unauthorized autobiography

I am made up. I am made up of classic horror flix and criticism, behind the loving family. I am made of denim jeans and wrinkled dollar bills I try and iron with my fingers at the laundromat. I am made of blue-gray-green eyes and circles and ovals and triangles. I am made up of denial of certain harsh realities. When I embrace them, they are still wrapped in fantasy. My escape hatch is up through my head, where I sprout rare gardens reaching for the sun. I may be just starting when you are nearly done. My roots give up water to the moon and monsoon. I am a saline solution in a world full of problems. I have been known to border apathy to the east and sympathy to the west. My anxiety borders psychosis when I am not being true to myself. I am made of books and books are made of pages and pages are made of words and words are made of letters I transcribe in my heart out of blood. I can get by on French and butcher Spanish. The blood circulates all the way to my fingertips and comes out in English. I speak dead languages to bring us back to life. I would tell you more but I haven't been given permission.   xxx   KatYa

Journal # 05.04.15

The eye of the moon dimmed the stars and scrutinized the city. The empaths locked in battle with the analysts. Politicians raising funds. Water going scarce. Iron lungs. The next generation of pharmaceuticals would cost a pretty penny, and everyone would pay. The kids endlessly vaping. Girls the boys were draping. Prisoners developing patience in lieu of blueprints for escaping. Time would spill us all out on to the streets. The full moon saw through it all. I stepped out upon the back porch, by the light, where the spiders had their feast at night. The clouds were rushing down into the ground without a sound. I locked my gaze upon the moon. I gave it time to reflect. The clouds were rushing through the yards and toward me. Trying to save the land! I whistled and my cats came zipping, out of nowhere, up the stairs and to safety. I stepped inside as the clouds were billowing upwards to the door. I threw the door into the wall, and whisps of vapors curled out the edges and fell solemnly to ground, unseen. I drew the curtains and said my prayers. My energy was churning and yearning for release. I did not dare step out into the night again. No. Something was off about it all. This full moon did not feel right. Dangerous. I hardly trusted myself. Part of me wanted to Keith Moon my apartment. I wanted to tear the devil to shreds! No. Slow down, kid. A voice of reason filled my ears. Outside the moon was searching and searching the city for life. I was better off alone. Turn off the phone. Let go of recent history. Disperse the probing eye of the moon by candlelight. Call upon any spirits near or far. Help me! Help me make it through this night, intact. Then rewarded be, with a key, cut to the lock upon my heart, exact.