my doppelgänger
fell for a car and a home. a washer and a dryer
years of not caring much about stuff and now
she does
when i inquired about the change of heart
she answered people die on the streets with nothing
why should we go out like that?
she does whatever she wants
and now i think…
i like stuff
don’t really know why and not sure i care
i like stuff
#katyamills
this place got it all
there’s nothing here
no technology
we come here stripped down
we can hardly take it
we don’t wanna live
this place got it all
no longer charmed out of reality
we see things plainly
this place got it all
like running thirsty
toward a mirage
#katyamills
you don’t call. you text. don’t ever call first or you may be banned or cancelled. if it’s an emergency call 911. you can text emojis to convey your feelings. some emojis may have different meaning depending on your generation (x, y, z) marker. if you call you don’t exist. and remember: no one will ever listen to your voicemail. strategy to survive: take nothing personal.
#katyamills
chick passes me
like im a telephone pole
unlocks the glass door
i say HEY
all i need is a filter
and some water under
boil SEE
i got this fukkin maxwell
house
OFF the street
while waitin
THANKS
she snarls but
comes back with the
smokin teapot and
papers
my shaking hands
take the paper
lean my head back
on my nekk
empty tin into
paper put paper
over mouth
lift teapot over
head and POUR
now im really
flyin
HI
i never liked bologna sandwiches
not just because the name spells
out all wrong
baloney
they tell you never give up and then you hold on so long you cave in and boil over. i give up. i give up on today. i’m gonna draw the shades, lie down and go to sleep. wow. feels so good to finally give up. maybe next time i won’t take them so literally.
No one does what i want them to do. Not even me.
The sun was beating dust into the bricks, the world snug inside its atmosphere. Young students typed away on tablets, phones and laptops inside one of Portland Oregon’s more popular coffeehouses. Within striking distance of an accredited local university favored for its substrata of adult summer coursework, all DIY-focused. If you wanted to learn how to build a computer from scratch or make a zoo from scrapped metals, this was the place to be, circa 2003.
The owners of the café were a man and woman from Pennsylvania and Alaska, respectively, and had established a friendship from their days past as bike couriers in Seattle. She wore her hair mohawk. He was recovering from an attempted reverse mohawk. Never let someone on acid near your head with a pair of shears, was the lesson-du-jour. Even if it’s your best friend in the whole wide world.
The barista girls were counting out change behind the steamship enterprise, and drawing maple leaves out of foam in each and ever latté. This particular morning saw well-spirited banter in between giggling laughter. The aforementioned victim of reverse mohawk had arrived, wearing pantyhose on his head, to conceal the crime.
At exactly five minutes after eleven am, pacific standard time, all fingers hovered motionless over virtual and physical keyboards, inside the café.
All eyes turned toward the long faux marble counter, behind which an irreverent prankster of a girl from Alaska, with blue and green spikes of frozen hair touching sky in a five-pointed inline star cutting through steam and coffee aromatics, was holding pantyhose just out of reach of the grasping tatted arms of her famed partner and co-pilot in the steamship enterprise.
A cheshire cat grin extended across her lips, as she shielded her prize with her body, shouting: LOOK EVERYBODY, IT’S MY BROTHER FRIM ANOTHER MOTHER!
The tragedy became complete, when our poor beloved Pennsylvania transplant turned to face the student body, with only the counter between him and them, and not tall enough to hide the DIY fail. His eyes tried to follow the path the others all took, and rose toward the sky. The sun set red hot on his face, then…
Murder. In broad daylight.
The days of laptops and tablets and cell phones subsided into a sea of fourth world residuals 3d printed out in the dark of light and night of day, via second hand servers globally attuned to pipeline transmissions.
Beneath it all was a bitcoin traffic jam the size of Luxembourg.
The royal family of Amazon decried the undercutting of their undercut. In senseless haste, they waged war on Penguin, which beat a retreat on a mechanical bird straight to Mars.
Cause despite all of modern devolution, everyone reluctantly confessed to their anonymous divinities… in this year of our (insert divinity preference here) 2120, penguins still cannot fly.
someone killed me
with kindness
i died
smiling
K IS SILENT 