leveling her inside her

The slow train of bright light life superimposed on living passed by, and her modeling career suddenly ended. A decade earlier, it all started the way it ended. All of the city was moving in and out and around her. She soaked it up then got taken in.
abruptly.

Severance of past and future. Opening her green with yellow streaked marble eyes. Staying tough around her vulnerability, she strapped herself into her pushup bra and powdered minerals against the flawless pale of her face. Her stomach let free felt so damn good, from the usual drawn in look they wanted they needed she pleaded they threaded her tight like that was that.
and that was that.

 She carried herself on long bare of legs, heels piercing the pavement, walking the half mile to the twelve mile train under the entirety of the bay. The entirety of her life now dismantled, levelled, turned one eighty around and let down, kicked up high into the highway and dragged downtown, then out with the trash and back to the skirts, outskirts where alleys are both dark and so cold. Fires made from trash cans, to warm the soles of souls.

Katya 2011

 Didn't really phase her or seachange her deep feelings. She knew in this urban element she'd find something appealing. Attractive like charges outside of the nucleus, worship-like protonic love, steady kneeling. She moved toward the center. While the city kept dreaming.

her focus and resolve led like headlight beams. The air thickened with temporal glaze. She fell in and out of moods not so rapid, unlike a phase. This was real, her life all of a sudden, no dressing up or down decisions. No jealous provocative derisions. She missed the girls....nah, not really! She missed gettin' champagne loaded and yes, quite silly. She missed her sweet errand boy, that kid named Billy. Missed his smile and the look on his face, coming in to her dressing room when she practically owned the fucking place.

Katya 2011

Circular was the path, but not pointless coming round. She may have tiptoed around the circumference in ballerina style once. She did not care to acknowledge the line now. She might walk the diameter, divide it and conquer. Blow over the smokestacks like a sweet evening seabreeze. All of what had happened and what had not, blew over so quickly. How she could remember, the scandals, who slept with whom, to get to what level? or those plateaud and levelled and sunk down in despair. She saw so many girls and guys fit right in, right there.

She loved a few, she knew and could say; the dreams she realized, she realized every day. Working hard, going home. She learned this was the best way. The only way to play.  Easy mornings with her boyfriend when she had one. Then sleeping in til noon. Out to the cafe, to meet and laugh and smile. Then to the salon to sharpen her look and read magz.  Always someone took her in, she remembered when fearful. She need not obsess over details so trivial. The rent will get paid, no matter no doubt. She had never not paid it, though she always had work.

She was liquid, she was fluid, in her afternoon meditations.  She made lemonade of lemons, and stirred herself in. She had looks to kill, she told herself, she made men want to sin. She made sin seem pure. Marble eyes green with yellow tips, rolled against bold propositions. Street level invitations called for split second decisions. She got promised up and down the street. Promised a fancy meal, four seasons and convertible, promised all the material things a girl cannot get without friends. She navigated the city streets well, block to block. She knew by heart all the shortcuts, if someone dared follow.

She got herself Sky high on amphetamines the working girls broke off just like bread. She took them methodically, she had for most her life. Her mom turned her on, like her moms mom did mom. Coffee
could of course sustain her for some time, like generics. She just had to be vigilant, all this private affair, night or day long. She had to immerse in one on one. Drop her silks. On carpets thicker than half and half. Cream was cream and that was cash. Not watered down into milk. Not tossed out with the trash. She saw her needs and met them, and that was more than most.

Our heroine, she was. Young at heart, wild still --and most certainly crazy. In the way one may like crazy, crazy amuses, is cute, or  thrilling, fun to witness.  Crazy do not come from nowhere, her friend always told her.Crazy come from somewhere. She suffered abandonment at an early age. Repeated through the years in different scenarios, adopted families, lost lovers, change in opinion and lifestyle and political affiliation. Crazy came from somewhere. Probably from the heart of the purest.

Katya 2011

Abandoned, feeling you lost your self. She talked often to herself about it, made her crazy. Crazy come from anywhere. Crazy come from inside. Outside. Crazy come, she come then go, then come again. Welcome or not. Cold or hot. Come with a grain of salt. Sweet like sugar. Come too soon sometimes. Other times belated. Crazy don't care, get it, crazy insensitive. Crazy so thin. Waif-like a vegan starlet she come to take. Crazy come now to give. Take her, gone crazy! its better than denial. Crazy walks the street with no shame, only style.

She was always the one leaving, until crazy upand left her sudden. These tremendous losses could only be reckoned with and cast momentarily off her, those days she made it under the cathedral of the city. She never meant  to go off like that, hella crazy some times as moods drip into one another and bubble up to the surface.
There would she beckon, there beside the lake;  humble, head low, emotions uprising, looking for truth, realizing...she found her sanity through antagonist. 'Crazy got me level? To hell with the devil!'

'Dear god,'  she prayed, ''dear goddess, dear ancestors around me...please lift from me my circumstance... Waves of feeling  foamed around her, stormy, clashing-- leveling her inside her. Often would she gasp in the silence. Shallow breath deepened. Her mind quieted. She gasped when it hit her. Leveling her inside her.

No, no! i am far from ready! she whispered in the midday light some days.  Her whispering sound like waterfalls, a city block away. Amplified over time and space. Unlike  most everything around her. Unlike fire hydrants folks loosened in the hot summer heat to get a cool off. Water losing pressure over time. She was more like the water was delivered to the air, clung to cotton on chests, sung down into sidewalk seams, run free over curbs raining down on lower ground. Flouride keeps it all clean.

She suffered still in her life, this former model, our heroine. The setting sun and cool water gave her a chill. She was human.What warmed her heart then?
Rainbows risen over eyes under high rise.
Otherwise, dead ends. Or so the signs said.
Dead ends would live again! Live again! Dead ends.

Katya 2011

Over and over again, days infrequent, when she could discard whats no good for the heart,
she knew... they knew....all knew...
Cast your eyes of marbles to ground. See with the taste of teeming life. Look through the windows of sound to see the friction of engines and jumpropes. Skinned knee. Taste the skateboards the bearings the contact of cement... feel the fash of lighter -- sense of sight... strike of flint in the night.

The sight of such was seldom touched but by metaphysical means, and ritual.
They say our heroine, never to be seen again on earth, remained in light. of night. residual.