you cannot fight her. she’s the ocean

you cannot fight her. she’s the ocean

by KatYa

i went to the ocean and crashed into a giant wave; it was like a slate wall, transparent green. i had only a white undershirt on when we collided and black boyshorts underneath, and the wave did not hurt but it slapped and broke into many liquid particles which could not be traced but pulled my hair down and stuck to my face and neck which felt pretty good, and beneath me everything was undulating with a calling, sucking motion, calling me, fizzing, and i was not scared though i was unlike the giant scaly bodies underwater, deeper out; i knew she would not hurt anyone unless they fought back, you cannot fight her she’s the ocean. i did not break in my black and whites, in the rainy day greens and blues of the undertow, i just stayed together and let the ocean cry and pull me, and the salt to dry in the bubbling nest of spit and foam. i went with the ocean and i guess i disappeared, i mean the earth did not know me, nobody looked for me, or if they did they did not find me, but someone missed me, somewhere, i just know it. i could feel them and saw them in my routine kelp readings thereafter. Mostly it was my family, so far away but still caring and loving me a lot, maybe more than i would know, the otters suggested, teaching me the art of cracking mussels. i lay my head on a current, listening to the ocean, and traveled to new lands never before known, in a sea bubbling like soda, the many colors peeking up off the crests of the waves crashing inward far from us on the inside looking back to the shore, and the earth now was scary, dropping off of the level, and the sky quite unfeeling, unhelpful at best, but we didn’t care… and i slept peacefully, peacefully, there.

some green some whole some light

Fuck I have been cold.

I have been frightening cold, I have. Until some small smile some light 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 brilliant yellow, lighter than gold yet darker than lemon, and loved and even lusted after between air steam rising top of the crucial consciousness sitting on your shoulder, lying close to the earth…

On soft ground with soft soil sinking ever slightly like the dopest egg-crate city beneath the back, while the mind, still boiling hard, hand shakes the rising roof of random screaming of kettles.

A world of color. World of meaning. A world of green lights gone red gone yellow. A life I missed if I blinked. A world dark and cold when the brownouts roll black again. Dark and cold in the big electric heat in the cities. Most backed out on the tidal pools like the undertow. The sharks would get them out in the big blue. And maybe me and you. I winced when I caught it all on shark week on discovery channel. The animal would otherwise have escaped me. The animal within me would come out come out, wherever I was, at inopportune times perhaps, yet invaluable kinda lesson to anyone and me…passion so passionately. I found source in there somewhere.

The multitudes go and they flow, like all natural life and not always pretty. Sometimes the internet flashmobbed them together. Sealed in wax and coaxial cable. Sealed to go with the flow… with the go with the flow. Pick and move. Sometimes impressive. For a good cause. Other times random and human and flawed. Other times stupid, just plain ignorant mentality. Like kkk marches on martin luther king junior’s day. Like evolution has just hit a curb and fell out.

Culture gone in a circle, and come back to the start. Trifling. Awful. Shocking. Atrocious. Condemnable acts blurring out the true focus. The f-stop got jacked by some cellular phone, and minolta got bought out by some fully-automated drone; behind the lens of which stood some sunday bananas.

Don’t let this distract you now, I told myself, you only have so much time. Come back to the life, and be your best friend.  Come back to yourself. Dust off the old ways. Look around you.

Come back to the refrigerator and all that’s inside. The carefully-cut icebergs ziplocked in the drawer. Come back to the dubsides, come half-baked with home fries, and toss out all those lies and the sidewalk thrift threads. Well maybe not the labels. Say goodbye to the waiting, and thaw out what’s cold. Let down your long blonde. Open up the long halls and sweep out all the crap.

I was sent that curiosity, the one that fills the soul. I opened it with a butter knife. The dreams still inside. I was stamped with experience I never thought nor would believe. I was sent to myself… and with some dreadful anticipation, received. Sent without tricks, without sleeves. Kinda like a caramalized onion, in an envelope.

This is the don’t know, now you know part. The grow on you street that my feet touch and meet there. Pavement so hard, almost killed fred astaire. And took out all the spiritless shells of the species. Wicked cold and unforgiving, something wicked comes this way. I had to flashmob it with all my cell memories. I had to keep moving, keep writing, find my thirst there neglected.

I realized then, I really had to do nothing. I got to do everything I had not finished doing. I got to kick down the doors to my own fucking taste buds. I got to touch memory deeper than waters underground. And below the earth below the water, where my spirit then penetrated, I found my heart again, wrapped in bubble wrap, bee stung with preservatives, ready waiting. And my heart’s telling me kindnesses I cannot even begin to describe… I won’t start cause I am finished, but let me say this…

I found myself filled with some green some whole some light.