lying in the alphabet. unable to speak

I poured some more coffee and filled your cup and you stared at the surface, clasping your fingers around the cup, the heels of your hands touching at the back. You were thinking pretty hard like I wasn't in the room. I kept quiet. I was putting the cream back when the cat miaowed from above. He was on the top of the fridge, lying in the alphabet. Unable to speak.   - KatYa

Here's a reading from my book Maze
Chapter 16:2

the rhythm of a mistake

Ya, you always said the unpopular thing and that was cool, when someone was about to get hurt and someone had to say something and no one did but you. We didn't have the guts back then to stand up for what was right. I didn't. Things happen so fast it's over before you've made up your mind. Fear gettin the best of courage. What would happen if you went against the rhythm of a mistake? All eyes on you, maybe some cursin and shovin and pushin as you try and stand your ground and stand up for what you know is right. We were all asking ourselves the wrong question. What would happen if you didn't break the rhythm of a mistake? The song would go on and carry out over the trees, into the valleys, echoing, bouncing around the canyons and maybe even out to sea. And everyone and Donald Trump would be singing it, without knowing what it really meant. And the heat of the sun wouldn't enliven you anymore. The heat from the sun would just burn you.  -KatYa

Here's my latest reading from Maze...

Book Two
Chapter 16:1

Journal # 03.29.16

The day was real fun. I got a couple books for free. A guy down the street moved out and left half his life street side. It was as though he just took a giant dump on our sidewalk and bolted. A whole dresser painted in pastels, a tv, reams of crappy magazines, his whole mattress and box spring setup. Sometimes I wish there was a government agency created to deal with these people. The eggs go rotten after easter. They should be forced to clean up after other people who drop their load on your street. Natural consequence. Community service. Anyway, I got a red random house called Night Time Stories With Alfred Hitchcock out of it. Anything I can do to help clean up the streets, right? The first story I turned to was one written by Ray Bradbury. It was about a reckless 'old maid' (she was 37 years old and you can bet I felt closer to the grave reading that) who decides to walk home alone one night after the movies in a small town with her friends who plead with her to stay overnight with them cause there's a killer on the loose. Her one friend says she thinks her subconscious wants her to die, before saying goodbye. I liked that line a lot. Our old maid just walks on home alone, after midnight, when everyone and their dog is safe behind closed doors. She makes it home safe, though she got scared and regretted her decision when she thought someone was following her. She tries to catch her breath by the window when she finally locks her door behind her, looking out to see there was nobody at all. But oh boy, the killer is insider her house, standing aways behind her. The end! Back in the day I guess you didn't have to show everyone all the slicing and dicing and bloodspatter. Thank you Ray Bradbury. Except for that old maid comment. And thanks to the jerkoff who took a dump on our street.   - K

ps

Here is a reading from my book Maze 2:15:4 if you're interested...

Indy Author Vitamin K reads from her book Maze

In the last episode 2:15:2 Ame and Bless are circling round the anarchy of the cemetery grounds where they once made out years ago. Sunset bleeds the sky. Back at the Imperial, all that's left of Kell is her boosted makeup and Nylon magazines. Bless is watching and waiting for Ame to show her some love.

Book Two
Daughter of Darkness
Chapter 15:3

life i love you. good friday

"Quiet life on softened streets, all the bad news backed away. You lucky kid. I washed my hair with 100,000 molecules. Each one like the full moon tonight, lighting up life in all the right ways. I made it to the site. I could peacefully fold my legs up under me on the couch facing the east, the house where nobody's home, facing, pinching my slip as I picked it up and let it go hang around freely, pinching myself. You lucky kid you. All the pages were viewed, in a free sweep of eyes (not mine). To be sure they really existed, outside of myself. Not so easily destroyed by water, heat, air, time. Thumbs rubbing the ink to a fade I can no longer describe. Each curve of every letter like the full moon tonight, lighting up life in all the spectacular finishes. Flourishes. You lucky kid. Thinking of a friend, one I haven't even heard of in years, a keystroke away, a daydream, attacking a search engine with a heart on a saturday in America, one truffle at a time, pulling lightly on the ends of twisted plastic until the whole thing rolls over and out, examining the condition of my condition, remembering the ionic bond even if it hurts. Life I love you."   - KatYa, 2016. excerpt from Ame and the Tangy Energetic

k by k on a sunny day 2016

Journal # 03.24.16

Life was gonna be painful for a morning dove whose call was so random and throaty and pure only hours before my tigers took him out. what was left of life was gonna be painful then surreal then blurry, then over. i imagine euphoria takes over in the end, when defenceless one's life force rushes to heal. life is bloody and open wide and clawed at. attacked from all sides. in the midst of a glorious spring morning. the dew has burned off and the day becomes sharp and direct and furious when you're caught by those who were born to hunt you down. actually they meant you no harm. they just do what they do. it's the same the world over. impersonal. intimate. euphoric. terribly violent and sad. ever changing. renewed. life.    - © KatYa, 2016

too late it was too late for us

you would not see me until the sun reflected off the moon

i would notknow you 

by then