killing -ii

a killer is lost like a river wandered off became a stream then an eddy then a trickle until it dropped off the face of the earth and dried up into nothing, so far from the source was it

flashes

flashes of pixel and chrome

The rivulets widened to small streams from slipstreams, then converged into rivers, and the leaders all washed away from one another on a tide of nationalist foam. votes cast for nuclear disarmament gone up in brilliant flashes of pixel and chrome. maybe subconsciously the world wanted to blow itself away. if it was unconscious, did that make it okay? the thought was alarming, so we encased it in plastic and sent it to sea. it looked good in navy. uncompromised. salt water couldn’t seem to break it down. permanent as a nike swoosh to the face. on a forehead. on a lace. demonstrably positioned yet so poorly placed.

i wanna be electric

i got my ticket to chino in the outskirts of la trying to hit the grid and be captured by the cable i wanna be electric and extended stay america ina pocket just between the riveting room for you and me… a queen bed in a salt valley flat in the middle of november a room service setup so not to disturb alone in the center of a spiderweb of circuitry flashing mad in the pan like a siamese fighting fish all the betta to see you translucent of the soft sheets you ink on

bubble tea in the rooms of death

Conservatism surrounded me. A comfortable keeping to ourselves on the wings of transaction, give and take, society set up such that any otherwise lively action be tourniquet by predictable social etiquette, unnatural at best, dull and senseless concession to an all American model of commerce, profitable for sure and devoid of interest. I enjoyed my bubble tea in these rooms of death. Taking my sweet time, a sidestep from life. Only the tapioca between my teeth would burst with lifelike flavor amidst the somnolence. Then shot down the esophagus to the only exit from the constriction of our numbered days. God bless America.

soft blanket statements

The urge is to break away from the pack and recover my own heartbeat, whenever I am lost in the crowd, and like Debussy’s ‘Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun’ my pulse on its own stands wobbly and inquisitive at first, wishing for the comfort of the soft blankets left behind, and gathering my strength with the first light to see myself through to some incidental rhythm which might pick me up and love me a little and carry me, not unlike a waltz, a Kachaturian favorite at the Bolshoi Ballet, anything that begins to throb and push my blood out for more, more, more… ’cause what we have here is not enough, my friend, not enough at all to justify the effort life demands, no, to go on living requires an advancement of faith sometimes, a personal loan of decisive courage written off an account in arrears, I mean therefore a great risk of sorts only could be taken by a fool or someone who cannot fail. And that would be me, dear sir, enfathomed in the stabilizing clay of primordial pockets, ready to be fired and glazed, a modern day rockstar sold out to the streets and kicked by a label, stretched to the capillaries on short supply of sanity, appeal in the curiosity of all that’s gone wrong when dipped in the culture, coming out bold print with a comic sans striation. A modern day American girl with a penchant for obscurity and woven matte finish regalia. Loving you, loving life and ready for anything. Turning to old masters when I don’t have a clue, songs from the cemetery when there’s nothing better to do, yes, punching up the pulse to a lively arpeggio, ascending off a decline and here I sign.  – KatYa

journal entry. date unknown.

And suddenly the long uneven thickening and thinning motion which we followed for days,  to some terrifying expanse of the same substance, which slipped through our hands and burrowed easily into earth, endless before us; suddenly jumped up into the air, unseen, and  immersed us, standing there. We tried to take cover, yet still could not escape it.

I shivered so long. I knew not would we survive. One of us took on a strange chill, became quiet and very hot to touch. Then ceased to be anymore. Another one then began to shake and call. Overtaken by the bitter salty substance fell out the eyes for days on end. They, too, would soon cease to be.

The rest of us finally understood. We fell down before the mighty moving creature. We prayed. Then cupped our hands around it, breaking some off from the whole (though appeared unbroken), and looked at one another one last time; then took it to the lips and raised our eyes to the sky, open pale of neck, and let the substance seep into ourselves! A most unusual feeling as it reached down into me! Further!

We waited. We then fell one at a time, to earth, and fell asleep awaiting.

Then rose I know not when or how! And smiled! And embraced one another! For we were still alive!

From this moment forward, we drank and followed the uneven line of this great, mysterious, borderless, lightness of mass. Trusting. Cupping it in our hands and hollowed tree limbs. It led us to verdant wonders never before seen, or known! We listened and the sound, once frightful, was now soothing us to sleep. The air was fresh, and colorful at times!

And in the mornings, sometimes, as light awakened life… we immersed ourselves entire, in cool and friendly waters still. Life would never be the same.