sand stone

When my heart is confused with layer upon layer of thoughts upon thought…

when my head is awash in a storm of emotion…

I may begin to drift away from you. I may drift on out, and out of reach. Like driftwood, only to rest on some far away beach. You cannot touch me there. I will not let you. The sunlight may freckle me. The heat may dry me to the bone. I may turn white as stone. I may cry twenty rivers, and disperse out across the land. I may fragment. Into sand. You will not find me. I will not be found.

They say I can be heard. But only by children through shells long abandoned and cast, headlong, into that ever redrawn line the sea throws upon the flattened dunes.

Katya  08/13, 2:00am

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sugar suite

The rusty old routine could not animate my day. i pulled and pulled and pulled. But I could not pull myself up. I had to find another street to walk, another way to talk. I needed help. Otherwise that old couch would swallow me up and feed me to the pullout bed, inside. That rusty old routine I had, had me. I had to act quick, or get lost in the maze of the folds of my mind. So I did. I did! I dropped myself down into the spinal cord chute, and back to my roots.

Next thing I know, I felt a tingle in my toes. And my feet begged my ankles to communicate to my legs; the need to get up and move. The parliament in my upper body tried to fight the motion. There was a commotion. Many an appeal was made in regards to the matter. Soon it was splashed all over the papers. An editorial brought the question to the people. The masses prayed upon it and debated it, in social media outlets, and all over the place.

You should have seen the look on my face. I was getting snail mail from Indonesia, and gifts from Tibet. I had not even had the courage to stand up even yet! My gall bladder had my rib cage engaged in filibuster. My spleen had nearly quit the scene. My auditorium had set a new hearing on the matter. My small intestine by this time, was digesting the overflow from the large one. All the paperwork! Trying to increase its surface area. Getting flatter…. and flatter. Continued litigation was gonna demand a ligation.

Holy shit! The lawyers were getting paid like an overdue cash cow, visited by the milk maid. Finally a congressional order forced a coronary bypass. My stomach was in knots. My liver was contracted to deliver the news in the bladder of a kidney bean, all the way up the vagus nerve, to the central command. Yes. The case had finally gone supreme. Matriculated to the highest high. That skull-encased complexity. The sugar suite.

I stood up in a flash! The motion had passed. At last!  I cried, At last!

Katya, 08/13

forever stamp our hearts

I could only hope now the spirit would work through me, to communicate the occasion of my life to the world I called my home. Proprioceptively. Indelibly. This hope, alone, was proof that I existed. Lord knows an all points bulletin inquiry had been submitted. A missing persons report turned up nothing. The first 48 hours had passed without a trace. And many 24 hours more. Until I was all but forgotten by my own flesh and blood. Long, long ago.

Sadly, I failed to pull a Houdini. Found myself locked within the walls of my own invention. Cooled and conditioned and stored. Downloaded myself on to some standard thumb drive. Hitchhiked my way through obscure constellations. Abstracted myself on a concrete canvas. Canvassed myself to an unknown cause. Freezer burn soon permeated my experience of myself. I got lost in my own rolodex. The librarian indexed me somewhere between z and a. I became an asterisk without a footnote. An aster-risk to the whole federation.

Then, suddenly, harmless to myself and others. Disambiguated. Inanimate for consecutive years…

then, suddenly, released back into the stream of consciousness, which converged with all the other datastreams to form some packed coaxial cable of infinite beats per minute into the teeming, elemental, ocean of life. Sulfate. 

The iron man and maiden had taken their toll on us all.We swam, ran and cycled through the seasons. Whatever would keep us above baseline. Heartlessness in triple digit heat scorched the soul. Prana, the breath, had been weakened by years of celebrity chain-smoking, bequeathed to the masses. We waited around, shiftless and innumerable, for some unrequited missive to forever stamp our hearts…

somewhere between hope and faith

for what seemed like the same amount of time. 

-Katya 08/13

residue of the insecure

Some hoped to conveniently write off all the past, of wrongdoings. Forgiving themselves. Writing checks off their taxes. They tried to whiteout the black, with new grinds and new axes. Well, someone would remember, for history’s sake. How they tried and tried, to discourage our creations.  To overshadow our humble beginnings. To damage our reputations. Out of fear for the same. Discouraged, the more they saw us encouraged. Shrinking back, as they watched us rise. Terrified of being left in the dust.

Insecurity is a motherfucker. 

We tried to include them and smile and be friends. But they had lost sight of the journey and got trapped at the end of the line they had drawn for themselves and surpassed. Their demise was a prophesy, self-fulfilled, coming fast.  Their self-perpetuating machinery, would never take flight. Unless picked up by bouncer, and tossed out in the night.

Postmortem

Sanity went on vacation. Everyone could enjoy a fine primal scream. Finally! Windows were jacked open at any hour for the purpose. It was awesome. Really awesome. Like painstaking creations tagged harmlessly on brick walls, by parking lots and railroad tracks. Adding some light where there was none. For passer-bys to enjoy… meanwhile, at 4:20pm, greenwich mean time, all the breast pockets of all the starched shirts in the financial centers of all the cities of all the world, simultaneously blossomed black-and-blue inkstains.