AME AND THE TANGY ENERGETIC. A NOVEL BY KATYA MILLS
I need complete silence for as many hours of every day and as many minutes of every hour and as many seconds of every minute as I can get. There are big ideas circulating which will otherwise be lost to dark matter, casualties of the smart phone alert system. And if comprehension of these ideas are lost, I will be lost with them. Society has decided communal is the only way, at the expense of any self. Myself, yourself. Society has declared the individual no longer to be trusted, no longer significant. Society has come to the internet to polish off the self. There is a war being waged for control over the web, a war of individuals demanding free expression against the ever matriculating constituents of the giant dark formless blob. Hold on to your hats!
I am sad to have to say goodbye to old friends, but there is nothing to be done anymore to salvage a friendship sometimes, and though my friends may not wanna accept my walking away, walk away I will ’cause there is nothing there anymore, just pain. I am very sad to have to say goodbye and mean it. And then they reach out again to see if they can word something just right to cause me enough trouble grasping what they are suggesting, this old friend takes the pin and buries it subcutaneous and deeper towards my heart, hoping to touch me again in that dreadful yet stale way, to force me back into the dead patterns of negative thought and feeling and relating. And I resist as best I can. For what will it matter how I respond or how vehemently I disagree with what they are suggesting has happened, or some way they think I am responsible for the troubles in their lives? For sure I am equally flawed and in my life have brought storms and darkness upon my own world. I am no better than anybody, though I have my talents and gifts. I am trying not to waste them anymore. I am busy writing books, can you not see? I am busy hoping and dreaming and living in new light. I believe I must move on. I have the right to do so. There is no marriage, there are no vows to hold me here in this heart of mutual misery. I ask that anyone who once called themselves a friend, or still considers themselves a friend of someone who has expressed an interest in freedom to move on and be left alone, ought to consider this: THE UNIVERSAL DECLARATION OF HUMAN RIGHTS and regain your composure and consciousness and self-respect by ceasing all activities contrary to the basic principles, stop phoning, stop texting, stop emailing, stop cramming your commentary and opinions under the door! Cease and desist in all communications and not limited to the five basic senses by which we perceive one another in this world! Unfortunately you have lost your right to my ever expansive circle of light, and so much as I know, I have lost my right to yours. I can light a candle for you, for sure, and wish you the very best (and get well soon). I have tried and tried for so long to restore a pathway between our hearts, like the one we first knew, but the conditions are no longer safe and the bridge has been devastated and fallen and sunk to the bottom of our sea of tears. I am sorry to see you go, sorry for the loss of a once great friendship. Now I must move on without you.
Sad was the lake
sitting all alone
still was the sky
blue and monotone
happy was the ox
swish about the tail
fences for to fail
Usually if i am feeling hurt, i want to hurt back. there have been stressful times in my life where i reacted and acted on my hurt feelings.
Patterns take shape and repeat.
These occasions, whatever the frequency, usually result in two feeling hurt, rather than one. and played out across the web of lives and feelings, we find we are all hurt a little in the end.
Patterns take shape and repeat.
Then the madness of friends or loved ones or just two beings facing off by accident or intention, looks on a chart of frequency of hurt, amplified.
Patterns take shape and repeat.
Because not only do i hurt myself anytime i exercise hurt upon another, but often another lashes back again, and the hurt goes deeper, and vulnerabilities begin to show, and we are hurting both selfsame and other.
Patterns take shape and repeat.
In retrospect, we see the violence inherent in such situations. and hopefully we look to find conscious ways to reduce hurt in our lives, not alone but together.
See the conscious ways?
See the first aid application on feelings? See the system? How we can do this, together?
See the choices.
Feel the freedom.
Hold the hope
i am looking for
to have and
to hold and
on to death do
i am self
i am self seeking
to make me
whole to make me
i am interested in
a cut above the rest
prisoner of love
a chain gang
free from mistakes
God never blunders
i am looking for you
and i get what i want
you will love my decision
toward your realized
when i tire of
your birdcage delivery
i will set you free cause
i love you so
Yes, I want that old thing back. The time when we weren’t being snowed by our own intelligence community. The time when we were not snowed in by the Patriot Act. Forced to be incommunicado on the subject of our own constitutionally-granted, legal, tender freedoms. The problem with the Patriot Act is not that it was legislated. The problem with the Patriot Act is that Congress failed to stamp it with the born-on-date .
I want that old thing back. When we did not have to worry the government was listening in on our calls and data mining our texts and photos, without telling us. When we would not have to fear being branded spies for having allegedly exposed some egregious violation of our constitutional rights. When the intelligence community was less focused on apprehending a single fugitive than on addressing their in house blunders. Was their such a time? I guess you can’t blame them for the bias. After all, the Patriot Act has been their cash cow. Putting our tax dollars to work, no matter how the color of our threat level is coded. Nobody wants to have their steak and potatoes pulled out from under them.
Some things were born to die! The cola in your pantry. The eggs in your fridge. And the Patriot Act. It is illegal to sell eggs and soda and food that has no born-on date stamp. Vendors will not receive produce that has not been stamped. Vendors are not supposed to sell produce whose born-on date has expired (although I could rat out a few cornerstores in west Oakland or west Chicago). The FDA (another government agency we fund with our tax dollars) is supposed to (and does) police this law. Agents go out to the manufacturers and the vendors and the retail stores, and throw out products that are missing stamps or expired. They write out code violations, etc. But the FDA cannot police the Patriot Act, because it has no born-on date at all. Yet its still on the shelves for mass consumption! The Patriot Act has turned! Yet we are still pouring it over our cornflakes, and scooping it into our mouths.
Somebody was asleep at the wheel. Inspector #9 perhaps. I haven’t found his little slips in the pockets of my clothes in a long time, though I usely shop thrift. Inspector # 9 let the big one through the filter. Inspector #9 was apparently relieved of his duties without us knowing. Or maybe things got overwhelming and he quit? Maybe he took early retirement on that big fat government pension, on advice of his lawyer. Maybe they dug a ditch for him in the desert, or had him dig his own ditch and take rest. Maybe he got paid off and looked away? Who knows? The damage is done. The Patriot Act was put out on the market for our consumption, without a born-on date stamped on its ass.
We don’t need to ask why? Just remember all the poor souls jumping out of their bodies on nine eleven, 2001. Scary. We needed her, then. Sure. But not now. Now we find ourselves in the midst of what is apparently the largest compiled electronic database of our personal conversations, located somewhere in Utah, sponsored by the NSA, mined from the behemoth telecomm industry bluechips (ATT, Sprint, Verizon, etc.), legal under a clause in the Act which loosely interpreted permits full government penetration of any businesses conducting any sort of international conversation whatsoever, and beholden to no one.
Dear Mr. President, can we please correct this? Take it off the shelf? No matter whose to blame, the Patriot Act has turned, and it stinks! The elephant is in the room and we see it. Now will someone please lead it away? So we can get back to all the wonderful things we were doing in this country? Please? Superman? If you have finished courting the network morning show circuit, would you have time to help out? On behalf of good citizens everywhere. Someone forgot to take the trash to the curb, and now we have a problem.
We just want that old thing back. I know I’m not the only one. Turn on the tv, the radio, it’s circulating everywhere. Call it what you want. Our privacy. Our birthright. Full assurance that the conversation we are having today, whether it concern our political preference or our preference in whitening brand toothpaste, is not being collected and stored in some hard drive for future use, for or against us, whether it be for some company’s marketing database or in some court of law. Even if it’s not ever used, at all, for any purpose. The Patriot Act has turned.
by Katya W. Mills 06/13