untitled. mentions clowns.

we cannot
be cured

of love
undying

our patience
endures

legendary
lying

we break out
in laughter

alone
in a room

we empty
our lungs

of hateful
profanity

we sigh
collectively

free from
vanity

we die
with dignity

we kill
for sanity

a smile
we assuage
from sad kids
with braces

employed
as clowns

we
make
funny
faces

what the wind remembered

nobody remembered her name or her face

or the pale of her wrists

by the edge of her lace

 no one remembered the man or his name

who sunk his axe deep

in the wood

in the yard

in his sleep

only the wind still whispered her name

through the gaps and the floors

through those walls

made of wood

and wrung out the leaves of the trees 

just like hands

to remember the others

the other ones who had died

there

two and twenty years before

and twice as long

before then

and twice as long

before then

and twice as long

before then

'house at 22nd and F' by katya

Nonfiction #77. subset 444

Tuesday.
All seems
 lost...

steaming cup of coffee.

gloves off.

press muse into paper.

sidewalk @ 19th and F

life
gets better
when
we try

The druid at vespers

The druid
faces
the tree of life
before
the sun
has set...

to divine
things to come

circumscribed
there
in the sky

the spider

I had the bolt

 locked

I thought

I was sure

'Neon Orange Spider on Gate' by Katya

The spider
he came
The venom
So pure

Girl Without Borders #41

The digital copy of my debut novel is free today on Amazon.com, and currently trending #41 in the Urban Genre ebook best sellers list. Judging by my peers books in that category, my book has been slightly miscategorized! Other popular titles in Urban Fiction (by wonderful authors, bless their hearts) include:

 'The Lipstick Clique 2'
 'Trust No Nigga' (love that one!)
 'Jump Off Bitches'
 'His Thoughts, Her Thighs'
 'Duffle Bag Bitches'
'Black Butterfly 2: Eboni Machiavelli'

Talk about Titles Without Borders. I will guarantee you my book is as shocking or more, as any of them.
You can support my spiritual fitness plan by reviewing or rating my book, if you decide to take the time to read it! http://www.amazon.com/Girl-Without-Borders-Katya-Mills-ebook/dp/B00F21WQ5E

Meanwhile, I will work on on spicing up my next title.
A couple ideas I have in mind:
 'Player Hater Conundrum, Volume #86'
'Snitches 4 Bitches'
'OG - OMG!

hallowed. electric

You don't wanna know how i feel in this madness. I don't wanna feel in this madness. I don't know. You don't wanna know. Something comes across my affect, and my bones have to pick me up and exorcise it anyway I can. Otherwise I'm a goner.

See them walking across the bridge at midnight, hand in hand? Watch them approach. Shades, they are shades. The black cats pour out of the giant dry pipe in the bedrock. The river has long dried up. The fish have long since gasped for water. The air is zero humidity.

The black cats they shock one another in the crackle of a dry invisible tension of world of breathlessness. With each shock, jumps one over the other. The black cats. Each shock jumps one over the other. Feline electric.You don't wanna know.

They are shades. They walk right through your frozen fear. You don't wanna know how it feels. It is frozen, and they walk right through it. Like it's nothing at all. They walk all over. The clear sound of heeled hooves, becomes the pitter patter of mice then ants. Smaller and smaller. Like oak wood falling out of its rings. A puddle of paper pulp, bubbling into the ground. The pores in the ground make a sucking sound. You don't wanna know.

body electric by katya, 2013

Shocked. Jumping one over the other. Body electric.

Terror strikes the hearts in half. The blood pools on the ground. The earth sucks it up. What is seeded, is beyond pale. A frightening smiling face, hanging off the neon stalks of a dark night evolution. The friends, all dried up and give birth to this. They call them so-called.

It will shock you.You don't wanna know. In the shadow of the shades, I become a black cat. Jumping over another. Darting back into the pipe. Feline electric. Back to the source. In the cold, dark, Halloween night.

NNN - National Novel November!

'books on glass' by k

I will be writing a novel in the month of November, as part of the National Novel Writing Month. Wow, I am so excited! I will attempt to fictionalize the last decade of my life in Oakland, California. In the first 10 months of 2013, I have posted around 200 times between this blog and my website. I self-published my first novel and published a short story. I have met so many friends online and off, and rekindled old friendships. 

 I left Oakland and have found a home in Sacramento. I am healing. I have worked really, really hard to build community and write. Now is a chance to push my skills to another level, and put my past exactly where it belongs -- in the past. Exorcise the demons. And have a hell of a time, doing it. This should be great fun!  I will be updating you all on my progress, by posting excerpts on the daily, throughout November. WIsh me luck! 

when love feels lost again

A link to a poem i wrote today, about how i really feel
about someone very important to me...


http://kissilent.wordpress.com/2013/10/22/pa%C2%B7pier-ma%C2%B7che/

Candle (excerpt #2)

" I came to in a world I never knew. I came to, only to pass out once again by the weight of new things. My blood trickled down from my nose, pressured by the weight of my senses all colliding to interpret. My marrow beamed electric inside my bones. Like the weak light from the circuitry of some twentieth-century pinball machine relegated to some dark corner somewhere, to cover up a crime. "

Note from the author...

This was an excerpt from a short story I have been writing, based on a popular post I wrote recently,  titled the candle. 
Thank you, my dear readers. I realize now (and can appreciate) that in a sense you have been my beta readers all along, as far back as 2007 when i started this blog. I can run my ideas past you, and look at my stats from time to time, to gauge your interest in the material. 

Going forward with faith as a self-published author, I know that I am not alone in my process. I thank you. 

Taking Leave

Jumped
Upon

Gathered up
Stomped on

Born of sun
Water
And air

Blown off
Blown off your property
Blown away

Born of air
And water
And sun

Crushed
Torn apart
Driven over
Glued

To art

Born of
Water pulled
Up from
Ground

Gathered
Stared upon
In Wonder

Pilgrimage
To see

self-portrait, K

Changing
Colors
Choking

Dehydrated
Dying

Photographed
Falling

Swept
Away


by Katya

The day the dining room table lost all popularity

America 2009. A year i filed down and compressed for easy retrieval. No time machine needed. Just a can opener. Contents preserved in a secret preservative recipe.

A partial list of contents:
 red vines
chocolate lucky charms (magically suspicious)
wildhorse cig filters
ambien and vinegar base

Embedded on a portable storage device, on a bed of lettuce. From a head of lettuce, intangible. Probability equations of course were lost in translation. The unzipping of the full body suit. Probability became as dead to mathematics as Latin was to language. The odds of this statement being true, were known to be high. Gamblers gambled...and still lost. They tucked their leftover singles, reluctantly, on the B-side of her G-string, to the sad key of E minor.

2009 thus unpacked - what did it represent anymore? ... Seemed encouraging. Music penetrated my everything. Seasons tended to be blended. Winters on ice. Summers were generally not so hot and not so nice. Like writers experiencing blocks. People of substance endured them anyway. Substances were often involved, on the dating scene. Substances on a night out with any person of questionable substance, directly caused symmetric convolution. Translation? the convolution kernel would be symmetric across its zero point.

Doors sometimes revolved. Some who found themselves in revolving doors, also happened to be of the subset of the census who found themselves utterly discouraged to the point of crashing by the very mention of anything impacting the convolution kernel's zero point. Thankfully, neither you nor me.

Ecosystems often were impacted, too, in 2009. Both internal and external ecosystems. Either dissolved or evolved. Costly checking accounts were erroneously freed by a stubborn corporate culture way too far into the black. Back to black was an unknown concept back then. 2009. Credit cards given freely to anyone who was not fiscally unsound aka poor aka in need of a fucking credit card. Checking in often preceded and followed, checking out. Soon due to a conservative movement to decentralize government and put Sarah Palin in power, there would be no checking in at all. Only checking out. And everyone and my bad self checked the fuck out. Swearing aloud became commonplace, especially in liberal google plus circle infancy.

TVs everywhere hosted purportedly independent families everywhere. The dining room table (as a form for function) lost all popularity. Despite immaculate credibility. At least someone was doing the dishes. TVs hosted families. A subset grew into a superset. Television set (itself) to the task of Interplanetary Expressing its bad self to the surrounding planets in a vacuum-sealed space capsule. Today interplanetary aliens are still staring down the fork of a strange plug attached to a ridiculous,useless device. Earth looks bad. Mars (earth's sponsor) turns a deeper shade of red.

This unzipped post is to be continued at a time yet to be determined by the no-name almost famous author and blogger extraordinaire, who has reached a zero point of her own particular patience kernel. And thankfully so, remarked the always difficult to impress and ever so fashionable, Zoe. 

Memory #2009. Zero points. Tidal wave music. Current of gratitude -- ii)

Continuation of an earlier suggestion by K, years ago. Completion of a semi-conscious thought...

Religion was unpopular in areas where its leaders did not sway political power. In those areas, religion still dominated and tormented millions and was smoked, ingested, digested, inhaled, and slammed by minions. Obsessing minds like Helen of Troy.

In supposedly 'free' countries, those who believed they were free wore spirituality on their luxurious auras and referred to east meets west and quoted prominent thinkers and spiritual teachers so to keep good standing among social circles.

'Keeping it real'

They often ended where they began, these social circles. true to being a circle.  Comfort came in being in the same place and unevolved; they called this state of stagnation: HOME.

No words meant anything, really, because all words could be traced back to the dead language, which was alive in all words. They called it dead because they were free and unconscious. Only when the people slept did consciousness appear, and they called these 'nightmares' and spoke of consciousness as though it were a horrible curse upon them.

And yet they spoke of consciousness with great philosophical energy made viral, and some claimed to be more conscious than others.

[These were know as sleepwalkers and allowed to exist in a harm reductive state, and went back far in time in hopes of rejecting the notion that anyone (anything) like them could possibly have ever existed before them, for they considered themselves unique.]

Fortunately, their condition was terminal at best. Rebirth would be promised them for centuries before termination due to the giving up on them by the divine (he who giveth up on no one).

chicago with love

Chicago how i love you.... how i would go back in a second, if going back in a second was possible....  only in my mind... so what you beat me up and made me run away... so what your skies were often grey... i learned from you how to suffer ... and now they say i am grace, how i carry myself somtimes.... chicago you taught me to suffer so... gracefully... touched by you, i am... so i am... if bipolar was a weather pattern.... chicago... so balanced and fucking off the hook crazy...wow.... photogenic.... not a bad side to your skyline ... but your underbelly.... Lake Street... under the elevated line lies darkness... some may never see through, others will always overlook... chicago, wow, you are a maze in my dreams ... my memory howls for you... like Neko Case down by the Morton Salt mural.... at the alt-country bar, there... Elston Avenue's industrial madness... concrete suite... asphalt phalls....falls on the midwest farms to feed...to pheed the people.... elements locked in industrial jungle...

 iron trax above and circling round like an architectural subway tour...above the underbelly of jazz era dope fiends making music on the side...friendly...when you need a hit, its phriendly...apocryphal shining of shoes, down by Ceres... where's my reflection the suit demands...tosses the tip in the air and saunters off...ceriously? Seriously...grain is ruled by gods...fronted by statues of goddesses...chicago with your big shoulder mentality... why do i love you...it is never why, only how, Chicago... how i love you... because you stole my heart... because you flagged my spirit... because you suffered my fool... almost drown me in your pool... great lake serpent snake...cold gold flake... flat iron brick city... Michigan can only distance itself so far... Detroit licking guitars... echos of screams let out of their jars... bars, bars, BARS.... all your fucking urban manifestations....every representation of every known nation...  the urban.... Nelson Algren ... Polish Triangle... chicago, a working class city at heart....taught me how to work for shit...taught me how to work for it... west side was the best side...punks... reduced rent lofts... small bar on every corner... bars on every window...the alcohol abuse center, r.i.p... miss your billiards and your two bucks for a double whisky....flat iron... artist haven... i got my only blue tattoo, chicago... my blue tattoo to remember you, chicago... to remember you.

On 'flash' or 'sudden' form -i)

 I wrote the freeverse piece below,
 in a 4-4-4-6-6 form.
The form felt really nice for my style,
and I may begin to use the form regularly...

http://kissilent.wordpress.com/2013/10/11/drafting-the-steam/


I am more and more confident in my ability
to write flash or sudden pieces. I still prefer writing
prose to poetry, though often I find myself whiddling a
flash piece I wrote, down into a freeverse poem.
The process is often very natural and leads me there.
Still I prefer the flash or sudden  form.

Flash and sudden are two names for basically
the same form. Usually prose, usually under 500 words.
The Chinese have been know to call it smoke-long. 
Meaning you can read the piece in the time
it takes to smoke a cig.

Intuitives

You may know us
By air currents
Electric

In a faraway
Place without
Outlet

We may speak
Without words
Looking
the glass
From within

We
May come
clean
cross
The
Crossing

Our
deepest
sense
felt
somehow

Somewhere
Rare
and
unusual

where streams
bend backward

Glancing off
Blockages
And human made
Check dams

To clasp
into rivers
impossible

By Katya Mills

this time, last year

Companion to last year, this time


This time, last year, well.... i was pretty tore up. Looking forward to nothing. Twelve twelve twelve, and the end of the fucking world. I was living in a truck in Richmond, California. Not a nice place to live, really. Definitely not a nice place to live in a truck. It wasn't my idea. It wasn't my truck. Just shy of forty, and just shy of some incomprehensible impending doom I could feel, lurking around the corner. Literally.

This time last year, I was rescued. From an abusive relationship with a kid I met at a vending machine. He had sold the machine out of the cookies I was hoping to buy, with what was left of my bank account. Little did I know he would sell out on me, a few months later. Back to black. He went from telling me he would take a bullet for me,  the day we got mugged in De Fremery Park, to holding a fragment off a mirror he shattered, in my face. For real. All we ever had in common were those fucking cookies he sold out on me.

All I was left with was my impoverished beat down self, in the end. Staring at that metal coil behind glass, wondering how my spirit got consumed. I had all the time in the world to figure it out, this time, last year. Unemployed and unemployable. Mental Illness is a bitch. Causes you to get another degree in pharmacology, just to get baseline. When emotional flatline is your goal? you got problems, kid. Another degree in chemicals, had a reverse lake effect on my mental illness: took me a degree deeper into my chaos. Paranoid about people. And twelve twelve twelve. Unemployed and unemployable. Board and care, no longer cared.

I became bored. And careless with my self. That's what you get, when you take the road never traveled by. Who gets involved with an ex-dope fiend turned dope fiend, by choice? Mental Illness is a mother. Another landlord had had enough. I was about to kick me out of me! For real. Mental case. Up all night. Up all day. Writing? Yes, of course. But that was the last of my sanity, I guarantee. Never lose gratitude for cold cold reason. Always appreciate your frontal lobe. Do not sell it on the black market, like I did. This time, last year.

Colors, too

Companion piece to 'Colors'...

'Colors, too'

Aurora
moved to Dallas
to live by
Boring Alice

behind
Glass
was Green
with sea

behind
Royal Blue
sky
too big
to see
around

Starfish
had to
scoot over
decreed by
Lemon-Orange
appeal

Potatoes
eyes were
glazing over
a suspect shade
of Teal

A mass
of cloud
formations
brushed
eggwhites
into
Royal Blue

while we
scooted
ever closer
to be
by you

(me
and Kangaroo)
by you

-by Katya, 2013

withdrawals

'withdrawals'

felt like
ache
in bones
never
getting up

down
low low
deep
down
dirty
dead
fuck
the world
fuck
my life

whatever

withdrawals
were like
twisting
a turn
by a
wrench
so
tight

withdrawals
were like
so
fuckin' lost
in a spin
cycle

confusion
buzzing
voices
laughter anywhere
but here

put my
head
in at stove
to get
away

no home
no life
no future

euphoric recall
makes it worse

hell
those withdrawals
got so bad

i ain't
never
gonna
put
the
pen
down
again

-Katya, 2013

Sudden two

Every morning
Around five
Sleep ends

On my knees
Child pose
Give up
my will
Again

Forehead touches
knees

-Aside-

A side of
Selflessness
Please

flash, inspired by a poem

inspired by poem by Xue Di: the poem warms from within to without. my blood pushes and floods, the capillary fields. the crop has been harvested and placed in burlap. the children beat their wings against the sacks. for fun. the roots of the trees pull the water up slowly. this water will someday be someone's tears of sorrow. or joy.

girl on girl (not a) crime

Nonfiction by K & B (friend of K).
a 'sext' (text sex) session
Present time. Rated R.


9:20AM

B: Hey u
K: Hey

10:42AM
B:Want to fuck?

11:35AM (after a long silence because i was in shock)
K: Huh?
(there was no known intimate past between us)

11:36AM
K: lOl - i thought you were straight

12:04PM
B: Oops!
To my friend!

12:12PM
K: Darn, I was afraid you would say that!
(i figured she was bluffing)

12:16 PM
B: Well we could sext!
K: Anytime, you body rocker, rocking bod

12:18PM
B: Fingers?
12:20PM
K: Fingers??

12:22PM
K: You better not be drinking two fingers
tequila... Nor anything else for that matter
(she doesn't drink anymore)
B: wannt 2 rock your clit

12:23PM
B: Pics?
K: Yes

12:24PM
K: Shit, omg. I don't think I can trust this.
What if you're some kid or some dude
who stole her phone?
(stranger things have happened)
B: Pics

12:26PM
K: Only a dude would ask 4 pics. Who is this?
And what did you do with my friend?
B: Pics

12:27PM
B: Please

12:28PM
K: Nice try... DUDE

12:29PM
B: Fucking myself u want pics?
K: Oh boy, you R fuckin with my DOME

12:31PM
B: Want pics?
12:32PM
K: Just a pic of your face not yer ass, OK?

B sends a pic of her nipple just 
barely peeping over her tank top

12:35PM
K: Wow. Is that u? (still suspicious).
You sure got tan

B sends a face pic. She's a white girl,
29 yrs old, English / American, almond blue eyes
Blonde hair flowing down either side of her face,
same length as mine but more wavy. She appears
to be sitting in her car. The seatbelt gave it away.

12:37PM
K: Ok that's u all right.
B: I just feel like, aka fucking u.

K sends a self-pic of my thighs, bare, from above.

12:38PM
B: Can I try?
K: Ya well where are u anyway?
Are u coming? double entendre

B: How do i fuck myself?
K sends a face pic 

12:40PM
K: Gently with a tattle tale finger wag
across the cut.
12:41PM
K: Like a youngblood slut.
Then deep in the cut...

12:42PM
B: Need a pic
K: continuing Until you hit the spot
Open your lips when you feel yourself
Gettin kinda hot

12:43PM
B sends a pic in the cut
B: want?

12:47PM
K: Beauty
So did you do as I said?

12:48PM
B: Pics?

12:50PM
K sends a pic in the cut

12:52PM
K: I gotta go up north
B: Going?

K: Love u
B: Thank u

Bye