a-z mart -fin)

We breathe life into stale situations. We are often obsessed with creating our creations. We try and listen to all other minorities. We try and not abuse power, when in the majority. We like to beg, borrow or steal ice cream sandwiches. For a meal. We feel the moon the same way everyone else feels the sun. We are not vampires, but we can relate. We love music, and have strong opinions. We cook whole turkeys to feed our minions. BDSM does not bother us slightly. Dominatrix, as common as guitar lix. We will tell you kick rocks if we want to, if you’re lucky. Or grant amnesty, and forgive you for all kinds of disrespect. Compassion is our practice, and available to all. Though it may not feel compassionate, when your ass gets kicked off our wall.

We do not blow sunshine. We prefer to absorb it by our skin. Anti-all-things-ignorant may be our purpose, but it’s not that defined. We tend to embrace those who embrace us. We can be dangerous and kind.We like to reign down terror over all microphones. It’s usually a method of letting go. So that terror does not act out, outside of a show. We may wear too much makeup, or none at all. We prefer an honest face, to one that is sentimental or tough. We rarely believe that enough, is enough.

What makes life worthwhile to us, is not up for discussion. We do reserve a space, for those who never belonged. If you want to find this space,  you can usually start at the heart. Go inward. Feel your way out of there.


We ride fixed speeds and ten speeds. We DIY , and we do come together. We drink horchata to balance our cultural hangovers. We are skaters. We prefer the X Games to the Olympic Games. We like to carry backpacks all over the place. And less for the stealing than for grounding ourselves in any space. We know homeless and squatters and gypsies, alike. We may be them or have been. We see them in government office lines where we all stand. Or public squares, free to congregate types of affairs. Or protests. Or movements. The point is: we see them.

We work really hard, when we find something worth working on. We tag the city, down side up. We have some fun. Take generous breaks. We watch eachother’s backs. We live alone, persecuted by painful thoughts. We suffer from a variety of mental disturbances. We create an ongoing disturbance in the world. We are the tension that holds us together. We are less than comfortable most of the time. We cannot condone hero worship for long. We own the formerly blood clotted marks, left in doors and on walls. Memento to some punk ass show at some shady dive club or former bowling alley, some brick box now likely marked for death. Or gentrified into smaller brick boxes with subzero refrigerators and double pane windows. And essentially marked for death.

We are indelibly inked and tatted up. We rarely believe that enough, is enough. We breathe life into stale spaces. We bring change, in rhythms and waves. We love to look up toward the moon, at night. We are working class by choice. You can hear our voice. We tag the walls. We laugh alot. We know squirrel and bird calls. We come in many colors, and will weave into our lives and yours. Our fabric is like denim. We offer protection, without abandon. We may frighten you. But we are not really frightening at all. In fact, we denounce fear every chance we get. We denounce ignorance in all its forms and faces, with abandon. Just as we love, with abandon. We laugh, with abandon.

We live, with abandon.

Katya Mills, 08/13 katyamills.com

some green some whole some light

Fuck I have been cold.

I have been frightening cold, I have. Until some small smile some light somewhere in this place post punk and petrified with perfect well wishing winning new paradigm nod to the north. If north is astral. If north is known by certain colors that stand out brilliant yellow, lighter than gold yet darker than lemon, and loved and even lusted after between air steam rising top of the crucial consciousness sitting on your shoulder, lying close to the earth…

On soft ground with soft soil sinking ever slightly like the dopest egg-crate city beneath the back, while the mind, still boiling hard, hand shakes the rising roof of random screaming of kettles.

A world of color. World of meaning. A world of green lights gone red gone yellow. A life I missed if I blinked. A world dark and cold when the brownouts roll black again. Dark and cold in the big electric heat in the cities. Most backed out on the tidal pools like the undertow. The sharks would get them out in the big blue. And maybe me and you. I winced when I caught it all on shark week on discovery channel. The animal would otherwise have escaped me. The animal within me would come out come out, wherever I was, at inopportune times perhaps, yet invaluable kinda lesson to anyone and me…passion so passionately. I found source in there somewhere.

The multitudes go and they flow, like all natural life and not always pretty. Sometimes the internet flashmobbed them together. Sealed in wax and coaxial cable. Sealed to go with the flow… with the go with the flow. Pick and move. Sometimes impressive. For a good cause. Other times random and human and flawed. Other times stupid, just plain ignorant mentality. Like kkk marches on martin luther king junior’s day. Like evolution has just hit a curb and fell out.

Culture gone in a circle, and come back to the start. Trifling. Awful. Shocking. Atrocious. Condemnable acts blurring out the true focus. The f-stop got jacked by some cellular phone, and minolta got bought out by some fully-automated drone; behind the lens of which stood some sunday bananas.

Don’t let this distract you now, I told myself, you only have so much time. Come back to the life, and be your best friend.  Come back to yourself. Dust off the old ways. Look around you.

Come back to the refrigerator and all that’s inside. The carefully-cut icebergs ziplocked in the drawer. Come back to the dubsides, come half-baked with home fries, and toss out all those lies and the sidewalk thrift threads. Well maybe not the labels. Say goodbye to the waiting, and thaw out what’s cold. Let down your long blonde. Open up the long halls and sweep out all the crap.

I was sent that curiosity, the one that fills the soul. I opened it with a butter knife. The dreams still inside. I was stamped with experience I never thought nor would believe. I was sent to myself… and with some dreadful anticipation, received. Sent without tricks, without sleeves. Kinda like a caramalized onion, in an envelope.

This is the don’t know, now you know part. The grow on you street that my feet touch and meet there. Pavement so hard, almost killed fred astaire. And took out all the spiritless shells of the species. Wicked cold and unforgiving, something wicked comes this way. I had to flashmob it with all my cell memories. I had to keep moving, keep writing, find my thirst there neglected.

I realized then, I really had to do nothing. I got to do everything I had not finished doing. I got to kick down the doors to my own fucking taste buds. I got to touch memory deeper than waters underground. And below the earth below the water, where my spirit then penetrated, I found my heart again, wrapped in bubble wrap, bee stung with preservatives, ready waiting. And my heart’s telling me kindnesses I cannot even begin to describe… I won’t start cause I am finished, but let me say this…

I found myself filled with some green some whole some light.