people work better when driven (insane) -- vi/i

people work better when driven (insane) -vi) 

subparticle i/iii
 by Katya Mills

The mouth has been watering for some time for a little taste of the really real! Far from the office-as-is. Far from the home-land-security-cam. Far from the life-support system. The Business class. The identical non pinstripe suits. The ladies unable to wear open-toed shoes. Life which is not a beach, even when you live directly on a beach. The gentleman frowned upon for windsor knotting their ties. This isn’t England. We don’t have time for that shit. Deducted from your paycheck. The mentality here. The program we must follow or else. Leave your dreams at home. Put your unpublished novels in the shredder. There’s no glory in your personal story of desecrated ennui. You owe yourself and your country some restitution, for all that rest. Bipolar? Autistic? Schizoaffective? Come one, come all! People wait in line for a diagnosis, just to get away. Fuck the stigma. Be the illness. Covet the experience no more. Self-actualized mental illnesses. You wanna work it like that? Stranger things are happening, so get in line. Start somewhere. Let a county physician try and know you better than you know yourself. Cognitive behave yourself badly. Be a kid again, or role reverse your kids into parenting you. This is the quiet desperation of those who have spent the better part of their wonderful miserable lives within cubicles.

i lost a kiss

all my memory
i rewind
2 find
a kiss

i cannot
find

scattered about
the cutting room
floor

transparencies
of what came
before

i lost a kiss and
an embrace

my shadow
all i got
and face

oh my god
please help me
find the kiss

lost
in this data
stream

or else
leave me anchored
in catacomb
bay

sufferin'
the pale exposé

another
day

kissed
away

flipping electrons

Get your red hots!
here
red hots!
here

we are serving 
them up!

unilaterally
premier quality
serving them
up!

flour and butter
bubbling 
up!

from the pan
from the soul
it's out of control!

on a red hot 
platter
of global 
flambeau!

the ground 
quaking
the consciousness
waking

red hots! 
come and get 'em
they're good 
they are
whole

a paradigm
a dozen!
get one 4 your
cousin!

flipping electrons
from minus to 
plus

from nyc
to cali
across all seven
seas. by bus!

someone come
some one
come

rescue
us

please

'wet dream on dry toast'

Aka - 'computer dissociative'

original material from K IS SILENT (partial)

The olive oil days were over. He should have known. He beat his head into the mahoganey like Perry Mason lost a case. So began the vinegar taste in the back of his throat, phase. He felt a feeling he knew well. All his bones shifted like some skeleton robot gone up and shorted out. Computer dissociative.

Off some where walking now with the interpreter was the girl. Saturnine with a lemon twist. Her freckles, sun kissed. The new fucking smart phone attache foreplay. Distraction impact high and non-resistant. She made a lovely nouveau interpreter’s assistant.

Not no store bought, this jam he had got himself in now, praying with a cigarrette out on the steps of the halls of justice. This jam was more like apricot preserves or some shit. Some district attorney’s intern’s intern, gave him a menacing look and an evil eye. 

No smoking on the steps to the halls of justice. Dummy.

the first intərˌlo͞od

I got a Recording King Guitar
yesterday, at a local mom & pop shop called 'The Fifth String'

So on days like today, when I got nothing to say,
I may offer you some freestyle
six string
steely

 intərˌlo͞od

~ enjoy ~

'the wind remembered'

- K - Original poetry
written and performed by K

- K - attitude art series
'evolve'

 

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

'and we miss you'

and we miss you

by Katya Mills

about innocence, lost

So they finally came over me… wonderfully…. sadly… terribly powerful but so could I only be humbled and basically in tears and sudden mourning and of course, somewhat secretly as is the fashion i guess,  a process instinctuelle - not contrived or deliberated or prepared…no, like all matters of things diverse and sundry, the need comes over me to tell somebody (and possibly nobody), though my faith resides all over planet heart to the core.  

Lineage download to the system 32, or in my case, 39 going on in cautious anticipation through the forty filter which now is like static or push off of some tropical blemish on some warm yummy blue sky caribbean dream day.

Every green spread of earth above sea level, from cuba to barbados across the cuts of rough waters swirling all directions and drawn into tight circles by the rising winds of an incubating tropical depression…

Hell!

The waves lap up against my thoughts with an empathic kiss and on slipping out away moments later. 

A child learning to read and write and get along. 

Just passed that frightening entrance into the great institution.

Now feeling warm and even cared for many days of the week.

Perhaps 'well-acclimated' and relieved to have been ushered in so sweetly…

with all my being I swear I would tear the fucking eyes out the head of the evil which came across and stole them from us…

American Attitude Art

'Freeze!' K by K Attitude Art
 

'people work better when driven. insane' -viii)

On the topic of  'SPIRITUAL EMERGENCY'
 
Original material performed by Katya Mills
from K IS SILENT
 
 
 
People work better when driven, like rain
Not like nails through plywood
Not like slaves
Nothing narrow
Driven to a point as deep as bone marrow
Where the levee breaks

The point of overflowing
To the point where sanity and reason dead end
Where we may become highly emotional
Charged
Where we conduct electricity and switch channels
(with ease, if you please)
 
 Irrational? for certain. Intelligence? Beyond standards. Insane? Well, not sane, in the best of any sense of not sane. A psychosis? Perhaps. Psychotic break? not necessarily. Long past the neurosis? Most likely.
Ferocious? Like a tiger!
Outlawed?
Most definitely, like the wild are outlawed
from tea parties.
 

sachomes #1 by k

What american culture seemed to have lost sight of, somehow, somewhere in the past;  was the continuity and emergence that soon comes to pass. That dead end or limit, got taken literally, indeed. Never mind if travel may continue on foot.
If left unbound and not institutionalized, unmedicated in some cases, people can relocate themselves in the land of the lost. What by all appearances looks hopeless, even criminally insane, may find self-remedy, in the realm of the spiritual.
The soul has no ordinary bounds, you see.
The soul was made for being extraordinary.
This is the soul’s inclination.  
Past the point of knowing, really nothing is clear.
Past the point of comfort, the mapped out area.
Past the well worn territory of both mind and body.
Past the breakpoint of rpms in your cousin's Ferrari.
Past familiar. Out of area. Quite impossible, and why?
Because part of our nature needs to learn how to fly.

Atlantis. Times Three.

Poetry from K IS SILENT
written and performed by Katya Mills

Atlantis, times three


i am trying to find myself

between commercials

apparently

i am located

somewhere deeper

than that

Atlantis

times three

i remember almost dying

the weight

was too great

i got

stepped on

like flagstones

I saw you there

we could touch

almost

through our

imperial pints

of tears

drowning

Atlantis

times three

i got stripped

like a stripper

but without

so much

a choice

off the walls

in the paint

in the darkness

the memory

faint

gracefully

i laced up

to give them

something

2 remember

gracefully

i tried then

2 forget

sometimes

i grabbed the knives

in the kitchen

and turned

toward them

screaming

its real painful

to look

i could drown

in it

Atlantis

times three

i found me

by looking

baptized

by watercolor

bled down

in the city

bled out

to the valley

sweet canvas

of colors

shelters me now

the painted walls

i like to

leave them

this way

i am different

i am young

my spirit

touched by

the sound

of the colors

dripping down

Atlantis

times three

is where

i am found

killbot 2000. soul reclamation.

'people work better when driven (insane)' -part ix / x
originally published on kissilent.wordpress.com


Some money making murder mystery venture was proposed, to save the world. But money could not help us now. Unless we wanted to sit on a sidewalk in san francisco. For the park-your-ass meters. To keep the park-your-ass enforcers off your ass. You got to have dry wall for brains or some quiet desperation, to wake up one day and decide to act out by some innovation on pickpocketing. But that’s exactly what happened, when it was clear the world was not for saving. Maybe the whales, but not the world. Just as Steve Jobs and crew were in his garage creating the macintosh… just as Packard and Hewlett were in a garage creating the printer…simultaneously as all garage bands ever were in their garages plugging in and cranking their amps to eleven… some asshole was learning how to steal your identity in his parents’ garage (because i am sure he didn’t own a garage, himself, not yet anyway).

So we take the good and the bad, together, naturally. All of those garage experiments evolved into cottage industries and then empires, over the course of thirty years or more. While you and me were coming home from work (or not), and planted in front of the TV. Could we reclaim all those hours lost in front of the former tube now pixelated flatscreen phenom, we may have devoted them to better causes than working our marvelous retinas into a pulp.

People work better when driven. Better than being coaxed into a couch, sucked into that singular, savage and brutal addiction to the once marvel of engineering become luxury item become mass-produced producer of idiocy via artificial contrived morality tales to snakeskin sales pitch to fear-propagating political weaponry, become feng shui killbot 2000, become that which we must now look out for as gravity takes it from the arms (through the window, above us) of the desperate if not suicidal multitudes who, having lost all personal integrity and dignity to the thing, found, in reactionary thoughtfully thoughtless rage, immediate end to the problem and all its projected yet false happenings which made superfluous the very lifeblood flowing through any man or woman or child. To the sole singular purpose of pressing a few simple buttons to todays essential pseudo life-giving (soul stealing) contrivance or advertisement or other lobotomized offal better known to drainage pipes and sewer systems and other some such forgotten, abandoned, set away from human senses so as not to offend, offenders of our tentative and more than ever before gelatinous hold on society…finally did the right (though mad) thing by throwing another sorry-assed lightbox out the nearest window…. which, i propose, never would have happened, had they not been driven insane.

K reads 'Snowed In'

An original Vitamin K concoction

excerpt stolen from K by K
exacted with an exacto-knife
pure-filtered and underprocessed
refurbished for mass consumption

K IS SILENT @ WORDPRESS.COM
from 'snowed in and data-mined -iii)'

 


Being snowed in had a magical quality. The sun hit the snow and reflected light to warm the air. The icicles formed in and around the rain gutters as the snow melted off the roof. Some large enough to knock you out. I remember kids trying to lure other kids they didn’t like below these large icicles. Keep them there with some sweet, long-winded filibuster of a story. Wendy Davis style.

I often wished for the larger stormfronts to come over us those winters. I loved the early morning moments when my brother and I hung by the alarm clock radio, listening to the announcements of school cancellations. Waiting. Holding our breath. And the incredible feeling when our school was announced.

A blizzard can be a joyous occasion. You feel protected. Insulated. You don’t really know what’s going on around you, and you don’t care. Neither does anyone else. Sure, after a few days like this, you might get a little stir crazy, like Jack Nicholson‘s character in the Shining. The blizzard of ’78 was one such opportunity. I was too young to remember much, but where I lived the snow banks surged to eight feet high. School and work were all called off with a one-liner over the radio. All recreational events, suspended. Excepting procreation. The zoo was closed. Or just confined to your own home.

Imagine, no contact with the outside world. Power lines down. Incommunicado. You lit candles off gas stoves to get around your house. All was so quiet, inside and out. Introverts threw a party and no one came. Everything stood in stark contrast to the usual. We built fires. Watched the light and shadow play. Rituals were fresh and wonderful, except shoveling snow. Alot of people who had become plants over time in their homes (planted by the television), lost their lives trying to shovel their way out of their homes during blizzards. Heart attack city.

With television disabled, loving, mindful family interaction was again possible. For some. Hateful families got to go back to hating. Stress often took a back seat to more significant feelings. What could you do? Nothing. You were snowed in. You had to feel. You got an opportunity to feel. This could last for days! I must admit that, after a while, I wanted the old thing back.