vasodilating in the heart of an era

Having dressed the walls and my wounds with classical music tonight, my thoughts now alight upon the exclusivity principle rooted to our being. The marrow starts to gel in the bones then vaporizes and shrieks out – a veritable night train whistle, forewarning us of the onslaught of the millenial generations. It’s nobody’s fault. Life just steams and marches on, stepping carelessly over the carcasses of the formerly treasured, the loved. Some of the more rock-like formations hold out a little longer. Consider the St. Petersburg Conservatory, one of only thousands of imperial-strength monuments in the world which could sing you impossible tales of a century ago, hemmed in at the waist by a sea of concrete.

‘Highway#1. Bodega Bay by helicopter’ – KatYa, 2016

One cannot have a delicate stomach for change. We must all harden our arteries to the passage of life, for it will divert its path from us and our microcosmic runs, either way; tastes will change, schools will shift, culture will replace itself, rejecting, celebrating, denying, judging, appreciating, dismissing, cherishing, banning, engorging, ridiculing, savoring along. I think the best you can do is love it while you last, participate in the push and pulls, and when your very own consigns you to your residue, the dripping-to-seal wax of human history, you take your place and hold there, never giving up, whilst the populace cartwheels over your back and pushes you deeper down by soft and sure palms, to the world beyond the light-wind-water-fire, into a quiet and dark place inhospitable to your past, where you may again flourish with a nitroglycerin glow, vasodilating in the belly of the heart of an era.

forever stamp our hearts

I could only hope now the spirit would work through me, to communicate the occasion of my life to the world I called my home. Proprioceptively. Indelibly. This hope, alone, was proof that I existed. Lord knows an all points bulletin inquiry had been submitted. A missing persons report turned up nothing. The first 48 hours had passed without a trace. And many 24 hours more. Until I was all but forgotten by my own flesh and blood. Long, long ago.

Sadly, I failed to pull a Houdini. Found myself locked within the walls of my own invention. Cooled and conditioned and stored. Downloaded myself on to some standard thumb drive. Hitchhiked my way through obscure constellations. Abstracted myself on a concrete canvas. Canvassed myself to an unknown cause. Freezer burn soon permeated my experience of myself. I got lost in my own rolodex. The librarian indexed me somewhere between z and a. I became an asterisk without a footnote. An aster-risk to the whole federation.

Then, suddenly, harmless to myself and others. Disambiguated. Inanimate for consecutive years…

then, suddenly, released back into the stream of consciousness, which converged with all the other datastreams to form some packed coaxial cable of infinite beats per minute into the teeming, elemental, ocean of life. Sulfate. 

The iron man and maiden had taken their toll on us all.We swam, ran and cycled through the seasons. Whatever would keep us above baseline. Heartlessness in triple digit heat scorched the soul. Prana, the breath, had been weakened by years of celebrity chain-smoking, bequeathed to the masses. We waited around, shiftless and innumerable, for some unrequited missive to forever stamp our hearts…

somewhere between hope and faith

for what seemed like the same amount of time. 

-Katya 08/13