Rolling allostasis -iv)

She was in her twenties, when she surfaced from the midsection of an iceberg, the frozen contents of some formerly fluid collective subconscious experience. In the middle of nowhere, mind you. A slow drip of unhappening. Congealed into living memories (consistency of molasses).  So she thawed from her heart out, and the ice around her began to soften in her light and heat, and collect supine at her feet. Aqua devotion. If water had hands… then prayer beneath her dry eyes. So rare did this sorta manifestation occur. The glaciers melt in their natural way before her. And she takes her damn time. You don’t hurry a glacier. You age it, like wine. Or wait for her to melt, to reference empirical evidence of global warming. Melting butter at room temperature. She never left the kitchen table. Painting her daily bread. Turning and turning yellow over time with the wallpaper. Gotta get worse before she gets better. Baby blue with white flowers, soft and malleable. Almost vulnerable, fallible – almost human again. As she wishes. As they want her. Sorry says the fight inside her, delivering the roundhouse Queen Anne Victorian style. Round one…TKO. From a frozen warrior #2 asana. Feel the heat. Sauna.

by Katya Mills, 2013

Creative Commons Licensed

published @ http://www.katyamills.com

Rolling Allostasis, Revisited (http://katyamills.com)

Then as life goes you find you get into something so completely, your persona, you know, what you do, maybe it’s also your purpose. You are flooded by it, simply deluged by something no matter how big or small, valuable or cheap, honest or sold… then you look around and find that many people know more than they let on, maybe more than they think they know anyway. Maybe they act like they know. Maybe they know how to act like they know. Maybe they know nothing. Maybe they know they know nothing.

 

Maybe you’re in trouble. Maybe in need of ssris or deficiency restorative vitamin shots. Maybe you need a friend. Maybe you have been befriended, but befriended’s not enough. Maybe you must be be witched. Maybe you need to eat a sandwhich. Maybe you need a who, what, when, where, or which? Maybe you do not know how. Maybe you tipped a cow. Maybe you need to stuff your face with facebook friends. Maybe not.

 

Did you include your exclusive in your earthquake kit? Tape your affirmation tape to your thigh? Or maybe they have been overdone, your fears and worries.What if theres nothing the hell wrong with you, anyway? Just experiencing lots of feelings, every day, just feeling your way into life? What if good news ceded from a thorough understanding? What if you can take those worries and put those fears in the archive; zipped, compressed, silenced.

 

You become salt.You become larger than your sediment trail. You travel horizontal, vertical, and your journey loses steam but gathers momentum. You are way off track. The meaning increases strength on the y-variable continuum. The x-variable gets jealous and steals percentage. The z-constant puts x in chex. Accepts no substitute. Tastes best with y and x. Don’t ask why, go on to the next.

 

Truth with truth. A wholesome meal. More than a steal. Always relative, sometimes changing, hard to define, exacerbating cultures dis ease, serves her right, culture! With a side of yogurt for acidophilus contagion. Served on a platter to memorialize the cajun. Always tryin to come off as ‘fine’. Fucked up, insane, numb, emotionless. Probably headed to the liquor store to check out again on wine. Achilles heel you cant smother under that blanket of persona perfecta you present to the world…gotta be your shaking hands.

 

You’re Shaking hands– with your divine.

 

By Katya W. Mills

03/13/2013

http://katyamills.com

https://kissilent.wordpress.com

on being hopelessly american… (cross-post off www.katyamills.com)

Cause im american i can blame culture for the disconnect.  Can’t I? Try and stop me. I’m unites states of american. I’m confederation of insults. I’m patriotic beyond hope. I’m guilty of policing. I’m incapable of being anything less than controlling. But I may be less guilty of policing, more guilty of blaming or controlling, i suppose. Only because I am in and of the usa, a victim as much as a loyalist. i have been policed to a T. i have been jailed on false charges which were dropped. I have been scapegoated for things more than a majority were presenting with. i have been cited for marijuana. i have been harassed for self-medicating. i have been judged and accused for crimes i am not capable of committing. I will look you in the eyes but you may wish you hadn’t asked for it. i may look down or away just to concentrate. i am in and of the united states, yet if you really wanna know the truth? i am germanic in heritage. i am Russian in origin. and i don’t mean that’s where i was born. No. but St Petersburg, in the eastern realm? that is where my soul was seeded. I live in california. we call that the west. yet its a couple dozen hours drive from the pacific ocean off western Alaska, where their once was a land bridge which crossed to the far east. So absorb that if you can. Taste the salt in the air from the sea. I did. and i realized i have not gone west like it appears. i have simply gone closer to home. far east.