box fan soup can

Journal # 09.30.16

i hope i can get through these times okay. i woke up and made my dinner before work. the autumn air was cool through the box fan. i cut my finger on a soup can. the spirit of sacramento sank in the delta and they don’t know where the captain went. a missing person was found after two weeks wandering the streets. someone is turning their life around. i got a big old hug this morning from an older lady, after giving her some saltines to settle her stomach. she’s nervous about a change, but i know she’ll be okay. if someone knows somethin about me i don’t know, well… you are in for a big old hug, too.   – KatYa  (on the eve of October)

from desperation circle to unique and united on a sunday morning

We are robin eggs. Pretty and fragile. Colorful. Me and my older brother. You and me. Our mothers and fathers and sisters and cousins in this permanence come to meet us, this sun come shining upon us, the same light we all share from the birth of every day, the peak heat midway and stumbling through the certain changes, scratches on our vinyl, scars etched upon us, all shook up we are the same.

Being born is our decided fortune
Dying, our collective fate
Sleeping into dreams
Dreaming to awake

Waking into a nightmare only the mind can indulge, only the spirit can turn around, and no one said it would be easy. Whenever I let myself coast, when I indulge easy comforts, my world becomes a run down motel with vacancy. You wouldn’t wanna stay there. There’s no ice in the ice bin, the vending machine steals your change, and the only inhabitants live on desperation circle. There’s cable tv with no HBO and the remote is sticky with no batteries. You have to take the bedspread and cram it out of sight, it’s so goddam ugly. Like an unrenovated Ramada Inn in Delaware circa 1982. Don’t pry into the corners you might find some broken glass with chore still inside it. The economic disparity, here I cannot hide it.

Can we get along
I need to get along with you
But I’m gonna have to work for it
I’m really uncomfortable

Yes we can and no we cannot, text messaging cause we are too blocked to call. We firewalled one another off for survival. The lines formed on our faces from all the trying to see eye to eye, all of the emotions like waves over all our lives and our faces, no we cannot and yes we can, ground ourselves into it, be there for me and be there for you,  and yes and no and I don’t fuckin know what emoji to send anymore… is there a smiling Buddha? And there the colors go, running again like they do, and the white clothes turn blue. And the off whites do too.

The waves break over us
The foam like ginger ale
Hissing. A snake
Trying to stomach it
Digest it whole

The am radio days away in a last quarter rocking chair of tranquility, and no and yes and it doesn’t matter how anymore but we tolerate one another, good to you and good to me, fruits and vegetables, oatmeal in the morning, bacon and eggs, spinach, shrimp, salmon, and yes and yes and yes I will share mine with you. We are in the same world, we share the same world, the blue and green one from space, the system in place. Television light slaps us in the face, cool blue like my offs and my whites, too.

And not only tv is to blame
We are all at fault
So let’s get over it. Don’t you wanna be your very best today? Your most kind and most fascinating and most helpful? I do. I know you do, too, cause we share the same sun. Our spirits can arise and make do if we wanna. The very best of each of us, united, unique and united.

i is for ism

There were years gone by questioning nothing. Not even all the dirty ugly predicated isms in plain sight.

Kids who grow up in any kinda consistent environment, no matter the level of dysfunction, ascribe their acceptance upon it. As did i.

Then came barreling upon me, an expansiveness i had never known. I wanted to stay tight. Small. To know your name when i saw you in the streets. For you to know mine.

To keep our hard earned reps.
Our shared histories.

The disturbance in my atmosphere saw me smaller, lesser known, more fearful, lesser understood anymore.

I could hide in the laundry bed of a thousand other passerbys. No one but my mom might miss me.

I might not even miss me, myself.

For who was i formed out of icy isms in a blind microcosmic state of purified disaster?

hong kong song

they would not they
could not contain
the iron the
train

as traveled
the trax of
desire

the furnace
the fire
turned red

and blew through
the stead
of the home
of the old

selfie

katya by katya

ragged
guard

We are

We are undergoing cosmic shock and evolution…We are learning how to breathe again… We are justifiably hungry as we slowly spin towards our destiny of changes…

We are.

Make no mistake. You can sit in front of the television and still undergo radical shifts of consciousness. You can be all alone and inextricably part of this thing.

You can blow yourself away. Still you are with us. In little pieces. Reflecting light from the inside out. Getting to work, cell by cell, in the grande orchestral movement.

Stop talking.
Keep talking.
Does not matter.
Lock the door.
Open your heart.
Say no say yes.

We matter. We are matter. We subsist on supernovas. We lunch in Andromedas cool atmospheric halls.

Hendrix is there teaching constellations bold ill-advised new alignment. Hemingway is fishing in a black hole. Virginia Woolf is walking the frozen quiet woods of Saturn’s ring, with our mothers mother’s mother.

Nothing is ever lost.
Need not fear the change.
All we are, so shall remain.

In mutual collective admiration society…In reckless prolific creative propriety… In dreamstate loving perpetuity…

And in reality.

static vampire, seasonal erotic

i am a static

vampire

i never wanna

change

 

i blend

i pierce

i range

the

earth

skin

grain

 

i’m never gonna change

 

i am a static vampire

i cannot fucking change

if you change

around me?

 

pale

withdrawn

deranged

 

i am a static

mythological

monster

i like my music

burned

 

i lick your constant scorn

never gonna

change

 

time she waits for me

i lock her equinox

dys the solstice

stare

cock block the

clock

 

i am a static

forlorn

phantasmic

fury

 

the same the same

the same

 

death can never

cross

my eternal flatline

plane

 

god help

me

help me

change