books

Girl Without Borders

Girl Without Borders by Katya Mills

I am the author of this book. I wrote the greater portion of this book when I was in my twenties, living in Chicago on the west side (not far from where the Smashing Pumpkins got famous, and the movie High Fidelity was filmed). I used to go to the coffeeshops in Bucktown and the Polish Triangle with my laptop to write. This was late 1990s and you could get your ass kicked for writing on a laptop in public. It wasn’t cool to be a geek. Writing from my protagonist Will’s perspective was not difficult seeing as I am gender fluid myself. I was a pretty tough chick or I thought I was, rather angry at the world, introverted, rebellious in attitude and spirit. I hung around other punks and geeks I met in the bars, cafes and small clubs on Division and Damen, and in Wicker Park and the Ukrainian Village. All I wanted was to be left alone and write. I was in some existential pain, I suppose, lonely in my heart. So I gravitated toward others who felt injured or broken. I had more than one love/hate relationship, the characteristics of which you will find in the novel. You can call in creative nonfiction if not fiction. If you ever go to Chicago look up Quimby’s bookstore and the Flat Iron Building. I wrote the greater portion of this book a stone throw away.

View all my reviews

@99

whisky sour in my hand
somewhere near division
the heart got exploited
by the vision
turnin inward
on myself
awaiting the great
fade out
a
double zero
collision

city and the music of noise

was america was
chicago was life worth

working for ina cross

road. you and me and any one

fought through the seasons

the vocals the

exhaust

the steam of whistling

industry

i could feel the touch
the warmth beneath your voice

in a cold world
you could shout you could scream

you would have to

to be heard

then the aftermath the streets

the faces ina diner

ina hard won heartfelt

part of town
mocha skin tones made by

sun and genes
cream and sugar and
coffee black

where noise is music

toasting broken hearts and

dishes and bottles. you woke me up
i can feel you today thousands

of miles away
i can laugh
i can cry ona dime ina city

and the music of

noise

i was and wasn’t

there

typewriter.nine

i carried paper with me
everywhere

in a knapsack
or an overcoat pocket in the winters
of west side chicago

alleyways
my back against bricks
i held them under weak hanging
lights threading open mics

the Appalachian trail
did not stop me

the subway trains
the bars
the libraries (of course)
into parks where the sky
opened up all my thoughts

often i lay them out
beside my jack
rocks

i felt the social
vacuum
around me

dead air

i didn’t
care
so alive
was i