Rolling allostasis -iv)

She was in her twenties, when she surfaced from the midsection of an iceberg, the frozen contents of some formerly fluid collective subconscious experience. In the middle of nowhere, mind you. A slow drip of unhappening. Congealed into living memories (consistency of molasses).  So she thawed from her heart out, and the ice around her began to soften in her light and heat, and collect supine at her feet. Aqua devotion. If water had hands... then prayer beneath her dry eyes. So rare did this sorta manifestation occur. The glaciers melt in their natural way before her. And she takes her damn time. You don’t hurry a glacier. You age it, like wine. Or wait for her to melt, to reference empirical evidence of global warming. Melting butter at room temperature. She never left the kitchen table. Painting her daily bread. Turning and turning yellow over time with the wallpaper. Gotta get worse before she gets better. Baby blue with white flowers, soft and malleable. Almost vulnerable, fallible – almost human again. As she wishes. As they want her. Sorry says the fight inside her, delivering the roundhouse Queen Anne Victorian style. Round one...TKO. From a frozen warrior #2 asana. Feel the heat. Sauna.

votive free of motive -ii)

We flipped a bitch after we passed the ethereal fields. We lay on that plane for consecutive hours. Then we sailed due north, cranked the crankshaft, released the nitrous oxide, dropped in the half and half. We sweated out our pores, and the perspiration thickened to consistency like glue. Deceased lay the toxic in the flower beds soaking.

We poured out all our liquor at the site. Our immune systems sent white blood cells, to seal in the heat. We burned the white sage, and the ceremony was alright. The spirit agonists and antagonists came out of the shadows. Volatile, caustic energy was dispersed. All energies and vibrations came together in mixed signal. The candles, they flickered and danced. Just a little.

The earthbound ones brought their demands. And the otherwise unidentified trio dissembled -- into innumerable grains of sand. Into parts and human hearts. To be ID' D or dare i say carded, by the keepers of the trees who suddenly started to sway. They leaned into the wind. They stayed like that, all fucking day long. Swaying and dancing and flexing their roots. Swan song. Suddenly started blossoming like apple bottom jeans on the strip. Shooting out shoots. Scoring pharmaceuticals on every corner. What a trip.

Saturday november two thousand nine special

Nonfiction: (for more nonfiction, 
go to kissilent.wordpress.com )

All i got this morning, i hope to give. i might be runnin on fumes, but i wanna live. Here comes Carlos, to bless us with egg mcmuffin. A crystal clear morning. The saturday november two thousand nine special. Corner of macarthur and telegraph. Real time. Seven hours nineteen minutes and who knows how many seconds accumulate like pennies in my change purse.

Cold. The mufflers give away ignitions in the silence behind double pane imperial motel glass. We sit by the single window. The aircon, crankin' heat. My ass warms the seat. Two gentle men, my friends, my mechanics. Carlos and Freddie. We let the nutritional statistics fall away. Throw some lil wayne in the frying pan. Rip out and hand you the shit. A dreamy date with an egg mcmuffin, on a cloud. Damn! you the shit. Fast food morning with fab 4 Freddie. Out on the back of the harley, headin home to get ready. Gotta go to work, no brakes. Kick that shit into fifth. Fabulous! Feel the torque as she takes.

Insane or sane, the world she's just the same. We are the ones who need to change. Learn how to manage and balance energy. Take the basics: energy 101. I saw and tried to catch her there. Happened somewhere between 7th street san francisco and oakland, downtown. Somewhere near the civic center. Somewhere underground. Relegated to some subway station lost and found. I got adrenaline cause i have 4 days wide open here and the biggest heart to share. Plenty of time to heat up and cool down. Plenty of time 2 find the right split of antifreeze and H2O. Plenty of time to care.

Leaves you wholly satiated, these cool urban mornings. Ready for the hunger strike. Heart calibrated to hold center. Beat rock solid and rock steady. Unfaded. Underestimated. Ready. All i got left in me after a couple hard days getting harder, current of feeling getting stronger, up higher and maintained: self-centered and contained.

Still drops off to face the other side of reality. All the sadness, the fatalities. All the tears angels ever cried in a rainy day on International Boulevard. East Oakland. Count rising into triple digits this year. I swear... the painful seeing what i seen, being where i been, doing what i do...like gettin' lucky to catch the sun on the rise. Taste the morning dew. I am full with all that i'm always craving. I am mad to the furthest you can extend. I am mad! 2  point of raving.

I am alone and going inward. Contract and then expand. Like lungs like breath like life. Now i'm going outward. What i say to you, what i say to self-- now now now it's not always the case. You offer what u can. You build your skills in the community. You try and ask for space. I have no motive to change the communique; i take it, no hesitation. Not always pretty, not always nice.Whats gotta be said, is what i gotta say. Realtime with no delay. A window into the moment, and hopefully no pain.



by Katya Mills 
November, 2009
Creative Commons licensed

Rolling Allostasis Revisited -iii)

Shaking hands while shaking hands for votes of approval. What got overlooked: trash removal. On the other side of the trax, the real suffer the facts. Streets we cannot walk, hardly even drive. Cause our sense of reality got wedged between the seats, somewhere back in ‘85. One would statistically be wondering, how we're even alive. Check the pulse. Nothing there. The world under siege by an ergonomic chair. Lots of media distraction still keeps us at bay. Expecting, demanding conscious or unconscious reaction.  Poor self kept immobile. Poor spirit. In traction. A quick study, in quicksand. We need a bubble bath. Dear Calgon! Take me away! 

So we pray for you. And we pray for me. To get well and get conscious. Paradigmically free. Because it's hard every day. We fall back in odd patterns. Relearning our rings, all the way out to our Saturns. Whoops. There's another infraction: for shooting your mouth, your gun-- or your plan to extend nafta  further south. Like to yucatan peninsula. Somewhere most US Americans cannot locate on a map.

The media takes a nap on the reporting of corporate rule of one-star countries. Per Zagat new rating. Comp the countries like comparing motels. So offensive and intended, cause lord knows that shit sells. Controversy creation  a frequent occupation; if the interview for the position ends in controversy... you're hired. The placating drone in some den of iniquity down the street, getting wired. Lets pray another drone will not be sired. One model getting old? have it retired. Controversy prevention must be hardwired.

But what can we tell you about the one going sideways? The one whose engineering was perfectly misdirected. The one who took the controls away from the autopilot? The curiosity to all? The female Nietzche down the way? The fascinating one down the hall?

We could say chosen one, not for wanting to mislead. We can tell you for sure she was easy to love as the female lead. We learned to care about her, respect her, feeling her. Connecting on non-verbal levels. Collaborating on astral planes. Jumping the devil. Or 1940's era trains. The beat signature line. Ooh la la! She’s a part of you, a part of me. She may be difficult to see. She will get us out of our really tight spot. Shes the fancy persuasion. She's your connect. You're liaison. When she walks the street these days. Let's put it this way: its en masse, an Occasion...

[to be continued]

She got more high than school (a chemical romance -1)

She was a dandelion chewin, flatbed lyin, urban cowboy screwin, truant from way way back. Like high school. She got more high than school. He was a youngbood creepin' west-side posturin' punk from Detroit, and he must of run game on her cause she thought he was the shit. She called him the m.o.a.b. thats the mother of all bombs. He called her the m.o.a.b. too. Mother of all bitches.

Her friends sought out to neutralize his fake ass masquerade, and win her back like a scratcher recompense for a month long losing streak. Her friends lacked mercy. Here it gets worse, see. Their connection grew more intimate, exclusive and chronic. He had stepped out upon her moonscape. She revolved around his planet.

Little did she know the gravity of his influence: demonic, sideways, maybe halfway satanic. Her tides came in rushes, in spurts, twice a day now. She was emotionally rewired to his synthetic new standard. He watched her do dishes, he watched her ass move. He lay listless in bed, like nothing to prove. The only extension he gave to support her? A bourgeouise yawn, with laisssez faire torture...

to be continued

Rolling Allostasis Revisited

Then as life goes you find you get into something so completely, your persona, you know, what you do, maybe it's also your purpose. You are flooded by it, simply deluged by something no matter how big or small, valuable or cheap, honest or sold... then you look around and find that many people know more than they let on, maybe more than they think they know anyway. Maybe they act like they know. Maybe they know how to act like they know. Maybe they know nothing. Maybe they know they know nothing.

Maybe you're in trouble. Maybe in need of ssris or deficiency restorative vitamin shots. Maybe you need a friend. Maybe you have been befriended, but befriended's not enough. Maybe you must be be witched. Maybe you need to eat a sandwhich. Maybe you need a who, what, when, where, or which? Maybe you do not know how. Maybe you tipped a cow. Maybe you need to stuff your face with facebook friends. Maybe not.

Did you include your exclusive in your earthquake kit? Tape your affirmation tape to your thigh? Or maybe they have been overdone, your fears and worries.What if theres nothing the hell wrong with you, anyway? Just experiencing lots of feelings, every day, just feeling your way into life? What if good news ceded from a thorough understanding? What if you can take those worries and put those fears in the archive; zipped, compressed, silenced.

You become salt.You become larger than your sediment trail. You travel horizontal, vertical, and your journey loses steam but gathers momentum. You are way off track. The meaning increases strength on the y-variable continuum. The x-variable gets jealous and steals percentage. The z-constant puts x in chex. Accepts no substitute. Tastes best with y and x. Don't ask why, go on to the next.

Truth with truth. A wholesome meal. More than a steal. Always relative, sometimes changing, hard to define, exacerbating cultures dis ease, serves her right, culture! With a side of yogurt for acidophilus contagion. Served on a platter to memorialize the cajun. Always tryin to come off as ‘fine’. Fucked up, insane, numb, emotionless. Probably headed to the liquor store to check out again on wine. Achilles heel you cant smother under that blanket of persona perfecta you present to the world...gotta be your shaking hands.

You're Shaking hands-- with your divine.

By Katya W. Mills
03/13/2013
http://katyamills.com
http://kissilent.wordpress.com

Dedicated to Occupy Oakland. 2011 -i-

Then as life goes you find you get into something so completely, what you do, your purpose, you get flooded by it, simply deluged. No matter how big or small, valuable or cheap, honest or sold... warm or frigid cold. You join a movement. Or maybe you just cheerlead.


Now you may be the one to yell out in pain of the betrayal, when injustice strikes you in the head and puts you in critical condition. Like on that cool Fall evening in Oakland, California, twenty eleven. The Occupy Occupation. The supporters of Oscar Grant. The soldier who went down that way, with a head injury.

The source of pain is not always physical. Yet completely personal. We get to thinking and we float. We don’t feel grounded. We get anxious. We see the river but do not want to confluence with her.

Unnecessary
Apartments get neglected
Androids are selected
Relationships hit the rocks
No more watches on the wrist
We cannot synch our mp4s
Or patch things up with a kiss
No more clubs. No more country
Everything in spade
No more dinners
Just pharmaceuticals
Lost your lucky jade


Then might you wonder, what must I do to survive?...
sit my ass down
 open my ears
occupy space
express shit needs expressing
stand head to head with riot police
gripping their tear gas guns
their stun guns
their revolvers
lets hope they aren't dyslexic
when the draw comes...

Oscar Grant lives!
tagged on walls all over Oakland
well into the occupation
of the plazas and the squares
ninety-nine percenters
everywhere

 Releasing a new kinda mix, from urban to the styx. Back on Broadway in the States. Class.
Not afraid to bare its lovely working ass.
Without judgment without question and without answers.

Then arrested
 atleast four score of them
Willing to go to jail
Excommunicate fear
Bucket head a canister and line it with baking soda
Breaking codependency with status quo
Laugh until your laughter turns to wet dew of tears
Fall then to the ground and be received with great thirst
Take a route down a root
Deeper

deeper deeper
deeper deeper

Moisture and humidity
feeling all life
holding it closer
to you

closer closer
closer closer

right up against yourself
right on

Into the company of
hundreds of thousands
of mostly decent honest peoples
representing even those
who were ordered
to stop them
and came
right

right up against themselves
right on
right up against ourselves exactly
where we
must
be