Monthly Archives: February 2017

not getting it ness

Posted on by KatYa

I fell into my own fantasy as a keeper of the flame for the children new to fresh books books books. Even fantasies have antagonists and she was a beast, she related well to the kids what with her smiles and false promises. They wanted what she did not have, and fresh matte finish covers became less attractive as the eyes tend to follow the shiny dangler. So what? An asshole relates quite well to other orifices, I imagine, and cannot recuse themselves from toxic flushing, outlyers from anywhere life might thrive. I could only bring a few around to the treasures of reading, but we could proliferate from there. You know, kids tell other kids about a book and soon everyone is reading it. That was the best aspect of my fantasy. Funny how it used to be a reality, back in the Harry Potter days, the Chronicles of Narnia Days. These children were born with google roadmaps of life, and Marvel movies where once we had comic books. Maybe if I pulled the old trading card trick and attached sticks of bubble gum to the spine. Anything to greet them with language and keep them from falling into her world, the common unconscious of not getting-it-ness. Fighting for space. Craving intimacy. Technologically sound. Animals equipped with smart phones doing three quarters their mental work for them. Grades by emojis and trading in texts, subjugated to a subhuman comment thread without end. I don’t even consider her subjects of the same genus as we. I just see elephant seals fumbling about for dying, flopping fish. Mammals with computers and electric outlets. Mall grubbing video grabbers. Android celluloid.

journal

Posted on by KatYa

Journal # february five

A school of puffed up little clouds swam across the sky, chased by a storm, some were not quick enough, i saw them overtaken by the darker water vapors and manipulated into the greater whole. i myself was running, too, through a morass of thick mud and robust grasses, softened focus without my eyeglasses. i split into two and then into four (could have made eight if it weren’t such a chore). i once loved our leader, but not anymore.

weathervane

Posted on by KatYa

All the Hollywood icons
all the Bollywood icons
inspire us. they sweep our floors
in black and white

All the grandeur of southern plantations
made to capture the sun
arabesque

We live on through these times we made
the oceanic minutia
we consecrate
describe
classify in our tomes

Our differences we set aside to study
before bed. chamomile tea with lemon peel.
we fall asleep on them

We all do the same                 in the sun in the
day in and                                      shade
out           after
the same nonsense
iced tea
lemonade
sugar cane crystals sparkle

Our children ask for help
without having
to ask         they ask us
help

we live we die
we live again
cuz

Life cannot end
when you die
you cannot really
you do not truly
die

unless you’re just
another asshole
weathervane

pointing
the wrong
direction

the worst thing i never did

Posted on by KatYa

sugar was followed by

  salt was followed
      by sugar
    again
     then i told my miserable
         self why don’t you
eat a fuckin
  apple
and i did
   pardon me
it was not the
    worst thing
  i ever
    did

44

Posted on by KatYa

four found a friend
in four

four and four made
of arrows

birds flyin cross
some tracks

of elbows
of arms

profile made
four -n- four
side by side

in prayer

and greater
than the sum of them
selves

with gods

the deuces held court
the days were short
inside them

the nights began
at eight

w(h)ip

Posted on by KatYa
Dead of winter
starry night
Fearful cold
bluish light
i find myself alone
again
after dinner thin
mint the charleston
a dance
i listen
watching you
see how you falter
fumbling at the altar
locked up inside
alone again
all whatever fabric
falls off
you listen
watching me
just enough time
to wave
goodbye
something quite amazing
will happen when
we leave
the body
behind