endowment long, sticky fat thumbprints on the cornices, pages I through XLX... who needs sex? not us, thankfully. we need help.

one and one makes one

with curiosity and presence i go
long on hopeful inquisition with you
the one who volunteered to
come and face me
and talk

kinda cool how we discovered

one and one makes

one

three. three. four. gin

I thought about you after I met you and we played cards and I thought, wow, you are a really good person, you are someone special, and I remember putting my cards down, three three four and declaring GIN on you. And you were happy for me, you didn't need to win at all, and that was lovely for both of us. Then when I saw you again you could bend your knee a little bit more, and you said someone bought you breakfast because they saw you had no money, and then someone else gave you money for smokes but not enough for a pack, and you were able to talk the corner store clerk down for one, and you've had it for three days and haven't even finished it yet. And I was happy to see good things happening to a good person, and that you've been able to cut back on smoking, too, cuz it's bad for your health. I told you how I thought about you and how you're special, and I wish that your life gets better and everything turns out well for you and you can walk again, and that you are able to open that orphanage someday somewhere like you wanted.

Grand Theft Life 1.9

Girl Without Borders 2.6.1

Journal # february five

A school of puffed up little clouds swam across the sky, chased by a storm, some were not quick enough, i saw them overtaken by the darker water vapors and manipulated into the greater whole. i myself was running, too, through a morass of thick mud and robust grasses, softened focus without my eyeglasses. i split into two and then into four (could have made eight if it weren't such a chore). i once loved our leader, but not anymore.

weathervane

All the Hollywood icons
all the Bollywood icons
inspire us. they sweep our floors
in black and white

All the grandeur of southern plantations
made to capture the sun
arabesque

We live on through these times we made
the oceanic minutia
we consecrate
       describe
        classify in our tomes


Our differences we set aside to study
before bed. chamomile tea with lemon peel.
we fall asleep on them

We all do the same                 in the sun in the
day in and                                      shade
out           after
                      the same nonsense
iced tea
lemonade
sugar cane crystals sparkle

Our children ask for help
without having
to ask         they ask us
                         help

we live we die
we live again
cuz

Life cannot end
when you die
         you cannot really
            you do not truly
                        die

unless you're just
another asshole
weathervane

pointing
the wrong
direction

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.

find me missing

Astonishing how i found myself in my favorite blade in the couch again. then there was the case of the vanishing wristband, i needed it for a trail run cuz it has a secret zippered pocket where i keep my latchkey. the latchkey in me is base like bullion. when i searched for the key i found the blade. only in searching for an antidote to my general anxiety did i find the key. and yes, the key did more than let me in; it stymied the malaise i had worrying some stranger might be preparing to key my flat in the middle of the night and find me, missing.

m x memory -vi

What was (not by law) acceptable? You would have to be crystal (clear) to know that awareness had not changed. Not even by 2023. Awareness is like it was: half-whole. The industrio-technological revolution had consciousness in a blender and someone hit liquefy. The laws could not tourniquet the blood loss. In effect, all diverse perceptions broadcast by sentients and picked up on radios in tunnels, were to be accepted. Resistance, denial of telltale truths, revolt against the pioneers of particularly unpopular ideas, was punished by slow reflexology torture. The pedestrian access to all CNS points of sensitivity. Modern culture placed high value on sensitivity, for it was the easiest way under the skin and didn't cost a damn thing. But desensitivity treatments were about the most malevolent practice around. A desensitized sentient was today scorned and unforgiven... turns out all evolution has the fallout of consequential negative feedback, which angles off the light of the fresh vision and becomes the new bastion of ignorant factions which can be discredited yet never completely silenced by radiating waves of heart-centered caring intention...

legendary. local and non-locally

The local legends are legendary, and so are you, too, full of codes and dotted lines, signing with the strangest of signs. The runners got confused and ran backwards cross the bases and back into the dugouts which could only be uncarved and replanted in the earth as trees, encircled by swaths of honeycomb and bees, and it was like a land before time that progress took away. We walked to a local show to see your friend,  an old man wide in the eyes and young in the heart, clear in the mind playing the blues what with a small silver briefcase full of blues harps behind him and walks with a cane. All the while I was hoping to reach my potential (but not really trying) when I locked the keys in the car again and had to fuck all and get a coat hanger. We manipulated everything wonderfully, you and me. You won't remember the guy sittin on a bench between here and there, looked pretty bad and hadn't been chosen in a while by anything but a park and a bench outta place. In the distance (in the memories) a local legend was picking the blues and won't be around for long. I wanna be a local legend some day, too. For now I am non-local and legendary, but only to you.

They call the losses progress, and write them rhythmically in the ledgers -as gains- to the sound of lawn sprinklers, and get away with triumphant bank accounts which open doors to high rooms vaulting into blue skies behind glass. You think you would but you wouldn't want to be there. It's cold and light. And the light is cold, too. I promise the world is easier to take when less experienced. The barriers between us breathable. Someone is wicking away my moisture and I'm not too happy about it, I coulda sold it high on the water mark exists below the levée, some day. You meanwhile are being yourself and doing what you do, working really hard, sharing it with someone and yourself. They wick it away and charge our credit cards. I never cried so hard as the sweat lodge losses. Congratulations on reaching your (earnings) potential, America. I wanna say I'm proud of you, but you see I am way below mine on purpose. I guess I like to suffer zero balances, every once in a while feels like I'm alive in a capitalist plot reserved for us over here.

dominoes. heaps of clothes -ii

the little panels were etched plastic
if you lined them up right you
solved a code
and then they let you link
up and in

made a clicking sound
each time a panel hit the wooden table
(a computer will try and replicate this
but won't ever cut it. thank god)

the exhaust out the back
continued for hours (rising against the snowfall)
black fossil fuels somehow taken into
 the sky tone

crisp and light and exposed
unlike before when
it was soft and
dark and unseen

 well. you and me we would have it all
exposed
on a beaten path
now road. on a long road
west

moving moving moving
as if there was anywhere better
to go

americano

i went to visit my good friend in san francisco up in merced heights. the wind was several knots and the Pacific foaming at the beach. my friend had fallen back to sleep. something happened to his knee so he walks funny now.  he needs surgery cause he tore something and its inflammed. i remember when my whole life was swell. we went to lunch in daly city on a sunday when all the country's got politics and black lives matter on its mind. robots detonating bombs to take out snipers. honestly i wouldn't want to be black in this country, when simple traffic stops can turn deadly. racial tensions are growing again like they often do. our country is founded on tensions. you could argue tension is what makes the whole thing tick. i've known my friend for a decade and maybe half that time we were incommunicado. at the cafe by the beach and facing the wind, he told me he thinks we have agreed about 87% of the time. i thought about that number while i sipped on my iced americano. no cream. no sugar. just water and finely ground coffee. he's a banker and he's always calculating. 87%. i'm not gonna argue. he's probably somehow right. 88% of the time, he is.

GWB video book 1.11.1

Indy Author Vitamin K reads from her book Maze

In the last episode 2:15:2 Ame and Bless are circling round the anarchy of the cemetery grounds where they once made out years ago. Sunset bleeds the sky. Back at the Imperial, all that's left of Kell is her boosted makeup and Nylon magazines. Bless is watching and waiting for Ame to show her some love.

Book Two
Daughter of Darkness
Chapter 15:3

repatriation flash

a star
was born
just last year
with dated expiration

some soldiers march
beneath a drone to
orders for
repatriation

a giving tree
taken down
to make room for a highway

a leader of an Eastern realm
tells the world
let's do it
my way

and the dandelions saw
their heads
lopped off

the roses all
dead-headed
too

all was left
by even
time

an imprint from
a single
shoe



Katya Mills, 2014
all rights reserved

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