my subconscious

the things that keep me up at night

cats on catnip and cars on petrol

 kids lighting explosives in the alley

no longer bother me. you could say they

save me from my subconscious

#katyamills

dream state

where divining rods
find us
symbols define us

hard of seeing hearing understanding
it signs us

a snake
with patterned somewhat deceptive
hieroglyphic designs jaw unhinged

bolts forward 

to strike

#katyamills

lost in cityscapes

in between dreams i had gone for a pee

then fell back under

my arm wrapped around you

palm pressed into your belly

white

i found myself again lost in cityscapes 

only this time your 

cat eyes beside me softened 

the searching

rain

#katyamills

keep dreaming

when you finally let

the old dream go you

can get down

to really living

they say

but who?

who can live?

who can live without

dreams

dream #

dream #1234

So many dreams to go. This one is a waking dream of  acceptance, to see myself in the context of all my world and relationships and choices and demands, the push and pull, the ebb and flow, and wake up each day willing to embrace it. To fight for what I want and need, knowing full well the fight will never end for the challenge is the life.

when you stay where you are

long enough

late friday. i came home after midnight to fall in love all over again, being with you, your stone cold fixed hold upon my gaze, all the week long work fallen off your leaden shoulders, and then we were both of us no longer struggling. replaced by an embrace there on the couch the cats have torn half to hell, believing in the same god who brought us together, rediscovering the colors in our eyes, feeling the common ground of recollected pain, the loss inside our former dreams… against the bright and soft-focused clarity that has replaced them.

midtown. by katya

dream sequence

What if I cannot live with anyone, ever again, I thought to myself, before falling asleep. I have been tired since I asked him politely to leave. He did not take it very well, and I did not take his not taking it well, well. I was tired by trying to share my space, and by trying not to share my space, and fell fast asleep.

Up the stairs the atmosphere was boisterous, everyone seemed happy like evolved, and my mind kept turning us over and over, wondering why we were so quiet, down here, so reserved, like somebody had died. I was in the midstream (exactly halfway up a long and straight stairwell) when the matron of the house came about before bed asking around and offering her hand, to make the last hour a good one, keeping us safe and needless, tidying up.

Her daughter, my friend, had left a small book behind, with a cover splashed in pink, which stood up on the floor by the couch. What if she never returns, ever again? The book had small truths littered about its pages. I wanted to offer it to the contemplative boy across from me on a broken chair, but I could not move. I’m not much of a lucid dreamer.

She spoke to us kindly, my friend’s mom, she made me feel I was helping her just by being there. She had always been the kind to illuminate your presence for you. When I awoke, I wondered would I see her, ever again? She died many years before.

diary

Journal # 10.08.2016

This morning I found myself splashed across the walls like water. This morning I woke from a nightmare being hunted by a man with a shotgun. Before dawn I am docile and careless, the sheets you tore up and me within them, before you left for your job and an eighteen wheeler and ten thousand gallons of oil. If only I can gather my self and my focus, today, the cell phone my natural enemy flat-backed on the dresser. This morning I shower and untangle my hair. I wanna good cut, I wanna change, I wanna punk it out with a streak of black and some sharpened angular curled tight at the nape of my neck in the back. The necklace my friend gave me several years ago, the silver icon hangs just below the the new one on the thinner chain, the hanging dove I got to remember my own ancient history. The light comes up blue in the city around me, loyalty and new love arises in me and I don’t know how to handle it. How can I fall in love again without fear? I cannot withstand another fall from great heights. A burgeoning skepticism clings to the edges, the water mark, and won’t wash away down the drain. I wanna live is all i know anymore… i wanna live or there’s nothing left.

journal

i am quite certain these past 6 days my subconscious made possible. of mostly lying around sick with headaches and sore throats and cough and cold symptoms and fatigue and a little asthma. coming out of it now, slowly. i was full of worry and fear beforehand, an impoverished mentality to which i was bound,  i must confess, most of which has now fallen under and been buried by the malaise of the body. i believe that without the opportunity of ill health, i may have remained indefinitely in that inextricable place i had gotten myself into unwittingly through my routine. a non-creative place. a linear establishment. a far cry from freedom and flexibility. of course my WIP fell to the wayside. i still have not settled back into Book Three. but this time i am no longer so worried about it nor fearful. part of the trap i fell into was reading contemporaries in my genre and comparing myself against them. this is only a part of the story of my missteps of late. sacrificing momentarily the appeal of my style which not only draws me but has drawn me some onlookers from faraway places. my style which must be enough on its own. the fullness. the fulfillment. all of that is there, waiting for me still, calling me back like sirens, like songs, like dreams, like love.

there won’t be any weekend

I know it’s saturday but there won’t be any weekend, I promised, the pulse will count out the same in sixty seconds and I cannot live any other way; I am anti-heroic when it comes to arresting the life in me. I can slow my breath to a near standstill and hibernate on a couch with a cell phone texting emoticons to god through t-mobile, torturing myself with online validation. I don’t have an avatar. This wild child of atari is fresh out of excuses for joysticking the halfway living. I cannot even cry about the sad stuff, unless it’s yours, cause the sad life is long gone and even if it kills me I promised to fulfill these dreams if only in the making.

There won’t be any time off, nahahna, I used all my PTO, all my floating holidays, all my sick days and all my fuckin vacay, distributed through the twenties and thirties, the dopamine bordering on bottoming out. Hell, I had my glory nights of indulgence and days of despair. You probably see it in my eyes. Now the fire comes from within and I am home! So there won’t be any weekend just a shot of cream into coffee, on a table turning. Lemme in the mix. Scratch me. Spin me. Put me in play. I can give you what you need. Saturday night seems fluid and I love to work it out with you like this.  –Katya © 2016