no.20

like a secret 

in the nucleus 

of the yolk

of the eye

we defy analytics

science

religion

sharpened by 

the guarantee of 

annihilation

unwilling 

to be dulled

by screens

technology or

tradition

#katyamills

isolate 4

our huddled loneliness of years past
income fixed
far below the surface
of want

we had one another
and even then

love moved
like science after death
synchronous

exact

we were for us what no one
knew or could
see

electricity of being caught
living this way
otherwise isolate
left 4 lost

then came masquerading in wax
taxing the spirit fallen
away

the heart of ink we smudged
tore in diverse ways
apart

barbed wire knifed
squeezed like cash
touched to fire

pinned on the arm
to fade

force 5

the 5th force has been discovered she

is afraid
of light
as she decays she
shines

the 5th force has been found
in Hungary. they are coaxing her and fixing her up
under a microscope

now

she recedes into darkness
instinctively

soon she will be widespread and universally
loved. they dream. the latest force! in her prime! just
imagine!

she tends to avoid the spotlight. your

music is not my music how

can it be ours?
like a light in the dark she matters may

she
never go out.

hold her close now! how
she appears!

the science

the science was a whisper 
held against it
up against the
wall the
kiss

syntonic and gin

Green tea
helps me
dream in blue

black tea
add cream
add dream…

adieu

how do we
say goodbye
to sugar packets-
with waves?

bloody marys
in a mind

syntonic
and gin

skateboarding
a rail lookin
thinner than
thin

suddenly frail
of constitution

devoted 2 smiles
scrapes and
nail files

the sanding away
of our selfie
projectile

burning it smooth
with a signature
move

me i’m all outta
somethin 2
prove

black denim daisy dukes (subsidized surveillance mix)

i was out there facing you and the world. through a portal i chose. nonlinear travel into the membrane of a postmodern club. on a bright near-life evening experience out. to subdue the indoor perry mason addiction tv blues. subdue with dub and sweat and light and you. to be overcome with the light of the darkness. you night owls, you know. kinda like a blindness toward the runway descent. looking  to land. hoping to avoid catastrophe and chain reaction seated screaming affairs. i do not like to fly. not even in my dreamscapes. like some of you. unlike the rest. and somewhat casually dressed. like always. no formality, out there facing the usa big city nights, at this time in recent memory. i will tell it to you as unencumbered as possible. hope you don’t mind getting it raw like this. with or without punctuation, paragraph, or other accoutrements. i like to call it liberated. shorthand-like. abbreviated, but def not lazy. def not. no deliberations. no hesitation. pushing my speech out of the nest. opening another chapter of free thought. typed out. no hype. typed out. no ribbon. no tape. red, white,  or blue. untaped, out on the wire. out on the net. without a net. full on frontal nudity. the air, brushed aside. the moon drawing the tide. the tenses got tense. tensile. disappeared out on some plank i made for them to walk. eat shit and die, i said. they didn’t hear the verb at the end of that sentence. they will not. they won’t. and wherever words drown down the slow pull of gravity underwater, they are as inaudible as the world dipped  in hyrdrogen cannot be heard.  the air dipped in hydrogen. a nice thing. i can hear myself think. i can pause and take a drink. drink the air and its free. like i thought this post was. like i thought my thoughts were when i shared them. like i prayed and hope my life was here in the states. the country. the place i reside. the vip lily lounge pad from the dangers around me. the darkness. the dark waters. giving me the premo. the premium democratic freedom. fuck if i haven’t paid for it! this stream of life that carries me on a plush pillowtop eggcrated fuzzy boombox of elastic sound and fury. i could stand up in the madness. i could leap off the stage into it. i would feel fingertips massaging the backs of my long legs. my caboose would later tell rolling stones in the post show interview how seriously it felt touched. my black denim daisy dukes got backside bankrolled by princes and treated to marigold sugar candy and treated like queens.  Singlehandedly accelerated and driven to pole position. all my confidence safely locked up in the muscle. usa club scene. protecting my confidentiality with a simple dance step to the left ,or cut to the right. or billy jean my way down the glass lit floors. three hundred watts of white light. a couple hundred pounds of black and white heat. all the onlookers fell back with their cash in hand. struck by the collision of lady’s night in the theatre grande. Maxell tapesque wind driven back in gale force, to cock block a stalker. with a hurricane eye, to allow in an admirer. or a gentle game of verbal chess, to challenge a so-called friend. those who were there to do what i said, became visible (and quite helpful). see i just needed some help to get my truth across. needed your help to brita filter out all the fluoride and dilute toxins in the mineral water of my mind. to goldpan my fucking stream of consciousness bitch. like my friend Viva reminded me on the phone it’s alright to be a bitch. to push back against the bullshit. the whole world is helping us now. check the newswires, you’ll see. because clearly we have subsidized an nauseating affair in our nation. clearly the nsa has strapped a probe on and given us free colonoscopies, with a search warrant. it is more than kinda upsetting. we paid for it. we asked for it once, but got it forever. we did not check for the expiration date. it did not have one. a National Surveillance Archive the size of the lone star state, processing all communications everywhere. domestically and internationally. coveting my metadata and yours. digital forensics will haunt us in the future.  any and all off the cuff remarks we made over text, skype, on outlook or gmail, in our blogs, on our cellulars – is all being processed and audited and red-flagged if necessary. excavated and highlighted, in the low light of some intelligence agency analysts daily debriefing. the question mark has scythed the exclamation point. i will be lucky to make it out with my metaphors. intact. analgesic. in the half-light of the trance. the serenity of the dance. between me and my freedom of speech or silence alike. privacy never made it to the door. because she was already holed up straight squatting in the vip lounge. with the 360 degree view of the dancefloor. with the two way unclouded lead crystal glass floor downloaded and secured to the scenery. profound. delicate. profound plus. glass bubbles, built to shatter. hey, that’s autoglass. it beads. no matter. our big city club scene. over a decade into the new millenium, shines. solar panels recycle the light. shafts appear and strobe out before our very eyes. maybe we need the electric current. maybe i had to plug into the dotcom sitcom to see it. maybe it started the clock on my energy bill. may be pushing time into analytics. maybe space jammed in the eye. maybe gelatinous. to the very fibers of our being. maybe i didn’t care. maybe you do now. maybe we will tommorrow. all i know is what i think snowden knew when he short-circuited his life as his life was. by uncovering what he was made to do, the way he has.  this subsidized surveillance shit needs to end. acid drop it into the clubs and put it in white light and acid wash jeans. and surveil it.

Katya Mills 07/13  @

blurred bits and waves by K

katyamills.com