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 'when wishes went away'

Spoken word original
Written and performed by Katya Mills
from K IS SILENT



What i
wished 4
went away
not without a reach
a chase the
beach i reached
barefoot
i raced

i cast far up and down
pacific highway coast
out blurred and rocky
edge

out
to sea
it went
along that maladjusted spine
of shore

i was left
alone
feeling lost
in heavy
fog
sucking
effervescence
of undertow

sweet bliss
solitude
statements
crashing
into shore

fuck off
fuck offf
fuck offff

lashing myself to friends
until
like tears
away from eyes
i pushed
off

i did not care
to see them or me or
what life was
really…

what was life, really?
without what i so wished
i so demanded
life
to be

i gave away
my things
to storage wars
for peace

peace
she proved elusive
she ran
the park
off leash

i chased her up a tree
i would not let her be i
would not let it
not yet
it had to can’t you see?
not yet you see i…

see i
auctioned off
my faith
to educated whores
who bid me down
to earth
the ground
was barren

i knelt i turned pockets out for
seeds from Faulkners yard my
drunken pilgrimage

i gathered them with whisky
down beneath a tree in ninety-seven or was it nine?

Oxford
Mississippi
clay

i found the magic
seeds i did! but
ground was frozen
solid so i fell and
hit my head

like Faulkner
from his horse

a sinkhole opened wide
where my blood once
circulated
seven? ninety-nine or
was it?

my family
just a photograph
my life
fading
silverfish
fast

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 !

K reads... ' (you gave me) your word'

Written and performed by Miss Katya Mills
all rights reserved, 2014

(you gave me) your word
originally published on kissilent.wordpress.com

i said what
you heard
the cat killed
the bird

the sprinklers wave
water wands

they
cross us
in third

i don’t really know
the thumb
told
the toe

decidedly situated
at odds
in
the snow


the bird killed
the cat
now how about
that?

the fingers crossed
toes and the
half

and the
half

had to laugh
having heard just one
third of the
word

you gave me
your word

you said what
i heard now
say…

what good
was that?

K reads... 'like thunder' (original non-fiction)

'like thunder'

posted on K IS SILENT

July, 2013

All my world had puffed up like a blowfish around me, then blew a massive hole in the ocean. Like those bastards, BP. I came out like Jonah from the belly of the whale. I had found those goddamn roadflares from my truck. The ones I never had when I needed them, stranded with my hazards on halfway down an exit ramp off the great highway. Well, I took advantage of my luck. The moment the clouds gave way to the sky. I struck a match off the heel of my boot, and lit those mothers. Without hesitation. That’s when the whole thing blew wide open. Pretty close to the time the world was supposed to end, again. The impact left ink trails falling all around you and me. Poisoning my ecosystem and yours, too, for a little while. Until the great ocean diluted and detoxified, and cleaned up my mess. So life could go on again, uninterrupted. I’m sorry. I can tell you I am sorry today and I mean it. I thought about it for a long while. Days upon days, actually. There was hardly nothing to do. I had taken my usefulness out of me. Fell asleep on the couch in the dead heat of the day. My kittens stretched out wishing their fur away. The television was on. The television was off. My hold on reality was tenuous. I lost a cat out there. Just like I lost one a decade earlier. I lost alot more, backsliding and sliding. Everything I tried to communicate seemed to come out all encrypted. The more I plugged in passwords and master passwords, the less safe I felt. Probably no one but my ex-boyfriend really truly wanted me dead. But I guarded what was left of me, with all that I could. The nightmares cascaded, if I fell asleep in the silence. Only the ceiling fan spinning far above us. The Tibetan bell I hung off the light fixture was ringing ever so softly beside me and my broken ankle bracelet hanging off of me. 

When I could breathe again. When I could read again. When I could look you in the eyes again. That’s when I noticed. When I no longer wanted light, but got lit anyway. I picked up the kittens and kissed them many times. Their bodies hung limp from the palms of my hands. They trusted me so well, they could drip off my arms and melt into the air. My heart melted inside me, over this. The trust, I mean. What a fucking gift. I carried them and myself down the hall to the bedroom. Many times, every day. My eyes half burned out from so many moons and full suns. I can feel my age. The surface temperature of my skin seems to have elevated, substantially. My head aches, and my belly grows. The infertility is juxtaposed. My imagination was seen as a dove by a merchant marine long out at sea. Coming home. My spirit is the delta. The heat of the day seems to linger all night there. My kittens cannot stand to drape over me for too long. They want to. But my body, their fur, well, it’s all much too warm. All my world had puffed up, you see, an inflammation of my soul. And this wasn’t gonna let up so easy this time. Not this time. I had done alot of damage, now. I had painted over the woodwork. Restoration was a bitch. All those relationships I chose, over the relationship I most needed. Let me tell you, it is good to live alone. I hope to stretch time out into solitude. With a steady stream of social media from which to drink. With a world outside my windows waiting for me, when I cannot think. I lost alot by losing myself all the time like that. This was okay, to be worn out and all. I could remember the past, I could tell you the truth some day. But the conscious bold type is screaming grade A psychotic. Still fresh. I think it only right to be humble and patient, not slough the old skin any faster than it wants to. Not so much, but maybe a little at a time. Maybe a little like now. I am not afraid, but rather listening to my truth all alone like I should. And it’s telling me things. Important things. Nuances. Sometimes painful like hell, sometimes touching me so deep. I am so sensitive. I hurt alot. I suffer, but not always in silence anymore. I cry alot, but without shedding tears. A lot less drama. The explosion was necessary. A spiritual emergency. The difference now is the break. Allowing things to shift a little. So I can safely think. So the ecosystem can take a little ink. So I can go out and buy my rice and pasta and fry up my corn tortillas in olive oil, while the green beans are roasting, Indonesian Sumatra. My life is a blessing. Any way that it goes. My choices fall in succession, in rows after rows . The holy temple of my spirit, was always with me and protected. This was my saving grace. She almost got ground out with my Newports, under my heels. I often tried to extinguish her. But I have so much to offer, like they say. I could open a fucking restaurant and offer all day. Anyway. The moon, she is waxing, and the darkness fills around her. I can see it, feel it, know it, be it. The substance, the system, the whole damn thing rides on spoke balanced wheels. I roll them twelve miles, as I get to know myself again. I roll those wheels and the flame delivers like magic, between my forefinger and thumb. My sweet kittens, four brown eyes, two on either side, watch in wonder. In wonder.My verse drops my spirit, like thunder. Like thunder.