world of black of white

The beauty in being American was and still is the freedom to set your sights on a lifestyle you dream for yourself and go after it with all your spirit and cleverness and nerve. The hurt you feel when you fail is yours and yours, alone. Maybe it will lead to a dead end street and bar or romance. An ashtray full of butts. 24 hours of loneliness can be hell. And then your back in the game, if you’re young, the world is black and white.

death of a weekend

I get an eerie sensation on a sunday night  standing on the precipice of the death of a weekend. I get the kind of rattled only a vanilla shake in an American diner can quell, listening to Elvis on the jukebox with friends, in a booth upholstered in automotive leather, flirting and killing off time.

early

early morning americans

struck a balance with all, in the city in the summer after dawn, when the morning bird was heard and the sun at eye level, playin hide and seek behind deciduous trees, while the cat trailed you partways to the cafés, and the barista knew your name without asking, and the statesman laughed and folded his newspaper and nary a phone was ringing, the time was reserved for a church bell and silence. americas were thick with technology, in the cables in the air, and you wouldn’t need to care in the early, early mornings. in the city on the streets, face values appreciated and if you looked past the wheels and the burden of homes that were carried, you were sure to find an honesty and goodness that survived any standing recession, knew more than money and politics combined, and had a penchant for pastimes of early morning. as deep as any faith, the devotion. rise and shine, america!

k. early morning devotée

ten

ten. indivisible

i breakdown, too. useless, not unlike a chevy silverado, nothin in the tank. if there’s no coffee in me by 6am, make a lawn ornament outta me. so i start early, crackin those beans through the grind, by hand sometimes, yawnin bedhead and all, spring winter summer and fall, gotta keep myself runnin and runnin along, so i can be luscious good and vitamin k for you, my love, roarin my middle age burnin fuel with that special manner makes all the millenials turn their heads, double take, slap their faces to wonder where the hell i came from? yes, i am my own sensation, out in the wild west of this great nation, one being, guarded, sentient, indivisible, under god, and irreverent to the core. last week against all odds ran my first ever ultra, just ran and ran eight hours long like a lunatic, up and down quarry road through the american river canyon, drawing poison oak for the second time in three months, so sore for three days i could hardly walk and find me thrilled through the pain… just now i saw the county job i applied for has hit processing stage, so juicy like a quarter orange shall i climb out of my navel and squeeze on to the commodity, precious life, dear god, and hopefully get around my self center and finalize my time, this life, on the carrying about in service to those less fortunate, county state country corner, with a beating heart and a backpack and a rushing spirit glancing off the darkness like light does. that’s all i want, anyway.

jaded as jade. revisited.

‘Jaded as Jade’

by Katya Mills

 

 

There i was…

 

Headed out from my apartment on foot

Cheap walmart moccassins

Expose my toes

Dressed to kill fashion

 

With blood on my arms

Where my kittens attacked me

While sleeping off a one night stand

With my pen

 

There i was…

 

A young american

Single white female

Contemporary genXer

 

Using animated semi-fiction

to report

the hideous truths

could never be received

by the culture

embedded within

them

 

There i was…

 

Bicycle framed on my shoulder

Takin’ myself too seriously

And then some

All the way down the

Stairway to the

Street…

 

 

Tryin’ for light-hearted

All through the morning

 

Highlighted strands of hair

Fallin’ out behind my fuji feather

Lickin’ the base of my neck like

Blonde flames

 

Under the influence of anti-gravity

In the dark and baby blue of the dawn

 

There i was…

 

Down the street after dawn

Dealing with all the personalities of the world in a single room…

And then some

 

Tolerating as best i could tolerate

Day #5 without a cigarette

 

My own personality, the most difficult and least refreshing of them all

Splitting hairs with split personalities

Spitting in the wind

Jaded as jade

 

There i was…

 

Banana fucking split!

Upright on my bike

Riding back home

Five miles of

Legs and no

Hands

 

Praying i might take a dive on the railroad tracks

Just so i could feel something

Different

 

Split ends and all

my hair falling back ‘gainst

gravity to lick my

neck in the

wake of

me

 

There i was…

 

With the sinking depression that clung to my soul, all of my life

Sinking back into my pain, as the burning sun rose silently over my head

In central california

 

Here i am…

 

Split ends and all

In the wake of me

 

Without shade

Praying for a miracle

 

Jaded as

Jade