Listen my friend, you will do well today to simply approach your interests, wherever you may find yourself. Your environment need not stop you today, from following your attention where it leads you. All you gotta do, my friend, is breathe in and out, carry yourself as best you know how, love yourself a little or alot, be courageous and immerse yourself in the moment. Allow for silences to fill up the room. Look anyone you want in the eye. If difficulty arises, have confidence you can bring your light into the dark places where others may very well reside, this holiday season. Immerse yourself in your felt senses, and let your intuition be your guide today. Follow your heart towards its passion, even if it is unfamiliar exploration of any given situation. Have gratitude. You are right where you oughta be, okay? Loving you today, if you cannot love yourself. You will find a way. xo - K.
And suddenly the long uneven thickening and thinning motion which we followed for days, to some terrifying expanse of the same substance, which slipped through our hands and burrowed easily into earth, endless before us; suddenly jumped up into the air, unseen, and immersed us, standing there. We tried to take cover, yet still could not escape it. I shivered so long. I knew not would we survive. One of us took on a strange chill, became quiet and very hot to touch. Then ceased to be anymore. Another one then began to shake and call. Overtaken by the bitter salty substance fell out the eyes for days on end. They, too, would soon cease to be. The rest of us finally understood. We fell down before the mighty moving creature. We prayed. Then cupped our hands around it, breaking some off from the whole (though appeared unbroken), and looked at one another one last time; then took it to the lips and raised our eyes to the sky, open pale of neck, and let the substance seep into ourselves! A most unusual feeling as it reached down into me! Further! We waited. We then fell one at a time, to earth, and fell asleep awaiting.Then rose I know not when or how! And smiled! And embraced one another! For we were still alive! From this moment forward, we drank and followed the uneven line of this great, mysterious, borderless, lightness of mass. Trusting. Cupping it in our hands and hollowed tree limbs. It led us to verdant wonders never before seen, or known! We listened and the sound, once frightful, was now soothing us to sleep. The air was fresh, and colorful at times! And in the mornings, sometimes, as light awakened life… we immersed ourselves entire, in cool and friendly waters still. Life would never be the same.
There we were beyond irreverence
plain old sick with inherited inattention and hate
the litany of bitter recall
transformed by psychosocial maybe magical means
our loyalty to us
our caring for us
our sheltering us
into a white snake
we now hold a reception to
culturally-sanctioned pissing
on modern artists modern art
on ourselves
because it's hot
and steamy
and toxic
unctuous
noxious... scrumptious!
everyone's invited and no one comes
sex with us is asexual
fighting us ... (at best) ineffectual
believing in us (good) for the karma
without us (there is) no tension
no dharma
i'm gonna jump in anyway
disappear into it. let it absorb me
that's what i am gonna do!
comfort is manufactured. right here in America.
we won't ever outsource comfort. we like riding
on suspension braking on air floating in water softens the earth for building a fire
Living gave meaning and giving made meaning, as youth abandoned themselves lightly to the falls.
I felt blue and cried the color out of itself, unbearable facing the east at sunset.
Military drilling cost a heavy shilling, when shelling lobbed over the land. The purple hearts they would sink, into a deep pink, like olives in set vodka sun tonics.
You watch! you said, watching me, watching youth, themselves, abandoned lightly to the falls.
they crowned Miss Fortune, year unknown. The whole pageantry was born to fail. But it would die a planned and perfect death. Lots of young girls crying. Lots of false smiles turning real and upside down. Right up on the stage for all to see. A real corporate-sponsored mess. That's what they say happens when you let them take your heart. Or did you package it up, and give it to them? No I would never accuse you of that, no more than I might casually ask you over coffee, do you like bestiality? No, some things should no more be thrown out for public consumption than road kills, however fresh. No matter if the killer was your new Dodge Charger, freshly detailed. Not even if your buying lunch, or you somehow got it expensed off somebody's corporate card or your own. Not even! Not even by text message. No. Not even laundered through social media. Perhaps, and only unlikely, with God's will, through instagram: offensive images attached.
the watchers, the witnesses, half of them for rent on that very evening (whichever one it was), often found the edge where light and shadow spar. Out on the edge where lines got real sharp, in bitter contrast. They weren't surprised. Half of them were convinced they had orchestrated the movement, from the rows of seats around our giant battle cage half- full of feathers. They would take anything on. But we knew. Somewhere behind our shrimp cocktails, beneath our anchovy wafers, over the steam rising off our bavarian sausages rolled in bacon blankets and impaled on wooden picks, we carried this honest truth. No, it did not sit well. The load was unbalanced all the time, spilling over like our martinis those days. Whatever days those were. No one would remember because everyone was invested in forgetting everything. The privilege the others were born under left the watchers, the witnesses, half of them for rent, there on the ledge.
Today i saw a man hold a cat in his arms, loving it like a child. Today i got so very tight in the chest that it hurt.An unfortunate dispute with a toxic young woman, whose touch like unconscious betrayal. Yet close to my years on this earth.
The warmth vibrating for almost hours, before the body, dehydrate. The cold-blooded toxicity poured freely into my vessel. I swear i tried to dam her! But unimpeded rhythms are to live by. And i need to know how you really feel.
And we could have been sisters. And we could have been brothers. Maybe, some day, we could have been lovers.
No use. All i could do was hold myself high and separate, in the end. For feeling all my feelings to the end. Even the most celebrated among us, shy away from great pain. I will be the conduit of all the worlds triumphs and tragedies.I will take it on and let it all go. I will be forced on my knees, to find some disparate peace.
We all earned our place on this pounded round earth. With our gods. We run around circles, figure eights. Atomically bombed.
The nightmares came heavy last night, beneath the weight of blankets on a cold and dark night, all alone. In these dreams, the ones I loved would show up. They wanted to see me. They wanted to pick me up and take me away from a gnarly city scene; some great hall that was now a shadow of its former glory. Abandoned. I wanted to go with them, my sweets, but I was held back. I wrestled with this choice. Like usual, I could scarcely breathe. These neuroses! They always find me! I was trying to protect something from a thief. I wanted to leave a couple of bags of my belongings, but I was certain they were not safe. I was chiding a thief. I had a long winded speech to a gathering crowd of indigent peoples, on the nature of thievery. They were restless at first, not really listening, but as I expounded on the subject with such great force and mastery of the language, tired eyes arose to look. And listen. I was watching and listening to myself. I felt pride and animosity. A bittersweet occasion! By the end some were cheering. I had denounced a human being. All the while, the ones I had loved had given up waiting, and gone and left without me.
"I went with her there, to the heat, and my eyes also turned a shade orange-red; and the poor devil, his focus all glued into my head and my hair, the little song on his breath, reaching out like he was finger-painting now, suddenly struck by the force of heat radiating out from us, and all of it electric. And our bodies now glowing, I opened myself to her lead, merely an extension now of her fire. He may as well have touched a live wire, when he went to finally caress the back of my neck with his hand, dropping his palm on my shoulder. The force threw him back, I swear! Physically he was up lifted and fell back, and rolled down the hill. Jack and Jill. But Jill would not come tumbling after." -K.
"We found her in that room again, a room with a door off its hinges; a girl with her life off its hinges. She was happy to see us, but her joy was capped off where it met her subsistence. I gave her a long and emotional embrace. Reaching her was like reaching down into a hole, and groping around for a sign of life. And finding one." - K.
"I would give in to her, and only her. All she had to do was rearrange the stars to spell my name in the sky. Sure, she could have the totality of me. All she had to do was compel the Buddha out from under that tree, to come and sit beside me. Ya, then I would be hers. All she had to do was pave the streets in platinum, put pearls around my neck and ankle, ink our love forever in a secret place on her body, put an end to all my pain, dress me in black with a white rose behind my ear, ask my hand of my divinity, by the thought heard around the world. I had no lofty demands! All she had to do was marry me, in San Francisco City Hall, with a sea of origami white ravens overlooking. I was easy! All she had to was what she did last night, a hundred and one times over, and love me down to my cotton stuffed ears and black button eyes, my DIY made soul patched together with fishing line leftovers." -K
" I edged up behind her until our hips were touching, and put my arm around her waist and a fingertip in her belly button, to comfort her. Freddy was in the bathtub, just staring at the ceiling with his eyes focused out. “Well, they’ve taken over all right, that I can see” I said to my dead little sister. " -K
" He came alongside me, as I followed far behind the night watchman and the faraway sound of the lantern, steady swinging, as he navigated the steppes of organized chaos, the rows of tombstones and monuments, and graves with no marker, the trees, and the possums in them, leaning over the site; palms hanging their spiked, punk up-dos over the mysterious air, running the water from the roots, pulling life mixed with rain, the nutrients of embedded memories of those who once roamed the earth, back above ground into the winding skinny trunks, high up over it all, so they could have eyes again over the resting place, and still find a sacred place in the sun. " - K
Another teaser from my novella, Daughter of Darkness, to be published some time very soon, before year end, on Amazon.com...
"College Avenue went from spaced out service stations and seven elevens and bars and adult video stores, to tree-lined boutiques with potted flowers and architect-touched storefronts with engravings and latticework and faux shutters, colorfully painted doors and entryways. Really an enjoyable stroll up and on past the Rockridge Bart station north, and now there were fraternity boys and sorority girls in threes, drunk as hell and laughing like hyenas. The man kept walking at his easy pace with his cane tap tapping the cement before him, and he blended in so well I don’t believe anyone even saw him, he was such a staple looking dude with his country jacket and flannel shirt, and polished saddle heeled boots and silver shock of receding hair. I believe he was immediately taken for a wealthy indifferent Berkeley landlord. And he probably was! Since the sixties and the flower children made international headlines, they paved the road for property owners in this town now city, and inadvertently got everyone rich except themselves." -K
My novella will be classifed as a dark literary fiction, urban setting. Many of my characters are street level operators with subtle sense powers. (I hate to say 'dark fantasy' or 'paranormal' so I won't!) My characters are grounded in present time realities, and it reads like a contemporary fiction. I will be selling it for a buck or a buck fifty. My debut novel is currently available on amazon.com, but also can be found at Barnes & Nobles (ebook) and Createspace. Thanks for stopping by!
"Stay. Stay here with me, with you, with the world. Stil. Still your fears, let them coagulate into a lifeless form. Pull. Let me pull them out of you, so you can stay. Stay here with me, with you, with the world in all its desensationalism. Draw. let me draw out of you that too which you cling, here in the shadow of San Francisco, in this ageless night of Broadway and her storefront theatrefront shining, pimping, fronting, sinning, drinking, smoking, screaming, flowing trade of flesh and desire to no end. Down Auto Row I walked, secretly chewing on a hundred lost city souls along the way, leaving them each and every one not as dust, no, leaving them no longer weary in their ways, some standing, leaning against the brick facades or street signs, tipping their hats up now so the street can see their eyes, some walking, slower now not faster, able to stop thoughts and worries and feel the air if nothing else, some unfolding out of some hidden corner to zero, shivering a little less, realizing that they are the warmth in a cold dark night and nothing less, and nothing less than zero, so the only way might be up and out, so yes, as you watch me fade east into the bright night and know me for carrying you to some neon orange hope away from fear, the time is now, the energy is available to you freely, sons and daughters of human kind, open your eyes, yes, see that it may not be so bad as you had it out to be, and only you can not be a victim of only your circumstance, only you can hasten headlong to your death, only you can make your very next move or be otherwise static yours, and swallowed by the fear strikes you sound."
" I was hot with a madness. I was becoming accustomed to the darkness inherent in me. I may not have been happy about the violent quality, but I accepted it. I was conscious of it. I was not running from it anymore. The immediacy! I could access the power. I could nurse on the fear. I could feel it, I could compel it out of a human with no remorse." - K
"Sure, I might go overboard (and our kind always did) and reduce them to hourglass sand, but why not show me some love? And come out karmically ahead? Have the courage to sit across from me and suck tapioca into the fat straw with sweet and cool, fresh green tea. We need not talk. Just look me in my eyes for a minute, and watch as the good feeling rises up in you, and you begin to have that long lost energetic you had when you were just a child, and fearless." - K
"I was in the trenches of Oakland our fair and broken iron maiden, Cinderella, at the feet of San Francisco, watching her dirty bay waters wash up against her, expected to do all her dirty work and keep her gates golden. Most of the darker minded or skinned people of the world to black of black panthers found shelter if not sanctuary in the dark heart of Oakland, after spending days traveling across or under the Bay to get paid watching over the wealth, running the elevators, answering to someone, serving their food and drink, dealing with their homeless, driving their buses, shining their shoes, entertaining them at night, entertaining them in the day, doing their laundry, walking their pets, cleaning their apartments, houses, bathrooms, schools, offices, and consciences." -Katya
Starting today, I am writing into my second year of the National Novel Writing Month, with an eye toward the continuation of a series I started last year. I am excited! This is a literary fiction set in Oakland, California. Female protagonist, first-person narrative. Last year, November, the words spun out of me and wove what looks to be shaping up well as Book One and Book Two of the series.
I hope to finish editing Book One by year end, latest. The 'beta reader' response was very encouraging. The story is character-driven and has elements of dark fantasy, but certainly classifies much closer to Literary Fiction.
I plan to release Book One, Daughter of Darkness, as a Novella on Amazon.com, beside my other publications. All have been well-received in the marketplace, with 4-5 star ratings. My indy author page is located here: KATYA MILLS . Thank you for all your support!
To my beloved friends and fans, I want to wish you all a Happy Halloween
from the daughter of darkness...
'Roses' by Katya Mills, 2010
I took this photo in the Morcom Amphitheatre of Roses, in Oakland, where i found sanctuary from the downward spiral of my life. The years 2010-2012. Life was crazy, wild, I was experiencing a shutdown that was necessary for my re-emergence, I guess. Anyway... I believe I may use this photograph for the cover of my short story on Amazon, Everlee & Lee. I plan to change both name and cover in the coming weeks.
love potion no. K I was in the laboratory, minding my own business and yours, when all of a sudden that eureka moment came hurtling from space to earth, half-burning up in its double wide flavor, five-lane atmosphere pressure pull. I pounced immediately upon it, before it could scurry away into the recesses of some famous French cave, whose drawings of stick figure animals shall be preserved to the end of human time only. I cupped my mind around it like a cat claw trap upon a squeakmouse. A large question mark took form in a gasping vexation of breath out my pores. My entire organism shook. This created just enough room for the object, not yet become subject (or subjected to my personal universe of great darkness and fragmented light), to slide into a crack, in the unwaxed and unpolished (and rather rough from wear) mahogany floor, which had suffered the weight of me for one too many months in this place, my self-described laboratory. All I felt (other than insatiably unanswered in pursuit of my less than scientific inquiry) was an increase in space beneath my mental tendrils, which were left groping about like a suddenly blind sea anemona in atrophic waters, abandoned for good by an ungrateful school of single file clown fish with genetically mutated pioneering tendencies. My object, my dear sweet eureka, escaped my grasp! No! I cried, reducing my own equation to expletive tears.I dropped to my knees, then fell to the floor and my whole body collapsed like a dying star. Then, after a few horrendous moments of breathless wonder, something magnificent happened! That which I had been pulling and pushing and groping and gnashing my teeth to capture and consume, with the bully gravitas of a desperate Putin in Ukraine, suddenly unfolded itself to my surrendered spirit, like the most beautiful of flowers set free in the sun! Love potion no. two thousand, seven hundred, sixty two (dot) infinity.
Henry Miller is a force. The narratives roll like thunder, approaching you slowly from a distance like a storm with a great and building anticipation, the clouds filling with sexual innuendo and class eveners and antisocial asides, readying to sit atop your head and dropkick any inhibitions out of you, lightning to split any moral codes in half.
The plot mostly involves the spontaneous adventures of a man in the city. Gaining interest in someone who caught the narrator's eye for a moment, perhaps the wife of a friend of a friend, often someone whose not completely satisfied by their ordinarly life or companion (whom the narrator may have a very honest and blunted despise toward, and whose personality and interpersonal dealings he often describes in a wonderfully take-no-prisoners manner, evoking deep belly laughs in the reader), and whom becomes a budding love interest demanding consummation.
The narrator (whom we may presume to be the author himself) takes his sharp falcon's eye and passes judgment securely over all within range, including himself.
The way HM captures a personality over a few pages (often in free-ranging passages with minimal dialogue or punctuation to hold him back) is really a phemomenon. Like a coarse blueprint. He finds a target and dives down headlong for the take. Spares no expense in wringing out any character defects. Usually displays his victims as prisoners of themselves, in carefully constructed worlds they have created, often trapping their companions (again, usually the love interest of the narrator) in their webs. So when these worlds are suddenly exposed in the act of 'having unexpected company', delicious madness ensues.
Tropic of Cancer is a wonderfully orchestrated design by HM. The writing style is unique and unabashed, very honest, and no doubt a great atrraction to the Beat Poets in their heyday, many of whom held HM to the sky and often visited him in his home, when he was an old man. I recommend it highly, though not for the faint or romantic at heart. Then again, in the spirit of amnesty, if you have an open mind/heart, this may be exactly what you need to read!
A special recommend to writers and authors, as Henry Miller can teach you alot about writing, and was certainly a mentor to me as I forged my own writing style, towards writing my book, 'Girl Without Borders', which involves an unrequited love triangle, and is available now on Amazon.com.
Yesterday i was half.... today i am whole.... being with you made it so, you made me so. I was really sitting pretty on the front porch calling you. the immediate downcast when you did not call back, made me soft. The stone under my behind chilled me cold like a front. I took down my guard and got my credit card, hit the atm for some retail therapy. Pulled myself up a little taller on the sidewalks. I thirsted for you. You made me tremble. The chills ran up my legs and down my arms. So deep was the feeling. When you looked down at me from above; blurred out of focus was the ceiling.
In my mind i remember so clear. Yesterday you were there. In my mind, you are here. As i look up, daydreaming of you, you tumble away. Why cannot i locate your dangerous self in the streets? When can we again roll comfortably between the sheets? The wave of your passion riding over me. The latest fashion you peeled away from me. The whole day long the music....you and me. And close to one another, we had another way to use it. To ask the kinds of questions you ask when you desire. In your eyes i witness the fire. Fear and great excitement. Reflections of my own.
Stone to stone, we rocked the house. You rocked me over on the bed and got me pretty well... the ten minute tremor is how i could tell. I fade into your spirals, I drop into your pattern. The music of your soul, well, your music squares my saturn. Fresh marked parameters. I love us all around. Up through our solar powered chakras. Down the whole united states of soul. You make everything i bought into turn over. I am sold. You cost a lot less than holding. possession charge? I guess i'm guilty. The weight of evidence, ice cold. All the way down the block. You are the puppet in my sock.
I'm losing energy to the thoughts, without you i may be nothing. You come from the past and scramble me. Bringing me to some progression on my knees. Our hearts in two beat out one pattern so bold and true. A place where all choices get lost in the fold. Some complicated simplicity, some droolin fools gold. I'm really wrapped up in your mystery. I love you.
No one would be expected to smile or greet you, though they could if they wanted. No dogs just cats. Yes to miniature tigers and teradactyls. You work at what you choose, and you may sleep when done working and work when done sleeping. No more cell phones just walkie talkies.
No mayonnaise.
No social media, in fact, advertising and marketing are banned and punishable by tickle torture. No more pavement and the animals live freely among us.
No sentient being owns any other living thing. You can still own property. No currency just barter. You can still fight wars if you want, but no draft and don’t involve anyone whose peaceable-like.
Punishable by hippie farm segregation.
Sorry but no more cars or planes.
Let the birds do the flying and everyone gets a bicycle on their 5th birthday. And a bell. You can live in a house but you won’t need one.
You can fall in love but that’s your business. No weddings, and funerals are called commencements, and celebrated madly. Only assholes and bitches get disappeared.
This includes wannabe dictators, sociopaths, and tattoo artists who decide to deliberately ignore your design and permanently mark you up with their sad art. Creative types get to create whatever they like wherever they wish, so long as its divinely inspired and not hurtful, just helpful. If you like my world, please follow my website @ katyamills.com and buy my books on Amazon. And feel free to write me in for mayor of Toronto, to replace the crackhead whose got the malignancy in his belly. May he get well soon.
I saw you before you were born. The interview went well. You were optimistic towards the opportunity ahead. Although all the suffering baked into this cake was unappealing, wholeness of being beckoned. Despite western ways to be forced on an eastern soul, despite aggravated assault in the capitalist moshpit, despite countless insipid efforts towards persona redux, and begging martyrs of grave emotional toxicity, you would not resist the call.
You bravely went under the spell of your god, and i watched on edge as they cleared your cache and robbed your memory bank, ritual washing you. Then they dressed you in snow white linens as your affect went flat. Baby powder, and the shaving of head. You will do well in America, they told you. You looked at them blank. Confused, but so willing.
Tears suddenly welled up my eyes and placed you safely inside one saltwater drop. After you left me, my love, I carefully swept up your off-color locks. With my hands. Tearful, I took up the salt and pepper remnants of my one true love of this life. On my knees now. Sweeping.
Weeping. I held you soft in my hands there, and ritually cursed the insipid god who i believed at that moment, responsible for this.
Our unchained tragedy. My uprooted life. Unmoored heart. Broken. Again.
Yes I am on guitar on this clip, but for those who like my spoken word this one should appeal to you because the lyrics are very clearly spoken, not sung. The lyrics are located on this post...
A stretch of small city road, gone country under a blanket of fallen leaves. A crunchy bicycle ride over said dead leaves. A look all around and see colors. In a cafe, inspired to say, i love you, to yours, as you hold them by woven, heavy cotton and wool, at the arms just above a pale palette of wrist.
Autumn Was...
What was this world where when autumn arrived…
How they harvested, by hand. How they jammed the jam. How they hunted the land.
Made wind chimes of bone. Tapped trees for sugars. Thanked the almighty. Venison, quail, turkey and trout.
Facing the winter with faith and tobacco. Exposed to the elements.
Cooking the fats over a crackling fire, on irons they traded for pelts. Chanting at sunset and dancing til dawn. Large fires contained within circles of rock.
My friends, my close friends, my less than close friends, my new friends and old ones, the loved ones, the tough ones, the tests we endure, the balance of days coming together. Then the sun rises, again, and you find one another, and stand by and cry and try to find the heart, and it comes so natural like a Lexus start, clean and quiet, eyes meet eyes in subtle surprise; the things unsaid, the weight like lead... falling off your shoulders. And now your older, and see it to contextually, in the texture of the connection, see? And the sublimation occurs, two hearts collide, energy synch dream! Friends seldom seen and then it's like a dream again. Seen again. But why so far apart? You fight it, stomping your feet til the dust comes up. The trust come up and recede again, like the lost of lost weekends -- a painful trend
left you wishing and crying for more, feeling the living and dying, feeling right down to your core. It hurts but it means something, too. So be there in spirit, you say it, you mean it! I can lose the colloquilism, touch the vernacular, turn it inside out and make it spectacular. This will work at any distance, like quantum physics, like a system. The charges we send us, like photons the light moves. The energy hits airwaves you catch on your itunes. The paradigm keeps shifting its tectonic plates. The dishes they fall on the floor we explore, find out what we are made of. The texture, the real thing, we thirst and manifest and burst on the scene. Listen and you may hear it. The tear. The salt. The water. So simple, like tide rush cool over your feet in the sand! The way we understand one another, like a sister, like a brother. This is a rush cause its true: your family is those who meansomething to you.
Today i really felt like a singer-songwriter. It has been some hard work and alot of fun to get to here. Although i will always be a novelist at heart... here is an EFFIN' K PRODUXION
'BEEN HAD' One time and I knew I would drive you all mad The velocity grew The had had been had I really got you upset I made you so mad When I sank the canoe The tadpoles were sad You came up for air Pulled on my hair We fought til we swore and We cared I'm so glad when it's good I'm bad when it's bad The had had been had When the had had been had Had had been had had been had had been had had been
so all
at both ends. turbulent
by KatYa
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Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller