i wanna be electric

i got my ticket to chino in the outskirts of la trying to hit the grid and be captured by the cable i wanna be electric and extended stay america ina pocket just between the riveting room for you and me… a queen bed in a salt valley flat in the middle of november a room service setup so not to disturb alone in the center of a spiderweb of circuitry flashing mad in the pan like a siamese fighting fish all the betta to see you translucent of the soft sheets you ink on

you cannot fight her. she’s the ocean

you cannot fight her. she’s the ocean

by KatYa

i went to the ocean and crashed into a giant wave; it was like a slate wall, transparent green. i had only a white undershirt on when we collided and black boyshorts underneath, and the wave did not hurt but it slapped and broke into many liquid particles which could not be traced but pulled my hair down and stuck to my face and neck which felt pretty good, and beneath me everything was undulating with a calling, sucking motion, calling me, fizzing, and i was not scared though i was unlike the giant scaly bodies underwater, deeper out; i knew she would not hurt anyone unless they fought back, you cannot fight her she’s the ocean. i did not break in my black and whites, in the rainy day greens and blues of the undertow, i just stayed together and let the ocean cry and pull me, and the salt to dry in the bubbling nest of spit and foam. i went with the ocean and i guess i disappeared, i mean the earth did not know me, nobody looked for me, or if they did they did not find me, but someone missed me, somewhere, i just know it. i could feel them and saw them in my routine kelp readings thereafter. Mostly it was my family, so far away but still caring and loving me a lot, maybe more than i would know, the otters suggested, teaching me the art of cracking mussels. i lay my head on a current, listening to the ocean, and traveled to new lands never before known, in a sea bubbling like soda, the many colors peeking up off the crests of the waves crashing inward far from us on the inside looking back to the shore, and the earth now was scary, dropping off of the level, and the sky quite unfeeling, unhelpful at best, but we didn’t care… and i slept peacefully, peacefully, there.

what was home

for a while all i wanted was space. and
silence. city sound became punishing,
like the thoughts i had toward myself.
against myself. i hoped for a quiet place,
where i might sit with my self and work
out these difficult fears and feelings
running me down relentlessly.

i hated myself into many panics. i let
myself be used. sometimes the hope
was two negatives would lead a positive
charge. this method was in the end,
mostly madness. i was no good at
chemistry. but i thought i could run a
current across my life.

prayer was ineffectual, in a time of
spiritual deficit. i might try to pray. i was
sincere. it came off bad. i could not often
sit still unless i was terrified or sleeping.
and i wasn’t often either of those.

i could not quiet the city sounds. the
cars, trucks, helicopters, voices yelling
laughing screaming crying. trains.
fireworks. motorcycles. gunshots. car

broken glass.

radios, televisions. doors. moving trucks.
dogs, cats, animals. freight loading,
unloading. babies. car tires. speakers.
chains. subwoofers. arguments. fights.
broken glass. screen doors.
ambulances. basketballs. sirens. kids.

landlords, tenants, junkies going through
withdrawals, laughter, mania. strange
unearthly sounds. manias. depressive
wailings. loud silences in certain bad
places. soundless muted murder. dead
silence. followed by violent storms of
cacophonous cackling and butchering of
the english or other language.

blank loud stares.

i found myself holding my
breath.peeking through keyholes.
wondering if i was next.

the law would come in, or a rent-a-cop.
you could tell by the sound of the walk
who was walking


the weight of the belt, the holster, gun,
taser, keys. maybe it was just a maid or
maintenance man.

i was often pacing or waiting for my
number to come up. still distant. still
hoping for a little space. quiet space. my
internal would not have known what to
do with it, though.

maybe push me more violently into
thanatos gulch. or mad river quarry. the
depths of which could not be fathomed
by the human eye.

yes i certainly knew how bad a toll i had
taken, how violently my bell had been
rung, when, long after i let the
burgeoning toxicity overtake me in that
urban nightmare reality

pale and sick and past caring, angry and
helpless to my reactive emotional.sad
and skinny and losing my faith…

god gave me a chance to come up for
air, in a little rented motel room some do
gooder rented me, away from the urban
amorphous ink night. and what did i do?
after jumping for joy? i got so depressed
like never before. i lay down and slept for
two days and three nights…

then got up to such a madness, without
thinking, movement away from that
taciturn moment, quiet little retreat from
my quiet retreat, orchestral movements
in the light, pumping my legs by my feet
on the pedals

screaming silently back to oakland from
richmond, knowing the strange beauty in
another terrible mistake, feeling the
electric storm of old oakland overtake
me, all the cacophonous sounds pooled
into one current

coming across my body

high voltage seizing me all over again.
the smell of homeless teenage angst
wrapping around me like blanket with its
piss warmth mental poverty

addictive, additive recycled air, oozing
with traffic remoulade, parsed with law
enforcement, sprinkled with social
services, crusted with age-old

i smiled and forgot myself again. lost my
self in the insanity, cause this was home

by K @ katyamills.com