when you have someone who means the world to you and you are related by blood and you have no history of ever doing one another harm, you have about the best thing going in this life. be grateful. reach out to them if you can. talk to them.
made me only more tired
cross the wall
dreaming of life
with someone real
tough feelings to feel inside
more than i can handle
jumps off a page
lend a friend
real estate gets pricey
along the ear canal
i need an extension
outward. my ideals are almost met
still time yet
August. I think on Faulkner who somehow captured it for me, or wrapped my sense of it with his own personal papers. He made August more real for me. There may have been others but I cannot remember. I think of Rodin, but only because his first name was August. I won’t have any children, but if I had a boy I might name him the same, for we could nick him – Oggy!
There’s no fuckin around anymore with my life, I mean, anytime I go sideways and let myself go even just a bit off, I suffer several hours later, usually in the hangtime before I have to get up for work, but also it can destroy my weekends, too. I don’t know what I did or if it’s just natural aging but it’s right in my face and I’ll tell you somethin else, well; I kinda like things better this way. Cause I used to fuck off all the time and I could fuck off for days and get away with it. Lots of polysubstance abuse, you know, back then before I got clean, even after I knew I was an addict and drugs were no good for me, devolving, I tended when disheartened to return to the familiar and break away from common decency and back to the tops of far off peaks of despair, looking over my life and sneaking and peaking and using and falling and crying and trying to get over myself again. That’s no way to live, you know, but we do it anyway. But my margin of error has disappeared and I’m really thankful, really grateful in a way to feel the pain, now, the age or heaviness or whatever, and I don’t do drugs going on 4 years, and I just get beat up by too much caffeine or sugar or too little water or too many carbs or too much sun and overexertion, wow, so I get back to work takin care of myself, right away cause I much desire a better more forthright life for myself, an adherent to a sound personal code and reasonable daily allowance of dreaming my way forward into a kindhearted reality. Whatever the hell that means… and I mean it. I cannot outlast anyone. All I can do is get ina sweet groove and try and stay there and work it awhile so we can be better off by me. I mean contribute my part, live good for someone else to see for themselves how to go about it, too. There’s no fuckin around anymore and why would I want to? Seek the joy of being alive and that’s it. Give and give some more. Show and don’t show off. Accept who you are and love what you have so you can carry that and not need to escape nothin and then they will see the truth in you and it’s not pretty or grandstandin or anything, it just is what it is and that’s more than enough.
Softened life on quiet streets today. All the bad news backed into shells and shadows or sank into the mud for a second. I stuck mostly to my routine, after and before I spoke with my family over the phone. Now the past may be the past and the future, the future. But not today. This afternoon I spoke with my family. Then the morning became a golden dawn. Then an evening, alone. A holiday. Coulda been sad I coulda been sorry. Weighed against the afternoon’s words, I was given meaning and washed it through my hair. I smile cause I’ve been made who I am, again, the lucky kid.
With a string of uncolored holiday lights I made a celestial body circled around a teddy bear on my night table, in the darkness the play by play announcer at low volume keeping calm. This is the room with the bookshelves reaching up to the cathedral ceiling (sounds magnificent but it’s very plain) where I spend most of my time, adjacent to the kitchen, where I sleep and write and let my thoughts sift through the walls. One large window to let the eastern light in. Aroma of coffee beans roasting and percolating. The same room where I often read or have company and do readings, the room where I have cried over losses and despaired over broken ends, the room with the white walls and the Van Gogh print in which I often see things that aren’t there, the same room where I try and play guitar. I got a moment to myself with the lights so bright and warming, little stars I borrowed from the sky, kittens asleep on the blanket on the bed. Thank you sky, thank you home, thank you pretty peaceful life in a chaotic world.
Dreary california sunshine day after day was what happened when no one left home for too long.
What was this world where when autumn arrived…
How they harvested, by hand.
How they jammed the jam.
How they hunted the land.
Made wind chimes of bone.
Tapped trees for sugars.
Thanked the almighty.
Venison, quail, turkey and trout.
Facing the winter with faith and tobacco. Exposed to the elements.
Cooking the fats over a crackling fire, on irons they traded for pelts.
Chanting at sunset and dancing til dawn. Large fires contained within circles of rock.
Living a life ruled by water wind fire earth sun ice stars and great sacred spaces cast under moonlight ruled by the rhythms as of yet undisturbed and of wonders unknown.
On the seventh day of the creation of our world, when the divine sat down in the oversized rocking chair filled with goose-down pillows to rest, universal spammers continued to try and blast through our atmosphere like a Perseid fireball meteor . The divine watched with amusement. Yes, the planetary firewall was created well and configured without any inherent flaw, he thought to himself.
This thought was accompanied by a part of himself that he preferred to disown. So he jettisoned it out into the universe. Unfortunately, he forgot about the force of gravity he had imparted upon the earth a day or two earlier, to keep it all together. The part of himself he preferred to disown, went spinning through our atmosphere. And mixed with all of life. He had tried to catch it with a subtle telekinesis. But the softness of the goosedown beneath him, urged him back to resting easy.
The half-breed spammers turned red with anger and green with envy, as they watched pride fall easily through the planetary firewall and mix with human life, on earth, while all their acme spam-bombs burned up, incendiary, before they reached us.
Thus the common sentiment across our world: Merci Dieu! (often accompanied by the formerly disinherited part of the divine). We can thank God.
Katya Mills 08/13