Journal #05.07.15

Touch became a rare and valuable find in a market consisting mostly of audio-visual sensation. A new trend took place, whereby bodies were lying on the ground. Many people left the city for an hour or a lifetime, in order to find a field to borrow or to buy, in order to be able to finish breakfast and coffee and online communications, and head out of the house, off the bottom step, past where the pavement ends, into the center of said field, and dropping oneself first on to one's knees, then back on to one's back or forward even on to one's belly, with or without clothing, to feel the touch of the earth and all the organic matter therein and thereunder. Sun bathing was another form of intimate reception, but no longer viable due to melanomas. Human touch was another form of intimacy, but quite unlikely due to unfavorable market conditions, legalities and general phobic disinclinations. This sorta experience was almost miraculous in the year 2059. Metrosexuals would stop and circle and glom in an insatiable crowd. Certainly not within reasonable expectations. Anyone who cried out about lacking this sorta intimacy, would be ridiculed for sure. Like walking down the street expecting someone to hand you cash money without asking. They would wonder aloud what planet are you from? To which you might respond, Earth, circa 1973? After which, disheartened and alone, you slagged on back to your field of glory, removed your polyurethane skin, and dove headlong into the irrigated mud, hoping to drown. Good news. The exfoliating powers could be exponential.

Journal # 05.06.15

I ran yesterday. I found a secret to distance running. My dad would call it a trick. I had been sitting on the grass beneath the black walnut tree in the yard, looking up at its many green wings pointing high into the sky. The tree was majestic. A stark contrast from how it appeared in the winter, without leaves. Dead. My neighbor came out of his apartment and started clipping his fingernails on the walk. Next door a man was sitting facing the alley, drinking a beer. One of the cats caught a large dragonfly in its mouth. An fire engine could be heard in the distance. Some days can be so peaceful. Other days your ass is on fire. Here is my secret. My dad would call it a trick. I found I can run almost twice the distance I usually run. It wasn't the Super B Vitamins or the time of day. It wasn't the shoes I was wearing. It had nothing to do with how much rest I took, what kind of music inspired me, how much training I did beforehand. It did not matter what I ate, who I didn't sleep with, or whether I planned to vote in the upcoming elections. The secret was running. Running while running. Not thinking while running, or breathing while running, or posture while running. It was none and all of those things. I doubled my usual distance by running while running. And guess what? There is a bonus for anyone who has read this far along. The trick is universal! It can be applied to anything you do. Because if you are fully immersed in anything you do, you will be better at it, and it may even come easier and more natural to you.

love story # 05.05.15

we met under a melting key lime sky

we sailed out on a manta ray, with a
handkerchief for a mainsail

we dripped coffee like poison from
a gold cup into ceramics, then drank
the poison with creme

we cried and laughed and laughed
and cried

we met over an ichabod
crane. on lois lane

you sapped my head of thoughts
i filled your mind with flowers

we placed the world under
revision. it took us many hours

then circumstance took you from me
i felt like sudden death

i got your tear-stained letters
and held them to my breath

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.

Journal #05.03.15

Morning. I dreamt I had stolen a taxi, and the car was solid white. The driver had left it running. He was by the curb arguing with someone. I just got in like it was mine and drove away. I began to feel the freedom in the city. The numbers were increasing, and it made me uncomfortable. I pulled over to try and stop the fare from running. I didn't have that kind of cash. A lady stepped off the curb and opened the back door unexpectedly. Two kids, a boy and a girl, plopped into the back seat and said goodbye to mom. She shut the door. Now I had two kids on my hands, and a stolen cab. Am I supposed to take you to school? I asked. They said yes. The girl scooted up and grabbed the headrest in front of her, and pulled close to take a look at me. By her eyelashes I could tell she was single digits in age. They weren't long enough to be ten. Can we go to the movies? she asked, slanting her head sideways. Can we? The boy chimed in, pulling up on my headrest. Can we, can we, can we? They cried. Oh how could I resist two beautiful irritants tugging at me like that? We pulled out into the morning commute, joining the river of traffic. When we got to the cinema, the line was a half mile long, winding up and around and around to the theatre. We stood in line and waited, and waited some more. What a dream, no better than real life? I felt somewhat cheated. By the time we got to the theater, we realized we had no tickets. They turned us away, and we began our dejected descent. Then the girl, who had told me many stories so I knew her like a daughter, began batting her juvenile lashes and tugging at my hand. There was an dark opening to our left, with blue cinema light behind it. Let's go! 

Journal # 05.02.15

 Some old paradigm element had us skimming across the Keys all the way to Key West. It was fantasy. You just don't do that. The islands are long and a long ways apart. They may be connected by bridge and culture and climate, yet each is an entity unto itself. If you stand next to someone in line for bread and water, are you family? The journey would be long from one to another. Harleys trailing exhaust for miles, coughing in clear cracks over the aqua blue magnitude. The fantasy might find redemption in a storm. Red sky in morning. The air shifting and accelerating until few birds could fly. Old nests would be blown out like paper. By afternoon, people stop and stare at the amazement of clouds. Hold onto your bloody mary. American flags begin to whip at the whitewash on the poles. The sky turns many colors with the sun reduced to a narrow band of grey-white above horizon. The clouds would compete with the sea. Pull your outdoor furniture inside. Find your pets. Businesses taped the glass. Lizards darted into porous ground. An ocean above and below. The fantasy lived in the storm. The fishermen took in the catch. The boats being secured all evening long, then the rains came. Only then could our splayed Keys reach and touch one another, falling together on the ring as the winds picked up to shore. All became monotone and inaudible. The sky, the sea. The earth. The mind. And from there we might finally, after too many cocktails and smoke and dissension, come together and unlock all the truth. A moment of clarity. In the morning, it was gone. It was fantasy.

Latest Reviews - 'Grand Theft Life'

5 STARS

Fast forward flash photosynthesized heroics
By Peaceseeker on April 30, 2015

This is a riveting read: gripping in the power of the telling, disturbing in the mindset of the teller. It is short enough to be read at one sitting, and fascinating enough to make it difficult to do otherwise. I suspect that the author – as she says about one of her characters – has “read a lot of culturally-sanctioned literature; from Charles Dickens to Jane Austen to Hemingway.” The style is assured and ambitious: crisp, focused and strong.

“The voices. They were incessant. They reminded me I was not like the others.” “There was a meanness about humans, to which I could not relate.” She says of Freddy – the man who snatched her when she was of age – that he was like family she never knew she had. “Maybe I was ready to start making my own Hallmark cards for a year. Ya. Then open my veins in a Sylvia Plath bath.”

Daughter of Darkness is a powerful poetic monologue from someone who felt so different from those she grew up with/around that she concluded she belonged to a different species altogether: one that looks human, and that lives among humans, but is in fact not ‘human’ in the accepted or acceptable sense. One that has no fear of consequences, and that feeds off human fear. You find them in numbers in the dangerous, poverty-stricken, blighted belts of every concrete jungle. They come out at night, and prey on humans whose fear of consequences makes them easy meat. They can also prey on each other when those inner voices scream…

I urge you to read this book. It thoroughly deserves to be widely read.

5 STARS
I enjoyed reading this book
By Kristina on April 23, 2015

I enjoyed reading this book. When I started to read, I couldn't drop it from my hands. I could literary feel that I live in the head of the main character. It was always something happening, in her surroundings, or in her head. I look forward to the next part.

5 STARS

How can I headline a review for a masterpiece of literature?
By Jen Morrison on April 2, 2015

This was one of the most difficult books for me to review. I honestly took much longer than I expected to contemplate how to review this book. I had to talk about this book for days before I could coherently organize my thoughts for this post. I could say this book was stunning, amazing, wonderful--all the adjectives I might use for a 5-star review, but I wouldn't be doing this one justice.

Writers of all ages often wonder about writing the next Great Amercian Novel. Katya Mills has done it. A hundred years ago, if the genre had existed, I believe William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying would have been something like paranormal fiction.

Wait. Did I just compare Katya to Faulkner? Yes. Yes, I did.

This is a masterpiece of urban fantasy that should be dissected in classrooms and universities. while I may not agree with the socio-political opinions, I recognize the importance of her vivisection of urban gangland. This book kept me engrossed and I even had to reread it before reviewing. I can say that very few books warrant a reread from me, but I got to the end and immediately reread the entire thing.

My first reaction to the first few chapters was, "What the hell?" and I honestly thought I was going to have to pass on reviewing this one, but as I read further on, my opinion sky-rocketed. She left me both confounded, confused, and amazed--and in dire need of a second read. Give this book a place on your shelf and in fifty years when your grandchildren are complaining about their reading in school, remember this moment. They will be complaining about Katya Mills.


5 STARS

Daughter of Darkness
By P. Kater on March 25, 2015

Daughter of Darkness is a different kind of fantasy book. It's tense. Paced. Fast. And it introduces you to a world of people who are different from us. Different in a way you can't see. Ame, the main character, is one of those different people. She grows up being 'strange' and it takes a drastic move and lots of strange encounters and experiences before she realises who she is and what she can do.
I was very entertained by the opposite of the title of the book and how these people, who are so different call themselves. If you want to know what that is I suggest you buy the book and read it.


5 STARS

on hold for second volume
By frank ramon on March 17, 2015

I have read this book three times and continue to glean more out of the story each time. Told by a protagonist (Ame) who is both good and bad, this tale intertwines adroit commentary on modern culture and the underlying affects of fear on human beings in general. This is all woven together in a well told story of a modern anti hero set on the soulful and gritty streets of Oakland California. From an area well known for earth quakes, the writer will certainly rattle your walls with this story. I eagerly await the next volume in this series, it is a real bargain, for a rich story.