votive remix

deceased lay the flower beds toxic and soaking perspiration thick as glue. we passed the ethereal fields cranked the shaft flipped a bitch and sailed due north, the agonists and antagonists darting out from the shadows. we released the nitrous oxide mixed with half and half burned the white sage whole off the stern.petitioned a ragtag battalion of orcas like white blood cells to seal in the heat, caustic energies aft and starboard, signals blaring into the night. the candles they flickered and danced.  #katyamills

2010 tangible truismic

sometimes we are the half of life

jaw floored variety of bored like a


72 rpms back to back to back

well-placed commencement at the very end of some


got there with your body and realize back there

somewhere your spine fell out

drinking wine until you pass out flopped around ina

sorry omega-threesome like a caterpillar hanging out



you check your gps for self-locus flower

stop accepting all substitutes-imposters-splenda-and-cancelled-checks

go long and selfless beyond the ego panic attacks

get the train back on track and loosen all ties. free the suspension

beyond the words so trite and truismic

here and now we conjure ourselves in flashes again and again

until we reach some static in the attic

we need not be cardboard we are

solid tangible statuesque ennui
from the archive
remix 2010

FEBRUARY 11 1998

I found a typewritten sheet from the Royal I had in Florida, 1998, tucked into my diary. Here’s a remix from the first paragraphs I wrote…

She lay with him she

trusted him she knew him no more than

the shadows the moon cast on the wall

dressed and gone by morning

balancing on the edge of the tub

she shaved her legs with a cheap razor

someone left behind


the blood didn’t bother her

there would be no sleep


he lay awkwardly after

hands in his pockets

she played a palm across his chest


to be robbed was something

he imagined he


taste of her in his mouth feather

pillow imbued with her





remix 96

i ran the streets
she saw me struggling
my struggle became ours

cold days under big sky
leaves dead and tumble
pale faces passing

she saw with her soul
images in her head
she painted painfully

while i lay on a couch
watching light
she swung herself over and
into my arms

dropping elbows into my chest
pinning us into the cushions


we ran the streets
we were young
all was told

gone the glittering

(remixing diary (1996) entries)


colorless moments of stressed
inhibition must i be always backed
into a corner before
i come fighting?
a sea of bad news and brake lights
ahead. even tears and smiles
a stretch
from that place of half
flag summer fatigue
arose a current
we opened two walls
the windows
life came into the trees i
awoke feeling different all
the colors returned
time was no longer just a waiting
for work there was meaning it
was personal it was
yours it was mine


i was moody
i was ready i was
running through a field
i was young i was
i was heading for a fall
you were walking
you were friendly eating raspberries
off the bush
you were older
and reticent and you
wanted to protect me
we were unlikely bound for friendship
in a deep and southern
town we drank orange juice
walked the shoreline painted
fences stood us

the runway runs away (a remix)

REMIX of ‘this loves for real .no stopping. all green some whole some lights’ (circa 10 May 2011 at 03:48)  — K by K

k by k, 2016

fuck I have been cold. I have been frightening cold, I have. until some small smile some sarah somewhere in this place post punk and petrified with perfect well wishing winning new paradigm nod to the north. if north is astral. if north is known by certain colors that stand out like a football i mean soccer jersey that’s brilliant yellow lighter than gold yet darker than lemon and loved even lusted after between air -steam- rising top of the crucial team consciousness on soft ground with soft ball and hard handshakes raising the rising roof of random screaming. a world of color a world of meaning. for most this was not so, but they backed on the tidal wave like the undertow, where the passion of the few was sourced you know, the masses go and they flow, the massive movement to go with the flow or go and go blow. rarely was this impressive, mostly nullified after the monument to him or her had been already built and cemented in place for public worshiping and it was discovered she or he had been sidelighting in a darker shade of themselves, shadowing the lives of innocents and extinguishing others candles because they lusted and cause they could. you know who i’m talking about there’s so many of those. loved by many now hated by most. one circled roped in focus can distract from the life your partner your wife around you. your son who packs a gun -the heat is beat- and maybe boy or maybe girl, the foil-wrapped careful cut icebergs or powders or icicles or dub-sides come half-baked with home fries for the waiting guys waiting sometimes impatient waiting. sent. sent by that curiosity fills the soul kills some whole. just before the -you don’t know now you know- part. the grow on your street that your feet touch and meet there. pavements so hard they killed fred astaire. or would had had he not been nimble. like no bread, just bologna with capers and mozzarella, white wet from the homeland near the river saucony. alive and kicking. kicking down the doors to taste buds. touch memory deeper than sentimental songs, you know. by heart. don’t start, ‘cause I’m not finished, planet earth, the spoon, the black and white, the dish, the fashion statement the runway ran away with. now you come back to reality and fall in love with someone and lose yourself. there now, your good and lost, child, god loves you like that, good and lost in love forever.   – KatYa

k by k, 2016

more than most can take

remember when

            we were


with instant coffee
at the break
and more than most
can take?

all i got is your

flat screen tv
a drill
i wanna sell
some inkjet printers from

the land of lost toys
where we once lived

you related with
tv characters over me

not the people
not the actors
but parts they were playing
police detectives
not real ones

to miss the
true crime

broken heart hypersensitives
in the land of no shame
got what we wanted
(was) high all the time. how strange
to know it (and still proceed knowing)
how counterfeit

why is that so fascinating?

you had me too
under cosmos
free internet speed
windows #7
pharmaceutical-grade weed
(you had me)
all about the

my clothes
you washed them dry
i could not keep up with our snail-paced life
i tried

i guess i wrote all
over you

nobody scared me like me
and you in our sorry spiral
toppled up to the dresser
where we made up a million times

our palette of minerals
buff and of cream
finishing powder

at home where
we were sure never to
be seen

(remix @ 2011)


dominoes. heaps of clothes -iii

They are dropping chlorine bombs again, while we splash our faces with the ones in our faucets, garnish with lemon and salt, now saddled with inhalers ready and breathless, in a homemade salt water sensory deprivation tank of fish, we are the fish, all is quiet and swimming in social medium. Crystal hot sauce splatters over the oysters in a postmodern spasm, slide off their rocks to Sitting Tongue who awaits. waiting. all we got this morning is waiting for confessions for paydays for unemployment checks for new leaders with new promises made, waiting for the promises to be made good, or not, or more to come.

i was waiting for you and my internal (programming) to stop the isolating (command) and go outside where you told me the sun still shines, waiting for the sun (listening to the Doors) in a bathtub on the run, completely thrilled was all i got (when i had you) and the two cats – Shy and Drama – somehow all my adult life all the cats again and again protect the sanctity of my life, but you, there is you and me and (we are) more than most (cats) can handle  – in 2011 – we had our homeless friends looking for homes we had our home which we would not have much longer, we had been told. you and me we have grown but not grown old. we have been abused and abused we have, tossed our litanies into the fire of another conjured argument with friends or enemies or one another and the same. all i got is you and our song remains the same. the hook is the only problem.

all we got is enemies. number one on the hot list of those who hate our guts? you. and me. in the space between us god bore witness, well, that’s the kind of sentence got strung out and led to the forest path this morning, sometimes urgency in it, too, or swollen with bottom dwollen wrath (Allman brothers can soothe us only so long).

all i got is my music sometimes. this morning all i got is a cloud and the light so bright its perfectly loud and hurts my head a bit. but i got medication for that. OT and C what i got? i got meds and antibacterial handwash a tropical sea color blue with bubbles trapped in there like, well, like leaders trapped behind their military might in Syria in Egypt in Tunisia in Iran in Yemen in Algeria…trapped like bubbles in a cascading tropical Facebook blue ignited and (it had been said) long overdue…

like me and you. take us back and stamp us red and pay for us so we can recirculate back into the system where some unfortunate child some day will wander away and pull us off a darkened shelf in the horror section, to look through to the other side. ya, all i had back then was a pretty good feeling we would stay alive and survive the two and the ones (these numbers gotta add up to something), on a day was February twenty-one, twenty-eleven. numbers add up to nine …

KatYa, 2016 remix 2011