gargantuan

unable to think unable 

to speak. mashed and bounced

precisely half ways across the earth

absorbed by some gargantuan feeling

you wrote poems unlike mine 

except they was true. watch 

over me and i over you

#katyamills

cat on a cold sushi roll

 i was stretching my wrist out

twirling the cat on the sushi roll

round and round and round

a random day off. the work

was slowly killing me one screen

at a time. you told me when

you closed your eyes and listened

to me typing you thought of all the

crazy shit must be going through

my mind #katyamills

Archival footage K.2012

The right is preaching morality again. Not that the left isn’t. This is not news. The right is taking sides again, damn it.  They are halving these lemons with merciless stainless steel knives they sharpen behind smirks and glassy eyes, listening to Limbaugh and talking about handicaps. They are crying now, the right, crying while their daughters work their confidantes into friends into acquaintances and phone lists to drum up a ride to the clinic and some cash for the procedure. Its outpatient. Its dire. It has been weighing on the young girls’ minds for longer than necessary. And the tears fall at around the same time. Early afternoon when the lemons are being spruced up and gutted of seeds for the marinated mountain trouts. His eyes are stinging and he’s crying and laughing as the compatriots rib him over it. Like they always do. Grown man crying. She’s sedated but still more aware than she would like. The nurses told her best to take a mild sedative not a deer in the headlights dose. Why?

Now she knew why. They were right. Because hey, she was still in her body afterwards, and though the seconds were hours, they were gone like seconds and she found herself looking back into the outpatient room almost as though it were too soon to go, unnatural so. She was saying goodbye to the nurses, now. They were trying hard to smile. They were doing it for her. Focused on minimizing the trauma. No one wants this. No one asks for it or deserves it. The right was wrong. The far right. The crazy deadstare lifers with their deadweight x-rate images no one should ever be forced to see. The deadend lifers dead to the daughters of the invisible American family experience. The parents whose lives have turned a difficult turn again, and no it’s not the best time to share. Not the best time to care.

Will it ever be? Maybe. Maybe looking back ten years gone, looking back and apologizing for being absentee to the emotional discord, the spiritual movement flexing inside a young bright star, young girl got screwed and screwed up, misjudged the guy, misjudged the timing, got drunk with her friends and got stupid. Lost alertness… lost a whole lot more. Even with the benevolence of the nurses, the nonjudgment, the suspension of judgment, the carrying out of reduction of harm. The understanding the psychology of trauma and loss and grief. The grounding the girl’s process in smiles and facts and exactness of protocol so as to provide a tight container of love or compassion for someone so young and asking for help, and still learning to love self through the madness of all the bad shit we do and see and have done to us over the years. Some to survive. Others to survive longer. And all of us to endure that steady certain suffering in whatever dose we can take, and then working to stem the tide with our pharmacies by our sides. Crutches are good for a while.

What kind of world could be more intriguing than this mystery mansion with its deadends and distortions? We witness ourselves and one another, going through contortions.

Published on WordPress in May, 2012 by Katya

https://wp.me/p1qcWq-8l

excerpts of an interview

My work was recently featured on Snowflakes Arise, a Wordpress website. The mission statement of this site is: "separating authors from the herd and giving them one-on-one time with readers." Here is an excerpt of the interview...

MAZE. a novel by Katya Mills: Maze is the name of the heroine’s boyfriend, a punk skateboarder who is slightly psychotic, paranoid and features throughout the story. There is a dark and damaged love story sunk within the plot.

WHY SOMEONE WOULD WANT TO READ IT: The book is character-driven, told from the perspective of a young woman who is struggling to makes sense of her life, unable to deny her shared DNA with the tribe that abducted her, and caught between those competing for her love and attention, particularly Maze and her best friend, Bless. The narrative is first person colloquial, flavored with attitude, a coming of age thread woven through it. Ame makes an honest attempt to recreate herself in the margins of society, and discovers she has inherited superpowers. I have been told (and close to 100 total reviews of my work on Goodreads and Amazon combined, which average 4 out of 5 stars, agree) that my writing style is unique, lyrical and even groundbreaking. Not everyone is into it, so be sure and read the samples beforehand or try the freebie on Smashwords.

Amazon customer: “Katya’s sui-generis style is like reading poetry with it’s own unique rhythm and cadence; like deciphering a new secret language (much like I felt first reading Frank McCourt). Once you have attuned to the pulse, you feel let in to the secret world of those seeking the Tangy Energetic; you are now on the inside, you are one of them. Katya takes you on a journey where you discover what is like to be different, from the dark origins of beginnings – to the heady days of everyday life; playing, seeking, surviving, using, living among humans, helping, energizing, questioning, and experiencing the thrill and torment of loving the one, or two, that captivate the heart.”

Amazon customer: “I’ve read her first in the Daughter of Darkness series, called Grand Theft Life and this book, Maze, like the first novella in this series proves to be about much more than an urban fantasy… to me it’s about love, fear, friendship, loyalty, learning, introspection, hope, mystery, fantasy, reality. All of this is being brought to us in the first two books of the series, Daughter Of Darkness… along with lots of juicy, fun filled, introspective, rhythmical flowing prose, expressing thoughts and perspectives on our world and life within it. Katya writes about very interesting characters and in a style so rich and poetry prose filled that it almost makes you forget the unfolding plot, fed to us slowly and teasingly as we get to know life on the street with Ame and her friends.”


 Katya Mills is an Independent author, self-published with several books to her name. She hopes to become a ‘Hybrid’ author and is currently seeking representation. She's proud to say there are now close to 100 total reviews of her work on Goodreads and Amazon combined, averaging better than 4 out of 5 stars... The link to the full interview is located here:  Snowflakes Arise

INTERVIEW (Wordpress)

THE BOOK: Girl Without Borders

PUBLISHED IN: 2013

THE AUTHOR: Katya Mills

THE EDITOR: Katya Mills

THE PUBLISHER: Amazon.com

SUMMARY: Chicago. West side. Follow the paths of three young lovers, at the turn of the millennium. Working-class punks and degenerate-labelled youth move across the urban landscape, effortlessly, at night. Suffering the depths to which culture has sunk. Looking for refuge. Fearless in love.

Will is a young man with a big heart and big dreams. Intelligent, sensitive and compassionate. Determined to make a life for himself in the city. Determined to learn the code of the streets. He falls for a girl, Bella, who has a punk attitude and style all her own. In no time, she steals his heart. There is another woman, Cass who has her heart set on Will. But the love is unrequited. LIfe gets complicated, as Will gets lost in love. Danger, drama, and emotional turmoil loom on the horizon.

Generation X. Raised on punk rock, hip-hop and celebrity worship. Raised on high fructose corn-syrups. Pop and pop culture detritus. Raised on flat land, with crazy straws. Wannabe rockstars and burnouts. Follow the tale of youth who live and love large, in the shadow of the generation before them. Praying not to be reduced to culture’s blind carbon copies. Where love becomes power… with tragic consequences.

THE BACK STORY: “I began this story when I was living in Chicago, the heart of the setting. I finished the book a decade later. Having an emotional connection to a place is the foundation off of which I like to build my fictions. I wrote the book mostly in coffeehouses in Bucktown and Wicker Park, and I swear I almost got my ass kicked for using a laptop in a café in some parts of the city back then, pre-millenium. This is my first publication, and a complete – DIY- labor of love. I did everything and designed the cover. (I still do everything on my books, I just don’t design my covers anymore). I put everything and my heart into this work.”

WHY THIS TITLE: I have a MA in Psychology. I chose this title in consideration of BPD: borderline personality disorder. One of the main characters clearly suffers from this condition (and those around her suffer from her suffering from it, too). Just so you know, I do not preach psychology or discuss diagnoses within the text, it’s just a feeling you get by the characterization.

WHY SOMEONE WOULD WANT TO READ IT: The book is character-driven and told from the perspective of a young man who is struggling to makes sense of his life, not always thrilled to be caught between two or more women, somewhat aimless and reckless and pretty honest about it all. You might want to read it if there was a time in your life where you were fighting the tendency toward becoming jaded and/or numb. I cannot doll it up. If that sounds interesting to you, check it out. I do think my writing style is pretty original, but not everyone and their mother is into it, so be sure and read the sample.

Link to this interview: Interview

Link to this novel: GWB

INTERVIEW

Here is an interview I did with Jen Winters, which was published on her wordpress blog just the other day...

JEN: You all know how much I adored this woman’s book, Grand Theft Life . Her book was utterly fantastic and I am privileged and honored to have her here today for an interview.

You write contemporary fantasy fiction. Do you read it as well?

KATYA: Yes I do. I firmly believe in the importance of taking the time and getting to know your peers. I must admit that when I am intimately involved with my WIP’s, I tend to minimize my exposure to other works. I may be superstitious but I worry about other writing styles leading me off and away from my own process. Lately I have been reading Paul Kater, Dean Koontz, and Steven W. White’s ‘New World: A Frontier Fantasy Novel’.

There are a lot of low cost to free books one can add to one’s kindle every day, and then you get to carry a library in your hands. I recommend people get one if you don’t have one. Yes, it IS a better feeling holding a paperback, for sure. But some Kindles are backlit, so you can read them in the dark! And no, I do not work for Amazon.

JEN: HA! I recommend getting a Kindle too, but that’s because I’m an ebook published author ;)

Is there an author that makes you strive to be a better writer? Who is it and why?

KATYA: There are plenty. Always been a big fan of Anne Rice. She gets me deeply involved with her lead characters and anti-heros. I love her worlds, both ex and interior. I can always turn to the Russians for a spark. Great storytellers. I am reading Dostoyevsky’s ‘Crime and Punishment’ for the x-teenth time. And Paul Kater is a Dutch writer who I met recently by way of social media. I am blown away by his work ethic and trying to emulate.

JEN: I am always amazed at how many amazing authors are out there just waiting for us to find them.

What do you think you bring to your books that makes you unique?

KATYA: Sensitivity. I have always been a hypersensitive creature, myself. This has worked for and against me. I am single by choice because intimate relationships tend to overstimulate me. I breathe rather shallow because deep breathing breaks up my peace of mind with the fullness of emotions under the surface. Sound strange? Well, I probably am. But honestly, this quality in me lends itself very well to the worlds I create in my books.

Experience. I never write very far away from my internal experience. For sure I code it into my characters.

Style. I like to say I write from the inside out. I have my own fingerprint. Some readers call it poetic. Some describe it as similar to magic realism. Others enjoy my ability to paint an image in the mind. I tend to naturally thread in social commentaries, though I try not to preach. My books are character-driven, and I tend to place the characters in (physically) real yet dystopian urban settings.

JEN: Reading your book was certainly a unique and incredible experience for me. Some books I read and it’s a good book, but yours, I read and it was an experience.

What is that one moment you have had as a writer that made you realize you were actually a real author?

KATYA: When I self-published my first novel, in 2013. Girl Without Borders.

JEN: Now that is the kind of moment I can connect to. I had been touting myself as an aspiring author for long enough when I saw my book online after hitting that publish button, I knew. I was an author.

What started you on the path to becoming an author?

KATYA: I did a ton of reading as a kid. The first novel that totally wrapped its arms around me and wouldn’t let go, was Dickens’ ‘David Copperfield’. I was about eleven or twelve years old. I was enraptured! And it was a big thick paperback, so I was really proud to be reading such a large volume. From then on I aspired to write a book. Around the same time, a classmate and I got notebooks on our own, and tried to write novels in them. My idea. Before then, my grandmother was cutting full page images out of magazines, pasting them on one side of a notebook, and asking me to write stories about the images. That’s how I began to tell stories in ink.

JEN: Your grandmother’s idea was fantastic. I might kype that!

How did you work your advertising and build your following?

KATYA: I have a facebook page which does not generate much interest. Mostly I am building a following through my website (circa 2007), and through the Google Plus community. I offer up something to somebody every day online. I also buy copies of my books, and hand paperbacks out to local bookstores and friends. In the past two years, I have joined Goodreads, WordPress and Twitter. I have linked up my social media to my author profile on Amazon. I may get back out to the coffeehouses and grab an open mic. I try and maximize the points of contact I have, and am willing to create more. But I definitely have a lot to learn about advertising, marketing, promotion.

There’s a cool website I found for Independents, called http://www.theindieview.com . Self-published authors can query a list of reviewers who will review your work for free. I stand behind all my published work, but I am still mostly unknown. None of it matters so long as I am excited about what I am writing, and dedicated.

JEN: Cool. Thank you for the referral! And indie’s first few years are a hard time full of expenses!

As an author, what is that one memory that will always stick with you?

KATYA: Being in Palm Springs earlier this year (on vacation) and waking up predawn to write to the full moon over the mountains, just outside my hotel window. Going to the lobby to get the free coffee and granola bars, and spending most of my week-long vacation inside my hotel room, feverishly completing my novella. I was clocking twelve hour days with my kitten by my side, and I had no hesitation working across my entire ‘vacation’! I was inside a tractor beam of energy. A true labor of love <3 br="">
JEN: Oh wow! That is inspiring! I’m not sure I could type for that long on any given day, but it certainly shows your dedication to your craft.

How have your aspirations as a writer changed over time?

KATYA: I suppose I always harbored a desire to be widely read, or published. Ten years ago I shopped a manuscript around to some of the majors, and found the process tedious and discouraging. The conventions were slightly less discouraging. I mostly enjoyed sharing my work with friends and doing spoken word. When I started blogging in 2007, I found I had access to anyone online. This brought some adrenaline back. But writing has remained mostly a healing process. My life has at times been in chaos. Fractured relationships and jobs, unemployment and relocations. Now I am a little older and found a simpler way of life. A calmer environment. A less stressful job. I still aspire to have my work read far and wide. But I feel fortunate I have this ritual and healing process to turn to when times get rough. Writing is good medicine.

JEN: It certainly is! I wrote my first after a rather harsh implosion of my life and it was the best therapy I could afford. Also, Kissing Demons was rewritten so that it wasn’t so much puke on a page. Haha.

Have you quit your day job yet or are you planning to anytime in the future?

KATYA: Wouldn’t that be nice? Haha – sure! I’m okay with my career, in fact I really like it. I’m a social worker and I meet and work with wonderful people every day. I work the nightshift, which is usually less stressful than the other shifts. I feel I can be helpful to people struggling with mental illness.

I enjoy coming home when the sun rises and keep a simple routine, making a clearing every day to write. Enjoy the process of writing and sharing and reading. Quit my job? Maybe. But I like my life right now and feel fortunate to have something else that excites me besides writing.

JEN: That is beautiful. I’m glad you have two things in your life that make it good right now.

What drives a fantasy for you and makes it something you want to read/write?

KATYA: Trying to put into words impossible things. Magical things. Superhuman potentials. Spirit life. Extraordinary abilities. Subtle sense possibilities. Things our five senses do not pick up! Energetics. But regardless of genre, a book is driven by its characters. You gotta have real characters who you care about. Yes, world-building is a critical part of fantasy fiction. I try and have fun with it, get creative.

JEN: You certainly manage! I thought your characters drove your story into this functionality I couldn’t see until I read it the second time around. It was one of those masterpieces of fiction that is like a good painting: no matter how many times you look at it, you see something new.

What are you working on now?

KATYA: I am working on Book Two of ‘Daughter of Darkness’. I have about 50,000 words, first draft, to play with. This will condense down to about half of that, or another novella. I expect to release Book Two this year.

JEN: Woot! I’ll be looking for that release day!

Tell us a little about your previous works and how we can get our hands on them.

KATYA: They are all published on Amazon, so you can find them by a single link to my Author page…

http://www.amazon.com/Katya-Mills/e/B00F5DWHGC

JEN: Thank you Katya for coming and spending time with me today! As always, it was a pleasure to hear from you. And thank you, Reader. We appreciate your likes, shares, and comments.

on poets

RADIO - a poem by KatYa

atomically bombed

atomically bombed
Posted on October 21, 2014 by KatYa

Today i saw a man hold a cat in his arms, loving it like a child. Today i got so very tight in the chest that it hurt.An unfortunate dispute with a toxic young woman, whose touch like unconscious betrayal. Yet close to my years on this earth.

The warmth vibrating for almost hours, before the body, dehydrate. The cold-blooded toxicity poured freely into my vessel. I swear i tried to dam her! But unimpeded rhythms are to live by. And i need to know how you really feel.

And we could have been sisters.
And we could have been brothers.
Maybe, some day, we could have been lovers.

No use. All i could do was hold myself high and separate, in the end. For feeling all my feelings to the end. Even the most celebrated among us, shy away from great pain. I will be the conduit of all the worlds triumphs and tragedies.I will take it on and let it all go. I will be forced on my knees, to find some disparate peace.

We all earned our place on this pounded round earth. With our gods. We run around circles, figure eights. Atomically bombed.

PURIFIED

i wanna be someone. of circumstance. 

i wanna be me. 

a form. with a formula. 

neither for nor against the world.

i am spinning retrograde. with mercury. 

we are having a blast at the planetary dance. 

running interference on iPhones.

i wanna be alone. 

having to catch squirrels and dig roots to survive.

i wanna ton of friends. none of whom i ever met. 

all who might love me. on demand.

i wanna dream. come true. 

a hole. a head. some space. to tread. 

my mood. blood red.

i wanna be told. what to do. 

my mood. sad blue. 

reflective of you.

a lake. a storm. 

thawing an ice age. 

melting my formula. 

my life. into a basin.

when the children come home 

from the forest where they play, 

they may wash their dirty hands in me 

and

both of us…

purified

self-helpless was i

I saw you before you were born. The interview went well. You were optimistic towards the opportunity ahead. Although all the suffering baked into this cake was unappealing, wholeness of being beckoned.
Despite western ways to be forced on an eastern soul, despite aggravated assault in the capitalist moshpit, despite countless insipid efforts towards persona redux, and begging martyrs of grave emotional toxicity, you would not resist the call.

You bravely went under the spell of your god, and i watched on edge as they cleared your cache and robbed your memory bank, ritual washing you. Then they dressed you in snow white linens as your affect went flat. Baby powder, and the shaving of head. You will do well in America, they told you. You looked at them blank. Confused, but so willing. 

Tears suddenly welled up my eyes and placed you safely inside one saltwater drop. After you left me, my love, I carefully swept up your off-color locks. With my hands. Tearful, I took up the salt and pepper remnants of my one true love of this life. On my knees now. Sweeping.

Weeping. I held you soft in my hands there, and ritually cursed the insipid god who i believed at that moment, responsible for this.

Our unchained tragedy.
My uprooted life.
Unmoored heart.
Broken.
Again.

UNDER BELIEVER (original poem & song)

'under believer'

a chronic
achiever
a careless
believer

a senseless
maneuver
a swim down
a sewer

a bobbing of heads
a pricetag
an earlobe

a city of ink
a kitchen
a sink

a friend an
a smoke an
a drink an
a laugh an
a light an
a look on
a breath

a look on a light
in the
night

onna dream
onna spark
inna dark

K reading... murder. in the eyes

K IS SILENT @ wordpress
Original Spoken Word
Story by Katya 

Murder. In the eyes.
 by Katya Mills

She looked around the city night. 

The canopy provided by the trees made this street darker than others. 

Low hanging branches and leaves flecked shadow into the metallic orange light painting the sidewalks.

A sociopath stood unseen. 

Camouflaged against the papered concrete walls like a barred owl.
She sensed him and he sensed her sensing him.

Were she only distracted by an iphone or earbuds, he thought. 

But he would not be disappointed, standing there, silently watching her navigate the street in her fishnets and heels.

Only his pupils moved across the smudge of cirrhotic, ashen pale of eyes.

In the walkway between buildings, not far from there, beneath a basement apartment’s window well, out of sight, lay the crumpled formless residue of human life and spirit. 

Breathless and emptying itself of fluid.

The spirit of the dead hung heavily over the sociopath, like a large cotton overcoat immersed in a pool of blood of all the ones had died by his hand in the night. A parade of frozen faces preoccupied his mind, his thoughts.

She gripped her pepper spray tight. 

She knew the unnatural evils under city lights, 

might come out the woodwork and contend with her sex.

She remained unafraid, carrying herself gracefully across the pavements. 

Aware the heavies were awash in their own karma.
Some terror of what one has done and cannot undo. 

Gyre of samsara, spinning down toward the core of the earth. 

For infinity. Forever.

fire

be careful
when
playing
with words

you
might
    hurt
  some
   one

'wet dream on dry toast'

Aka - 'computer dissociative'

original material from K IS SILENT (partial)

The olive oil days were over. He should have known. He beat his head into the mahoganey like Perry Mason lost a case. So began the vinegar taste in the back of his throat, phase. He felt a feeling he knew well. All his bones shifted like some skeleton robot gone up and shorted out. Computer dissociative.

Off some where walking now with the interpreter was the girl. Saturnine with a lemon twist. Her freckles, sun kissed. The new fucking smart phone attache foreplay. Distraction impact high and non-resistant. She made a lovely nouveau interpreter’s assistant.

Not no store bought, this jam he had got himself in now, praying with a cigarrette out on the steps of the halls of justice. This jam was more like apricot preserves or some shit. Some district attorney’s intern’s intern, gave him a menacing look and an evil eye. 

No smoking on the steps to the halls of justice. Dummy.

'people work better when driven. insane' -viii)

On the topic of  'SPIRITUAL EMERGENCY'
 
Original material performed by Katya Mills
from K IS SILENT
 
 
 
People work better when driven, like rain
Not like nails through plywood
Not like slaves
Nothing narrow
Driven to a point as deep as bone marrow
Where the levee breaks

The point of overflowing
To the point where sanity and reason dead end
Where we may become highly emotional
Charged
Where we conduct electricity and switch channels
(with ease, if you please)
 
 Irrational? for certain. Intelligence? Beyond standards. Insane? Well, not sane, in the best of any sense of not sane. A psychosis? Perhaps. Psychotic break? not necessarily. Long past the neurosis? Most likely.
Ferocious? Like a tiger!
Outlawed?
Most definitely, like the wild are outlawed
from tea parties.
 

sachomes #1 by k

What american culture seemed to have lost sight of, somehow, somewhere in the past;  was the continuity and emergence that soon comes to pass. That dead end or limit, got taken literally, indeed. Never mind if travel may continue on foot.
If left unbound and not institutionalized, unmedicated in some cases, people can relocate themselves in the land of the lost. What by all appearances looks hopeless, even criminally insane, may find self-remedy, in the realm of the spiritual.
The soul has no ordinary bounds, you see.
The soul was made for being extraordinary.
This is the soul’s inclination.  
Past the point of knowing, really nothing is clear.
Past the point of comfort, the mapped out area.
Past the well worn territory of both mind and body.
Past the breakpoint of rpms in your cousin's Ferrari.
Past familiar. Out of area. Quite impossible, and why?
Because part of our nature needs to learn how to fly.

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.

K reads ... Black Denim Daisy Dukes II /II

'black denim daisy dukes' (part II)
subsidized surveillance mix
from kissilent.wordpress.com

Billy jean queen my way down the glass lit floors. three hundred watts of white light. a couple hundred pounds of black and white heat. all the onlookers fell back with their cash in hand. struck by the collision of lady’s night in the theatre grande. Maxell tapesque wind driven back in gale force, to cock block a stalker. with a hurricane eye, to allow in an admirer. or a gentle game of verbal chess, to challenge a so-called friend. those who were there to do what i said, became visible (and quite helpful). see i just needed some help to get my truth across. needed your help to brita filter out all the fluoride and dilute toxins in the mineral water of my mind. to goldpan my fucking stream of consciousness bitch. like my friend Viva reminded me on the phone it’s alright to be a bitch. to push back against the bullshit. the whole world is helping us now. check the newswires, you’ll see. because clearly we have subsidized an nauseating affair in our nation. clearly the nsa has strapped a probe on and given us free colonoscopies, with a search warrant. it is more than kinda upsetting. we paid for it. we asked for it once, but got it forever. we did not check for the expiration date. it did not have one. a National Surveillance Archive the size of the lone star state, processing all communications everywhere. domestically and internationally. coveting my metadata and yours. digital forensics will haunt us in the future. any and all off the cuff remarks we made over text, skype, on outlook or gmail, in our blogs, on our cellulars – is all being processed and audited and red-flagged if necessary. excavated and highlighted, in the low light of some intelligence agency analysts daily debriefing. the question mark has scythed the exclamation point. i will be lucky to make it out with my metaphors. intact. analgesic. in the half-light of the trance. the serenity of the dance. between me and my freedom of speech or silence alike. privacy never made it to the door. because she was already holed up straight squatting in the vip lounge. with the 360 degree view of the dancefloor. with the two way unclouded lead crystal glass floor downloaded and secured to the scenery. profound. delicate. profound plus. glass bubbles, built to shatter. hey, that’s autoglass. it beads. no matter. our big city club scene. over a decade into the new millenium, shines. solar panels recycle the light. shafts appear and strobe out before our very eyes. maybe we need the electric current. maybe i had to plug into the dotcom sitcom to see it. maybe it started the clock on my energy bill. may be pushing time into analytics. maybe space jammed in the eye. maybe gelatinous. to the very fibers of our being. maybe i didn’t care. maybe you do now. maybe we will tommorrow. all i know is what i think snowden knew when he short-circuited his life as his life was. by uncovering what he was made to do, the way he has. this subsidized surveillance shit needs to end. acid drop it into the clubs and put it in white light and acid wash jeans. and surveil it.

K reads... Black Denim Daisy Dukes - I /II

'black denim daisy dukes' - part I

(subsidized surveillance mix)

kissilent.wordpress.com



i was out there facing you and the world. through a portal i chose. nonlinear travel into the membrane of a postmodern club. on a bright near-life evening experience out. to subdue the indoor perry mason addiction tv blues. subdue with dub and sweat and light and you. to be overcome with the light of the darkness. you night owls, you know. kinda like a blindness toward the runway descent. looking to land. hoping to avoid catastrophe and chain reaction seated screaming affairs. i do not like to fly. not even in my dreamscapes. like some of you. unlike the rest. and somewhat casually dressed. like always. no formality, out there facing the usa big city nights, at this time in recent memory. i will tell it to you as unencumbered as possible. hope you don’t mind getting it raw like this. with or without punctuation, paragraph, or other accoutrements. i like to call it liberated. shorthand-like. abbreviated, but def not lazy. def not. no deliberations. no hesitation. pushing my speech out of the nest. opening another chapter of free thought. typed out. no hype. typed out. no ribbon. no tape. red, white, or blue. untaped, out on the wire. out on the net. without a net. full on frontal nudity. the air, brushed aside. the moon drawing the tide. the tenses got tense. tensile. disappeared out on some plank i made for them to walk. eat shit and die, i said. they didn’t hear the verb at the end of that sentence. they will not. they won’t. and wherever words drown down the slow pull of gravity underwater, they are as inaudible as the world dipped in hyrdrogen cannot be heard. the air dipped in hydrogen. a nice thing. i can hear myself think. i can pause and take a drink. drink the air and its free. like i thought this post was. like i thought my thoughts were when i shared them. like i prayed and hope my life was here in the states. the country. the place i reside. the vip lily lounge pad from the dangers around me. the darkness. the dark waters. giving me the premo. the premium democratic freedom. fuck if i haven’t paid for it! this stream of life that carries me on a plush pillowtop eggcrated fuzzy boombox of elastic sound and fury. i could stand up in the madness. i could leap off the stage into it. i would feel fingertips massaging the backs of my long legs. my caboose would later tell rolling stones in the post show interview how seriously it felt touched. my black denim daisy dukes got backside bankrolled by princes and treated to marigold sugar candy and treated like queens. Singlehandedly accelerated and driven to pole position. all my confidence safely locked up in the muscle. usa club scene.

K reads... 'easter. contraindicate'

All material written and performed 
by Katya Mills, 2014.

easter contraindicate




in our time of dying

i’m gone. 

hawaiian

there’s always something
held down. to rise up
when the powerful
recede and fall

flashing
crashing
giants. the dust all blocks the sun.
you would think the human race
was cooked. done

demonic. corporate. selfie
goddamn! it’s made us all
unhealthy

your bottom line
at my expense.
tax dollars. audits on our common
sense

i’m feeling slighted.
perpetually tense
terrified. in the woods.
dense

gimme some ativan
no. the half life ain’t no good
3 months supply of klonopin,
doctor…understood?

wait. wait!
stop the madness.
fill the heart with easter gladness
hallmark cards and sugar peeps
high fructose-powered
liberty jeeps

give me death. no
try again
resurrection?
count to ten

count backward now 

to five
multiply by noisy 

beehive

high division fructose
mixers
pure honey
netflixers

look east!
go there!
the sun rises also
john returns to yoko

the manson family
now disbanded
atlas shrugs off
Ayn Randed

Hiroshima
molecular
non-biblical
Conjecturer
plays out inside 

a sand dune

a sheep herder finds the body

learns to fear it
the ghost and the holy 

spirit

4.20 gatherings in denver.
burning trees
to their

knees

K reads.... 'hide'

Spoken word original
composed and performed by the author
from K IS SILENT....

hide


i am looking for
someone
to have and
to hold and
to crush
on to death do
we part

i am self
i am self seeking
someone
to make me
whole to make me
dinner

i am interested in
a pharmaceutical
beauty
a cutey
a cut above the rest
a pillcutting
precision marching
prisoner of love

a chain gang
related
peptide talking
walking atomic
wonder
free from mistakes
because
God never blunders

i am looking for you
and i get what i want


some day
when i tire of
your birdcage delivery
i will set you free cause
i love you so
free you
so
hide !