magic

life becomes tolerable
moment by moment
it won’t ever be acceptable
in analysis

life won’t ever add up
to any magic number
it won’t hold in retrospect
it won’t measure up
to any ideal

life falls apart
then regroups
life is never the same
always changes and

cannot be predicted
by forecast or made
meaningful

no
life is unkempt
windblown
bedraggled

life will not love you only
you may love life
for the moment
you are lucky
to exist

how we get by

the clouds are still and the earth is moving. i see the others and i want to love them, i do, and i reach out and we talk for a while and the room softens. it’s raining outside but only in a small targeted area which moves as the earth spins. the clouds are not moving, they are still. i know when i look up and see the clouds moving, they are not. what i see with my eyes and sense with my senses, never tells the whole story. i am so glad we have a story without an ending. this is how we get by.

imprint

imprinted. 4 life

These are not simply memories which are recalled to haunt and thrill me from time 2 time, no, these experiences I have had, the powerful ones, are accessible always, and you will find them in the way I speak, the way I think, the way I walk, the way I feel… you see, my friends, we have been imprinted and this is 4 life.

The life (lived) sinks to the deepest part of you, floating in a pendulum arc to rest upon your bedrock, where all is cool and slow-motion, your hard drive, safe and preserved, and takes form of an emanation, begins to glow! The loves, the friends, the places, the losses, our greatest moments and cavernous falls. The rush of it all, and yet resides in us, and when we meet again following some passage in time, you see the change in me, and I the difference in you. This light is not unlike sitting down with the beaten back pages of your favorite book, water-stained and dog-eared, tarnished and soft in your hands in your belly in your heart on a rainy day, deeper than any tattoo.

A song comes along in the cloud, have I told you how it hits me? Any one of the numbers between 1973 and 2017 and now I am all curled up focused in the center of the novel, all the many faces all the actors situating themselves inside the pressure of my blood. The world is one of endless colors then. I am who I was all over again, and it makes me.

It made me so. Made me who I am and for that I am thankful. I will never regret a drop of it, a day, an hour, a starstruck moment in my own endless night.  I may have changed, my dear, but only for the better and only for the best!  I am and we are all of the world which has touched us, though we maybe long ago hiked ourselves right off that decrepit map… we found bypass.

– KatYa, 2017

once dream cars

once dream cars now we need help

We need help, too, our once dream cars now smoking on the freeway and off the next exit not far from home, thankfully, pulling over to the side of the first street off the ramp not being swept today and no meter, thankfully, and not the worst neighborhood in the good old usa, thankfully, and release the hood and look under it at the old beast, V8 like the juice, and the radiator’s miserably old and fucked, she’s gonna need to be cool before we wanna twist that top, we need help and we drop the hood and head in any direction, searchin ourselves for the local friend to lend a hand, cell phone’s dead, legs dead from a heavy day of work in the city, week long and no one’s home to put an iron to those worn out clothes, the way we dress reflectin our feelin inside, we need help, edging over a desk into an office space, delivered back with an easy full swipe of any screen, lit like a lamp with a high wattage eco-unfriendliness in the atmosphere

after hours cuz there’s nothing else to do, overtime cuz extra cash is a screw, locking into union squares with high echelon affairs, all these bios laid out sick and sweetly with photos on websites pushing free streams well into the vingt-et-un of our recorded history, centuries upon centuries of layer cake separated by cream cheese, thought we had a whole generation of twenty/something concentration high kids worldwide leaning and dancing into our wondrous worlds of fluff, they definitely related well with our sundried front street placard mentality, they did our snuff, waxed with plastic veneer smiles over reality. we thought we were badasses big thumbing and wet through sacred pages now soiled — and oh how we fell — cried when we came across our beloved mimeo-copied verse, generous endowment long, sticky fat thumbprints on the cornices, pages I through XLX… who needs sex? not us, thankfully. we need help.

the resolute kindness

Readers
Friends
Family
Comrades

I wish you all a bright season, and thank you for camaraderie and for showing interest in my work. For the first time in many years, since 2005 to be exact, I will be spending this holiday with family. I am excited. It was a long and painful separation, yet in that empty space my family once filled,  I developed a lot –what Jung would call individuation — and, up against the painful silence of a careless world, I drew close to the warmth of the fire in my heart, and somewhere there located the elements of my survival. You may have noticed my tools. Writing. Running. Counseling. Reading. Mindfulness and meditation. Guitar. Your life can be what you make of it. Isn’t that freedom? I feel fortunate for my small freedoms in our world of power struggles and abuses. Yet the resolute kindness had to be gifted to myself, and still does. There was a time when I was a child then an adolescent and a teenager, and the many kindnesses were insinuated toward me. I believe the most kind among them, lovers and family and lifetime friends, were the ones who knew me best. And I felt insulted. For I knew they knew I was some walking contradiction, that somehow I was an act, and could betray myself in an instant! The ones who knew me, knew I was not kind to myself at all. I treated them poorly and almost as poorly as I experienced myself. I was a classless example on a long and endless tour. I was Keith Richards meets Brian Jones for a swim. I was a party of one, divisible by all. I had to be alone, in order to patiently await the resolute kindness within me. Otherwise, I risked the endless incinerations, and being reduced to a fraction of myself.

2016 K

This is my confession to you. I know my writings tend to give only a glimpse of who I am and what I have been through. It is only through the greater whole of this website, and through the books that I write (yes, I am a novelist), you may know me more intimately. And you may also see my play and foreplay with the resolute kindness, within and without. I am the filter, and I attempt to surface and demystify the demons, to spin them around like a top and turn them. Turn them into friends and allies, within and without. I consider it some kinda alchemical process going on. I don’t create it, I just reflect it. When I am lucky, coal turns to silver and wine, into water. But I want to be honest with the process, and if all that turns up out the topsoil is a demon, well, there you have it, I will share a demon with the world and let the world handle it… I love it more when I can grow the kindness and press it out to you like a flower! This is (and was) my dream in twenty sixteen. And I will exercise a lien on twenty seventeen, and release more of this lovely, tangy stuff to you when i can, so we can share the resolute kindness.

m x memory -ix

The true pioneers of mindful presence were now emblazoned in lifesize advertisements so real you thought they were meditating on you. Commuters dropped coin at their feet, which was quickly swept up by the children of atheists. Advertising for anything other than recreational weed had fallen out of fashion in 2023. Along with work. Working a steady forty, monday through friday, was now punishable by dominatrix for up to one month of nonconsensual slavery. Attaching ones org to a mission was also considered a violation of collective liberties, as the future was to be revered for all and not limited possibility. Proselytizing the sentients into a limited potential future based on some dreamers special mission was considered a flagrant and intentional crime, and prosecuted under the diversion clause. You could not go herding people into some other container, when they had already been successfully contained by strategic water cannon placement and acupressure machines. All individuality had to be compressed and pasteurized, homogenized, so to be useful to the state’s personality packet program. The American dollar was of no value to China anymore. Their ports only accepted freight containing the balanced personalities of America. Global trade was mostly information these days. China in 2023 was the forefront global exporter of eastern solution to the world paradigm in similar packets which could be easily decompressed with a modern day can opener any toddler could figure out. A great demand for the nutrients in a non-violent and benevolent product, the wisdoms inherent in confucianism, buddhism, taoism, communism, sufism, among other subscribed philosophies which had evolved the eastern world into its current selfless, rugged, dialectic nature. Sentients efforted and fought over it as usual, but reverence was placed so much differently and more carefully in the world 2023, the landscapes of the last century’s ruling global authority had become relics and often been archived, as interest fell mostly on the new world order, which struck most sentients as highly advantageous and useful to the species and collective inclination toward healthy unbiased purpose wherever possible… all the way to the ends of the earth, which were not ends after all, as awareness now informed us of non-finite individuation. this was accepted as practical science, contemporary thought-feeling-knowing. Yet still they go unnoticed, the silent ones. Love was underwater, perhaps devalued or defaced, below the heavy freight of packaged information and pasteurized personalities. This is as it is.

restructuring your conditions

I made some changes in my conditions to try and maximize the possibility for continuing to write books. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life and my routine. But something was off, and consequentially I’ve seen a frightening drop in sustained creative output the last couple of months. I can flash here and flash there, keeping up my daily blogging and youtubing, but there is a price to pay for this kinda work. You get used to bouncing around the internet! Which I find not so conducive to the long form, or the conditions necessary for writing books. Many will say (and I have told myself) it’s as easy as clicking on the ‘do not disturb’ protocol (on your devices) and making personal space for yourself. And maybe it is. But bloggers have a responsibility to their audience that the Ralph Waldo Emersons and Henry David Thoreaus of the world have not! Anyway, I decided to make some changes. I stepped away from the internet for several days and stepped outdoors. I drove out of town and did some things differently than usual. This coincides with a vacation from my nine to fiver. I eased up on the coffee. I caught up on my sleep (a real deficit I was running) and reconnected with some people and creatures (mostly cats) I care about, on a deeper level. I stopped reading and listening to the news. I need to make a conscious push towards the lighter things of life, laughter and learning and shared, hopeful perspectives. I tend to let myself go toward darkness, I realize, it’s easier to be jaded. Now I am rediscovering how it feels to wake up in the morning, make some coffee, and sit down at my desk in silence and write my book. It was only a few months back when I was doing this, but it coulda been forever ago.

process #

go slow. go quietly in your creative process

Imagine if you slowed your process down and watched it, played it back for yourself like a film. Yes, you can drip all the butter you want on your popcorn. Just eat one popped kernel at a time. Taste it. Lick the butter off of your fingers very carefully, like you are giving head. You can put your legs up over the seat backs cause you are the only one in the theatre. Ladies cross your legs, just in case. Someone always prowling in the darkness, maybe come off the screen and wanna be with you. Hopefully its the hero or heroine, and don’t you dare make love to yourself, it’s a cardinal sin, if there was a hell you would go to it but mostly we agnostics know you would just feel bad about yourself and sick to your stomach. This is a work of fiction cast out from the booth in the back to enlighten the screen for your eyes, you who receive. Imagine the warm blue light triangulating out into the darkness and above your head. Closest to the projector you can even see the air we breathe is swimming with dust. Our lungs must be ingenious. Focus on your breath as the numbers count down from ten, with an old radar-like image and a line traveling clockwise around back to midnight and the numbers fall and the excitement of what’s to come… What’s to come out of process, is more process, the consequence of process, the marvel of creation, making our lives one brilliant second at a time as we go. Swimming through our lives and slow it down commensurate with a wave. We are fragile. We are breaking. We are falling in love again.  xxxxox  KatYa