reading #87


random free thought

We are bodies we are animals and then dead. we are energy we are light we are darkness we are dead then alive. we are angry we are happy we are grazing star gazing and thinking we are free we are imprisoned we are special we are selfless we are powerful we are alone we are in love we are aging we are regressing progressing learning forgetting remembering. theres nothing to do but be what you are and then be what you aren’t anymore and be something else and keep going? how can you not keep going? like its within our control to fast forward rewind control time place good bad whatever so you just do what you do and be who you be and thats it. i think so. sometimes i’m more optimistic sometimes despairing sometimes just okay with everything and nothing u know. i got laid last week and first time in a year or more and it was fantastic to be. he was a little inconsiderate but not on purpose and i got myself off after. a good friend of mine (not some stranger) and just happens to be uninvolved (don’t ever fuck strangers anymore, it’s no good!) i was a puzzle. now solved.  — KatYa (this fragment was inspired by Chloe and JH).

broken ends

broken ends never end

Sometimes I paint my nails. Or I polish them, without painting. French manicure is my favorite style. I like to grow my nails out and the paint helps strengthen them so they won’t break. But I play guitar so I usually cut them back. Or they break when I am doing the dishes or working on my bike. I have not been to a salon in over a year. I highlighted my hair myself, and there are many broken ends, but I don’t care, just let it grow. Life is full of broken ends so you might as well do yourself a favor and accept it and move on.

I don’t mind if I look wild. I rarely wear high heels or dresses. I never really did much anyway. I am fluid in gender expression, identity and sexual orientation. I have been with men and I have been with women. I have fallen in love with them, or not. I never really saw myself as one or the other, exactly, but somewhere in between. My fashion is mostly androgyn. I wear what makes me feel comfortable and confident. Because confidence is sexy. I am tall and thin. Light on the dimensions.

I’m not at all interested in being admired for my looks or my intellect. I would rather be known for a kind heart. I challenge myself on a daily basis to convey the loving spirit in my heart. I tend to get shy and reticent with people, I mean my spirit, which is why writing has been my medium. I learned early how to express my true self to you with words. And it is essential for anyone to shine in their own chosen way. So go on. Let’s not be shy. Shine!

2008 (reasons to live)

She met a guy on the streets of San Francisco, she was looking to score and she would, like usual and it was two thousand eight maybe, a distant cry from straight, well she met a guy randomly and they went back to his place to fix, and they made it all night in his place, in front of his roommate who was twice their age and they were pretty young, and the dealer was just down the hall, one of a thousand boarding houses in the city, and it was all just a knock on a door away, the instant sorta gratification and the excitement of strangers meeting in the night, and taking a dare, scoring and fixing and fucking and all that sorta nonsense kids in their thirties engage in, and he knew nothing of her past and she knew nothing of his, and they didn’t fucking care! The old man thanking her for letting him watch and stare, wow, what the fuck came into vocabulary that night and then the dawn, and they had made it like all night, she thought there was some music maybe but who could remember? When two became one and then smiling when she come and then and there she goes, walking on down the street, picks up the car after a wakeup and a spike, drives a couple blocks back and puts on the hazards in the excitement of the high and the rain, and the flashing yellows and here he comes again, running out the door and get inside! and they drive to safeway for some odwalla and iced coffee and maybe something to eat, and there’s an easy connection in the lot, thanks a lot, thanks a lot, and they are smiling and back for some more? until noon when it’s all over, but gimme your number, she says, and he is thrilled to put the shred of paper in her hand, cause he knows she’s gonna call, a week later, and do it all over again. She drives away laughing and trying to fix her hair but it’s so obvious, hell, it’s so obvious so let it go and that’s wild.

erotiKa #88

not many miles of land
stand between

covered before long
from hong kong
with autonomy

then all unravels
in a strand of dna
plucked up from
the sand

the discovery
without age

comes the imminent

whip of six eyes caught
in mad uncovered

cracking inhibition
falls with silks
off thighs

caught off guard of breath
where imagining

casualty of the cut of muscle
toned reality

and before long..
a great and burgeoning towards

the whites of eyes
the cries

Book Review

Book Review: Tropic Of Cancer


road 2 sawyer point by k

sex. ex

with her

than the

in pain. on the linoleum

If you’re not in pain you are not alive. Sorry. I didn’t mean to call you dead. Wait. You’re just high on something. You’ll be alive again soon. Take the ice cubes out your mouth. Let them slide like melting snails down the stretch of your linoleum floors. The internet loves you. Your followers love you not. Your followers love you. Repeat after me. No clones. Only cyclones. There’s life in there somewhere. Inside your pentium processor. Dissemble yourself and tremble. Feel the pain of fear. Have courage.Your alive again, after all. Now we can stretch and curl up and all go back to bed. Sleep like adults. In pain.

Smoking is cool

Especially when it kills bad people. Smoking is cool. The way it heats the lungs. Smoking is cool. My subconscious told me so. Smoking is cool. I got triggered by old ads. Smoking is cool. The Marlboro Man died cool. I mean dead. Living isn’t cool. It’s tedious and painful. Not like smoking and dying. Not like sex usually. But sex is hot. Smoking is cool. I am an unreliable narrator. That’s cool too. Like net neutrality. Like hating Americans is cool in Iraq. Car bombs are hot. Like sex. In the desert. While smoking on a camel. 

Poetry by K (full moon)

the bloody truth

flash fiction
© katya mills 2014