i wrote

books dissolved into
passages dissolved into
words dissolved into
letters dissolved into
tears

- KatYa

meditation

I thought about the origins of a feeling of unloved
How many generations one must go back
How long it had been passed down
And how could this weed ever
be uprooted

Or would you always
forever feel unloved
no matter if all the world gave you its heartbeat
the sky and the earth
the birds and the trees
the honey and sugar
the radio the tv

the winter spring
summer and fall
the lonely ghost faraway down the hall

little belly

the light
long left
 the sky

strange music on the radio
this room she is soft now
she is softness
she is soft

it's been years feels like years
since i fell since i fell
since i fell

down on my bare feet
light in my head in the kitchen
for the coffee for my meds

first i heat some oats for my soft
my little for my soft some oats for my soft
my little belly

down on my down on my
down on my luck maybe
so maybe so

there's a kitten
there's a cell phone keeping warm
beneath my little circle of a warm a little
lovely

where's my other lovely?
the orange one

i have to hold onto something
i have to hold on for my chance to
come my chance to come

waiting. walking through the sunset of a memory
the orange one where oh where are you?

feels like years since i awoke
it's been months since i got myself up
on my own

across the way i see
a single flower in a bowl in a window
a still life on a window sill
life it looks peaceful

then fire trucks sudden sound their way
a fire in the city. you can really hear
the engines when you open your door the engines roar

I get a change of clothes
fold them over my arm
carry them to the shower

i gotta go to work
no matter what

I am thinking of you
and how i loved you
and how you betrayed me

too dam bad
oh well. i gotta go to work
no matter what you do you did
me wrong

The water cool then hot the steam
I pull the elastic out my hair you called me plastic
you don't care. too dam bad oh well
i got work to do and i give a dam
i really do i really cared about you
dam you

My hair is full of water full of steam
I look down and see look down
and see my belly

I don't always like my belly
but tonight I do

I love you little belly
won't go away
no matter how hard i try
won't go away
running and stretching
won't go away
working you sweating you out you
won't go away
will you?


I love you
little soapy belly
I always will you
never said nothing you
never did nothing
to hurt me

murder by memory - part ii

A cultural analysis - or defrag - of the perceived madness and its development in the mind from inception on... The designated criminal who judged a fellow sentient for a difference on any continuum (ie sexuality, race, gender, education, age, ethnicity, body image, fanciful morality plays) would be taken to a room without furniture to stand upon an intelligent floor which assessed the sensitive points of any criminal scanning the foot with footprint technology, then, when any thought, feeling or behavior indicated a relapse into poor or judgmental bias, such would be confronted and corrected with a paralyzing shot of vibrational frequency dissonant to the criminal, and the corresponding organ would temporarily be shut down or limited of function for up to 24 hours. If the kidney got tapped, the subject would begin to experience blood toxicity and jaundice, and feel the attitude and judgment fall away as all energy became devoted to trying to locate and sweep out the source of infinite pain. An eradication of hate campaign was underway.

murder by memory  - part i

Will he come back to me? The silence in the house might break her delicate wrists in two, toss her on the woodpile, long nights, to keep warm. Abbreviated days. All of her memory of him coming home. The squeaking of the belt under the hood of his Jeep, where he parked beneath the sycamore tree. One of the kittens would bound out to meet him. Fatigue had not undone him. She would quickly get up and wrap a sweater around her, step into the sandals by their bed on the mahogany floors, and take the 45 steps down to the kitchen, the backs of her thongs clicking into her heels. She would grab a nice glazed ceramic bowl out of the cabinet, pour some oats and some water without measuring, into a pot on the stove. Oatmeal was his favorite. Then she would hop back up onto the landing, and click down to the front door to swing it open for him. The feeling of him pressing into her. The cool kiss on the neck. These were the memories.

i write books

The past was in the past and there was no changing it, I had come to accept some of the terrible ways that I was, at a time when i knew neither how to love nor take care of myself, love affairs that got hot and then got colder than ice, and died on a silver platter served up to the gods because we could no longer manage our own broken human entanglements. The gods were angry at us for sure. We were like selfish children fighting and pulling each other's hair but neither of us was more dangerous than we were to ourselves. The only solution I saw was to surrender up my lifestyle and admit personal defeat on all levels, and I did. The year was 2012. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence, loved me still and showed me some light. I was ready to end it all and start from scratch, and I did. The following years would be painstaking, with nightmares and memories nobody would want to claim as their own, anxiety and depression stirring up and weighing down the bones, feelings of loneliness and shame, sadness in seeing what I had done to myself and how I hurt the ones who loved me. Yet as I worked hard to forge a new and enduring lifestyle, the gods began to smile upon me again and gave me a little more light every day. I raised kittens from six weeks old, Boo and Mouse. I wrote books and made some new friends. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence began to come a little closer. Soon we would strike the heart of the matter, and my basic faith would be restored. I tried to reach out and heal the wounds of the past - not everyone wanted me back - the point is I tried and would keep trying hard. I was honest and accountable for all the worst parts of my nature; the lies and deceptions and attempts to manipulate situations to my favor, out of fear, out of avarice, out of selfish desire, an endless burning inside of me. A fire I channel now into something worth giving, to make up for the sad way in which I was living for so long, the addiction clouding my vision back then, when I was lost and alone subjected to contempt and derision. Life works itself out you know, and over and over I had to acquiesce, dropping to my knees in a helpless and hopeless emotional state. I wrote books. The ones who loved me all a while from a great distance and many years of silence gave me a chance and I took it, and - look at me now - I have come a long way and doing my best, out of the clouds and feeling refreshed, coffee my drug and fuck all the rest! The haters still trying sometimes to get into my peace and into my head and sometimes succeeding for a moment - like last night - but when the emotions stirred up and I cannot breathe anymore, feeling the pain they wanna inflict, all I have to do is stop absorbing it and don't fight back and remember I am only left with myself and my gods and what we know to be true, the pain can subside in the rain. I wrote books and I wrote them for me and for you. In the darkest of nights like tonight we will find, the true design, the judgment of others wash away down the grate to their fate, and the time people spend knocking us reflects more on their character, for what would they want? an apology? something more? why they are pressing to hurt my old feelings is not my affair or concern anymore. Impoverishment of the spirit is a dead end you see, I have given it up for life. I want only the best out of anyone I meet, whether it be at home, online, in the coffeehouses, on the street. They can hunt me down to hurt me with their jealousy and rage, bringing up the past which has already been played. I won't give in to hypocrisy and lies. I won't have my character assaulted or assassinated anymore. I write books. I work hard and am cleansed by my craft. I dedicate my life to this cause, fait accompli. If you have not already seen in me the life and the love - pay close attention - you will see.

touch

These days
these nights

these scars
which map
the skin

these highways
these hairstyles
these thoughts
all lead to dead
ends

the tax dollars
we spend to connect and
reconnect us

overpasses
underpasses
mobile phones

your family
your clothes
your hair your age has
changed

these trees
rooted in the yard

the paint
once fresh
chips off
into the grass

the asphalt cracks
like laughter

the anger
like lightning
the tears

there is no wind
there is no rain
no thunder nor
darkness

can dilute
this lonely
feeling

but when
 i hold
your hand...

using your keyboard like a piano (video)

About the ways in which I find the keyboard to be similar to a musical instrument, and useful to setup rhythms which are beneficial to the creative process and writing specifically. 

 Hope this is helpful      xxx     KatYa