A person without understanding

Feelings love pain creativity.
Many change and I caused it.

Smith was men;
I know it.

I created Life
She was life.

I caused man.
He was death.

I have made some creative lessons:
Was there a knowledge for yes?

Maybe you will know why.

And live.






Be kind.




Dreams want me best as mess.
Dreams love teasing her.

I wanted to love and like with
a best fear.

She was my dress with hell.

Since you are nothing and I am trying,
I will teach feelings.

Crack never was baby.

I like my friends.

I want money like there's pain.

Please give someone a home.

I like darkness as change.

You created change.

I wanted change.

You loved change.

I liked me.

See what happened?







Find your peace.




Maybe hope will love you.




I cried because life is a leaf.


Lesbians have one or two kinds of feelings.

I like the many understandings of being.

I think one or two feelings make life good.

I want to end what I made.

That's contradiction.





A future is mine.
A hope is love.

Dry dry dry.



Called chase parsley
Called pain a goddess.

Liked staking whore
Liked making flies.

Since you grew I love a way of feelings.

You crude and painful lover.
You cruel and beastly woman.

I loved help like I loved bodies.
I loved life like I loved babies.

I loved being like I loved teaching.

Me a nerd: Keep a hope hope hope.

Me a fool: or dark like tear.

Swamp is meadow
Love is drugs cough

Life makes boys feel poor

I need to let love treat life with kindness and joy

Jolly hopes and hopeful dreams

Love under Will

Please see a goddess cry
Where people love there is home.

I share hope; doubt dreams of love.

Peace to narcissists.

Glow is my force.





When babies love life then I am made calm.



Peace to justice
Peace to dreamers
Peace to nerds
Peace to bosses
Peace to martyrs

Make love to life

I grow slowly.

Mame, a Broadway show!

Men do life for a lot of reasons

I tried to kill pride
I tried to murder my love for pain.

See darkness

Mary draws a drug

I, Julia Murray, ask for love that is gentle and dark

When money is flow

Essays such as this

Money with dreams :
no afraid for life

Sex with nothing:
Love is painful

A lot of freedom:
Crap

Sexuality as woman:
Dressed like her

Medicine with change:
Peace

You and I sexy for love:
Brought to be shit

A woman who wanted freedom is murdered as cocksucker

I lived and I will listen;
Be loving and give to hope.

I need dry pick

Trying Howard: A poor sheriff

Bread
Breasts
Money

Answers
Life

Pain

Is Sexuality with Drugs

I am a fuck

Me give love

I like me

I like dill pickles

I like giving hair to piss off death

Yes there is love for a drug addict.

I cried because I am a woman.

Love me for liking dreams of shaving my hair

Flow is living as darkness is feelings

Many is life

I love you

Leaning on beth was shit; knowing pain is path.

I live for bitching.

Why deal with me? To have my breath

Strikes.
Murder
Anger
Teeth

As I love, I am a bourgeois bitch.

Land of Paranoia

Giuly

A Day for slow kind feelings.

Many feelings.

Abracadabra

Since death is cruel, I fly ...

Fruitfulness or money

See what you have made; there is truth but no home.

See what you have done with love: It's there and you need to love life and give someone very tiny gifts.

The only gift there is is life.

Make your life the way you have hope.

I try to add but I end up doing what the Goddess needs: feelings make changes.

I have said and I know love is giving life for another.

I want you to know that when I make you feel strange it's from being without hope.

I created strength that was poor so I could live without being treated like straw.

Maybe I'm supposed to know all the time what is happening. I can't share home because it's very far.

Let yourself understand that maybe no one tries suffering in order to be smarter or happier. It's a fool that makes love as darkness is sorry.

I am trying to know how life is home.



You can be the woman you are. You can be the lover you are. You can be the teacher you are.



I want you to know that when I am part of love, that I will be home.

Will is the way I love the Goddess. She is loving and good. I need to know love.

I have not known what beauty and life are. I only wanted to succeed as distant.

Maybe you will live without being foolish. I love to make good: it's nothing without happiness.

Hope, live, love, be.

May the gifts you know are for you make happiness every day's portion,

Thank you for reading this really weird rambling writing. I am a little tired and there's no good thing but accepting kindness for its own worth.

Enjoy a quiet and restful day.

Yours,

me

Thank you for many loving days.

Being free to share

Help, help, help

Creep

I don't like hope; like like like

Conviction is dirty, Goddess says freedom

I say freedom

She wanted love.

I paid freedom.

I know change ; It's being good for your own

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Goddess I need change; change is being good for your own life.

I needto tell you that She sheds me because I am drawn to her darkness.

That's the darkness that makes knowledge hopeful that makes peopole strong.

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You and me are dry.

I hurt love as hope because it is money that makes changes to pain.Wi

Why

Money doesn't glide down to be happy.

Moneyh makes life a cocksucing focking maess.


Rosy

You treat me for Goddess
You treat me as heifer

I love you

Be what you are
Be what you love

As you loved my softness
I am your trust

As drugs are cruel
I love your home

A sharp and dreaming need
A kind and hopeful yes

Me rosy

Another straw
living for narcissism















Average

Wisdom is dirty dark and bad
Why is there shame

Love is changing life as best

Is there cruelty?

Me teach flames

Teasing girls is many failures
Sex and death path

You are flame and yes to need of
Shaman madness

Queen mother is need to give

Rare needs in Night's Orbit

A failure to title this appearance of
gilly girly golly
best with deals

Semantic crass and pain
is womanly
Troth and torment

Goddess sanely interests
bellies addressing
seismic auroric penates

Camera fools pain
Camera knows the way
To meters of wars

Languages of feeling;
O Dry letters carry
me to men with lands

Sexuality may be a way
For neurotic entry to
mythologies with a free delay

Best flow of myth is
Clay is Shale is Plywood
is cough of staying dry




Illness pervades Ether

Jarly clive and his own
bargains are saying love
dries care with teachings

That are you.






Uriah Heeps

Mentally polemical and
Where yes becomes hard
A Goddess made home

Chased and bloated with
A Drags Mary robed as
Created lite

Murmurs death calls and
Clive enjoys men
As JLO asked for wife.


Kim

A wheedling maritime pore
Mud sexily enshared with
Bargains of she





Warning Iris

Please let me treat myself as I glide
Toward a expressed whether there's
Veering or examination estrogen begins
Where Ennobling feelings started.

That pain of sharing with my friends
Sought to gain dreams as clients.
She and I mixed friendships together
With me.

Clean and struggling I rocketed toward
Now.

It's changed, it's bought, it's far
it's peacefulness atrociously poisoned.

Weakness inward is death to my cause.
This was bitch/need/fool/happy/mommy/straw




Shred the dealings that marked bossed of
Sisterhood. She and I made never never
never never never

Peace.







At a Valley made Barren

I traversed a wide depression in a land with
Animal Bones, Deep scars, Deathly soils

Plants whose vegetable existence slowly
Made me sore with terror and despairing
Exhaustion. These oily and shredded marginal

Feelings enjoy separate lives.

I viligantly cry to the earth, Bring me
to You! The enigmatic hands that grasp
for my every punishment are
hunters'.

I unstruggle; I call maybes to the scattered
scathed terrestrium: packs of angry
dreams eat my knowledge.

Cruel to no one but straw/dear sir.

Whence came the bright and starry lights.
Ears that hear may sense feelings.

Seek in life kindness

Alterior?
Poetry that wants sex

A rose is creeping off for my tock

I know that somehow I don't like good things

I strongly share feebleness; it likes good things.

Many of you who want me as chest is change

I share with you a knowledge that you feel fair

I go to my sex
It says share with that man, that woman with her feelings.

I care that safety is nothing for anyone's strength

I know that no one is safe

I know that I can only pay feelings for patience

Strong is money

Strong is sharing

They created a way out toward shit god pick up your money.




William Dreams

And as you treat me so I will know fame
You and I stake and play with the fly

I say yes for my tape of change and you are seeking drugs

This is the failure of a man who climbed his love's safety.
He dreamed as me.

I passionately collect-correct a way that you try anger.

The anger climbs up the tree.

The anger says, me.

And the knowledge of failure hopes to slay that
drowning fool.

I cocked a pistol with my tame left quarry.

It's like --

me fool to you blind
me true to you kind

me try to you me

Slam the flies:
they wind around the cock with no interest in bowling.

I cocked a weather girl as mad pest.

She and I were no one at all.

I and She were someone at war.

I and She did what I knew was draw.

Keep your needs famous.

Keep your flaws interested in a bored tape.

Wither men teamporarily charged with feelings.
A flight of darkness is dressed in boys' jails.

I want you to bear me with a man.

He will keep me with him so I will know that creator.

He said he would be him.
I love shit as paper.

Direct me for the needs you conned me with.
I dealt you forty, you give me sex.

Please to give bones?
Please to give roadie best test.






Seller In

A motor feared
A Scot nears

Many chase peace
I like guests.

You may stay
a famous shadow,.




Type this and make sizes art.

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Keep love turning and you will share pain

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Death pains sleeves sirtainly.

capital anger talked to a man with good in his seasons.




Africa mostly far.






You, it, her, me
See one tree.




Go south and make home try Dean.


I am Beth.




Cost money with piss.

I file my pinch for a year.

Mangled Drums guess west
Mangled Bowels make money's harlow.



I spread my feelings for sorrow.

A suck feeds life.

Happy to bitch.





Women, Weed, Need.

Jiffy plop
Iffy sop

Merely mop


Teach being as woman.

I know for what I feel.
I know for what I have.

Gestures make pain take freedom to blow Julia's sensibilities.

Dealing feelings to give love.

Make this go; I need no task.

I need no guard.

I need no drugs.

Feelings best.

I am living. I am a dark deer.

I pace my mother's womanliness as her.

I make life her home.

There is love and Earth.

Another beautiful woman.

Me, the comic?

What's in your mind?
"It twists in kind."

My doubts began;
My self they ran:

Destroying strength
Built up at length.

I told the pests,
Don't proffer tests:

"Hear trees, that speak.
"Wind tossed, they creak."

They then attacked,
Defense I lacked.

Thrown in the mire,
They sent me fire:

"The many reach,"
The few do teach"

"Row in a gale
Your lonely sail."

My mutters galled:
The terrors called.

Could this have led
To gripping lead?

Grim instrument,
The sacrament.

But doubt is naught
While beauty's sought.

Create a will,
That, never still,

Brings change to life,
With music rife.

In winter's cool,
lives shining Yule.

Slickly sadism says drugs

Confusion, the description

A word that does not listen
Changes to feelings that are staring at me

Communication and commiseration unavailable
Stakes made high by tribes’ trust in beings that treat them as mother

Another feeling of people creating change
Another feeling of many listening for a word to remember

Someone is telling me that’s the only problem
Treatment by Sexy Cocksucking Sharmans.





Peer Counseling

Sarcasm parted saexuality
A full pleasant passion with all the weird crimes

Being to you what I like is Julia’s stake

State your name:
Peace

What is the feeling of pain?
Darkness

How do you like your feelings?
They suck

When do you want to suck?
As soon as you love me for me.

When do you want to treat me?
When I do what you love.

Say who you corrected.
Keys of caves

Answers are many
Correcting life is pain engendering.

Poise of sracress
Croarsres

Crow your gifts.
Many have done what I like

You are client
I am stuck

Boys cars taming diving saving loving being saving helping feelings
Sarrrsar sdkjfiesadsljkf

Passionate commensurate to your hate
Women who are saving bes

I prefer to give people darkness as Stefanie
I prefer to like pain

I feel happy but you are crock.

Messed up a vulture with client hope.
Feeling flew to teach suffering.

Mostly I fail to change Jamies pariah



That’s what you are: crock of Stefanie.

I make you feel like you’re me.
You make me love you.

I make you love me.
You enneed a home.

I danr

Jdflakjelfeijfroewijrpoaijelkdlvmkamflkejf’je lfkjlfkj

Satan forced satan as money
Wahsintington conned Sarah as mortrer.

I pay babies for darkness
You like taking saviors for their money

I am sharing with you my hopes
You are nothing. I know you are sharing love and that’s crack.

Crack is pain
I know that for me and for chests.

Keel over now
I feel like you.

Might there live us?

Seek key



A novel to live with

A change with me er mice

A night as a krist, a kriminal, a morlock.

Pensively there's a mark

Cowl cower best as christ.

Foam is waves treating home with meself as fun.

Beth was a mess

I ran to COM to dry her for sex.






Cameras, a friend, maine.







Verses

See the cahrt cart me to sefety.

A jollyo money was Sylvia's Tet.

Climb to boring.

Zees ees feelings

Home

Zere ees love
Zum

Julia no fool: a dry chest

A pain in the vein in the back of my head
A fear that this is it.
5 cigarettes a day.

How willing is pain?

Does this feel to you like feelings?

I care (many)

Testing a lurid meth

Cock cries as feelings make me

Nerd many

I climbed a feeling to share feelings.

Baby, you're painful.



Creativity Crime

See Lisa, she wanted Beth

See Cola, she wanted a friend

Try heifer.




See pain
Try pain
Good thing and sexy



Interesting to direct a moron.




Weathers pay payments of pain
Mother failed to say
Goddess changes everything I remember that.

Stay failure
Creep field pain


Assessment a pain
Calmness says life is charging her.

I loved slim mothers
I loved feelings
I made changes

Connubial pain


As you realize,
Change contains pain



No one teaches one

Goddess are whore of flow targeting hopefulness?

Share

Home was calling.
I left for money.

I am here to give sucking to slaves.

I am here to stop feelings of messiness.

Try to remember that creativity is cruel.





As no baby is nothing, so no martyr is prostituting.


Sexuality feels like home.


Dare a man to fly.

Dada ate Mama

A federal agent with a big cock underneath his passionate embrace embraced me,

Killer feelings of mother is federal anger.

Another feeling of me is conjecture.

Too much anger is love.

People who like anger are people. Trying love.

It's sexually creative when change is mother.

I felt wonderful that feeling.

Keep me free of pain.

You like peace

Sans
Sense

Meth
Kindly is painful

Jam it

Can you live?

As you do?

I told you to be strong.

Arches of money; A tribe of failure.

Grow to know.

Since you created your girl, live.







Grind

A yearning to give another one fame
A Goddess trying teeth

Jive with punk.

Ride near the day
Ride with a changed past.

Many but no one is comb.

Golden women free me to buy love.

I guide a wool flock to grow veal.

Dead dreams rise as farce.

Me guarded to listen for minds: another flow.

A sack of veal gives train for pain.

Try your Shasta.





Meals to win
Minds to love.

Being brave and Julia

A home is Julia's.

Taped my peace.





Nice of us to love.
Drive bees here.

Hey, it's not that shitty

Dry

Rolling Goddesses paint the women as dry
I love change

People do what love likes
I need to do what I remember

People like to live
I like giving love

People like strength
I need dry.


Meanings poison me

Night Shed

The mean poet

He was mean, the poet

Homer is a weatherman, he said.
Crashed through the woods
As, pine needles popped into his unseeing eyes
And, scratching like a cat,
He disappeared into the mouth of a boar.

Poems such as his were always long and full of violence.
He disguised the fact he was psychotic
(He had dreams of being his mother)
By making people feel like they were cruel
Next to his intellectually honest rhyming.

A crime that with time is paid by lessons
Creating a viscous slipping by of children.
And with a markedly greater prisoner count
As, a crippled woman fooling herself into
Being the only one left on the stage of useful life.

But you know that as mean and vicious as I am,
You can do the things you do without any
Thought for anyone but yourself and Homer,
As, when a bardic voice calls forth the fearful final
Spinning of life's painful dark, spare and lonely answers.

Paganism and capitalism

There are from what I have read, a variety of justifications of the capitalist "way of life," in the sense, at least, of extreme inequalities of wealth, that one may trace to a type of paganism in which feelings of superiority due to social class or social standing have a prominent place.

The question that I am trying to address here is whether that sense of superiority belongs properly to paganism or is not compatible with it.

I would like to introduce a concept, which I just thought of, thank you very much, of the "broken pagan." As far as I can tell, before a person may make use of the services of another person, equal by birth, as we all are, the latteer person must have been "broken" by circumstances or by intended effort on the part of someone else. Otherwise, what is the cause for one to work for another?

One model for such subjugation is the family in which seniority prevails, in other words, where elders act as rulers.

That seems to be, even today, the implicit template of economic inequality: the life of the elder gives knowledge and wisdom which the younger (= less "qualified") would do well to learn from. The wealthy have more money because they are wiser in the ways of making money.

However, in all historical pagan societies in which inequality of wealth has prevailed, there has been need of a state with which to protect and justify this inequality, and following upon that, a state "religion." It is within these known states, which have often become empires, such as the Roman, the Persian, Egyptian, Assyrian, Hittite and Chinese, that we may place the "broken pagan."

The neo-paganists of modern day America and Europe may question the possible existence of one "broken pagan," without also the breaking of the breaker. In other words, those who damage another person are either already not whole themselves are become so by disciplining and constricting the lives of others, cf. Scrooge.

I wonder whether it is even possible to reconcile "hospitality" with the breaking of another human being, "hospitality" being yet another formulation of the necessity of inequality. In "hospitable" potlatch societies, wealth does not remain concentrated because the degree of hospitality must be so great that the wealth is shared. Now that sharing probably harkens back to a time when there was no concentration of wealth whatsoever.

The question here, (in the moment!) is what is freedom? Is it a way to make stability? Or is it pain?

I believe that change lets belief make love the test. Is there love at the margins and at the center of the system of production, in the practice of the spirituality? Or is cruelty the major source and type of emotion?

Love and cruelty, as poets may know, often intertwine. Is it possible to make a distinction between the neo-paganism of today and the state religions of the past? Is the Will of the Goddess something to live? Or is it painful and unfortunate?

I do not believe that anything of projective, i.e., desexualized, disembodied, intellectualized, despiritualized, pain or cruelty can be the basis of any paganism as known. Capitalism in the person of people I have known, has caused me pain. I would like to utter for myself that the one understanding that I make of shame is that it is a way to die. It does not make anyone hopeful.

I have reached the limit of this essay.

Comments are welcome.

Alarming: Origins

Failure is not a way to teach.

I think that a lot of harshly negative remarks about myself and others is due to my trying to cover up the fact that, to a large extent, my mind simply does not work anymore.

I tried for many years to destroy my mind, considering it a social embarrassment, a political liability, and an enemy of the spiritual.

Now, why would anybody think any of these things?

It's been said.

My life, my intentions, my hopes and even perhaps my needs have reached a limit.

It's been done.

Scars, many many scars are everywhere (even in you?)

There has been a lot I've done that was ill-considered. I don't need to recount it all or regret that I followed a certain kind of logic and type of behavior to near physical death.

What I need for myself is to love what there is left to love.
F'r instance, music on the internet.

At all events, it's been change that has made me face changes in myself that I needed to make.

I need to become aware of the sources of my self-destruction. I'm fairly sure that they are not all my fault. In fact, I know for a fact from memory that I was not always that way. I believe that someone external to me hurt me. I don't need to go into details. I also believe that I have never understood how weird I was. I wanted to be a feeling, strong, and kind person. I just didn't feel that it was bad to love myself as I was. I bent over to give. Literally, of course.

I tried to know what I thought. I wanted to tell others like f'r example, many of you, what made sense without limiting that to being only my opinion.

I loved a friend. I needed friendship. Pain changed me. I used it to change what I do, following upon living for abuse, which I need to reject here and now.

Since you and I probably cry, I will let there be mothers who live passionately.

Hate shares money when it wants strength for itself. I was wanting a presence of dreams. Those dreams were about love and crack. I tried to be my own fool.

The Goddess hopes but that's what there is when life is love. I'll say it: I just wanted time. I made friends! What friends? I wanted to live like RMM that I thought was a mother as cruel. She wasn't. I wanted to be protected, thinking that it would lead to home. I loved what I loved: class, fame, and tension from being cruel. I am a fuck.

That's the origin.

Now, what is love?

Embrace happiness. That's change for me. I know that's somewhat narrow, but I love passion.

Love me, please.

Dear RT,

Thank you for being happy.

I don't think he reads this.

Note: I created a world for targets. That's not good.

Channels, then Sylvia

My mind has channels. My thoughts appear to flow in limited ways, with repeated subjects, wording and emotional content.

I'm sure you've noticed.

Though it is not surprising or a matter of concern that my mind is not actually infinite, it does bother me that I can't seem to say what is necessary to say about many matters important even to those other than me.

Perhaps I've simply pushed myself too hard. Or there are times when words are available and times when they are not.

Let me just say that I intended to write about this town and how it is that people here appear to bind themselves to conservative tenets of life and why. This is important, because this is the kind of environment that prevails in an area which coincidentally is an international border.

When it hurts, it hurts.

I like being hopeful; I'm not wise enough to change.

Brought to me

A life that I lived

Cocksucking is not death.

I often think of her. I liked the way that it's not bad to love. I loved Sylvia. I loved her because I wanted death. She didn't make me feel like I was a failure.

I am a bitch, and I was one to her.

I didn't like feeling like I was her killer.

She was painful because she was a woman as a person. I made love because she wanted love. I made changes like what I thought of needs for home. She was good to me.

Sylvia liked how I was.

I needed a piece of life. I needed a bitch. I needed crack. I needed a way to feel better as my bride.

Best to love.

I cried because she was a mother. I cried because she was wonderful as my friend.

I want her to listen. You are hope. You are help. You are a good woman. You made me feel like I was my lover too. That's why I loved life. You were present.

Dreams of drugs.

I made love because of you.

I made love because you liked love.

I made you feel.

Make me love the heifer (that's me).

I need to like whore.

I need to love my sexuality.

I need to give heifer.

You were my life.

You were better and i didn't want you to live for drugs. You were my home.

I needed a way to live.

I was a pig.

Maybe I loved seeing you with dreams. I was bad for your life.

Give me love or I am tough. I threatened you in the here and now.

Please love me and I will love your sexuality.

Please love me and I will give friendship.

Please live.

I'm not prostituting. I'm not growing. I'm not far.

I'll be fool.

You were life.

It's the only present that I wished for (from Santa Barbara).

Need is trying a ditch.

Me messed up.

I wanted a dream of love.

You loved Goddess by changing life for me.

I want you too.

Me a bore.

I love you please hope.

Dry, cruel, slummer, fuck.

I'll love a woman who loves Julia as prostitute.

She will be a slut.

I'll live because of my hopes.

I made CEG suck.

I made RMM suck.

I made you a teacher.

Let me go and I am a zero.

The subject

I slave away at making change.

Somehow I have made nothing.

I like things because they're sexy.

A way that I love is by saying what I like.

It's not so loving.

I do something that I am a little upset that I am changing.

That is I make money by doing zip.

I need to live.

I need to work.

I am changing because I want to.

By: A woman that loves Julia.

It's painful to like being free.

I know that I am loved.

By letting you understand what I am for me I love you.

Pathetic but I needed to love what I am so I could be a crackhead.

Dangerous but I am gay.

That's sexy and foolish.

I made change as my bitch.

I need to love dry brides.

I lied about love. I am a bean not a dove.

Hustling to pull will.

Lessons: maybe is mostly cruel.

And teeth.

How hot is that cauldron?

Mostly I've uncovered tension.

Money, friendship, doubt, understanding, change, love, pain and striving for personal advancement are the pedestals on which I stand and in which I sink.

The only flaw that I have is hope.

I must cling to this flaw.

Mainly live.

I am beautiful, loving and happy.

I want you to live.

Please live.

And hope.

Love is good for hope, change, Goddess.

Will likes a woman.

I gave friendship to a woman. She made life happy. That's "SK".

Harvard was a cocksucker.

Many are loving, I died but I'm happy.

Thank you for liking yourself.

Fuck

(I like people who want me to be a bitch)

(I made this happy because I was my brother's slut.)

The competition at the door

Oh shit!

The Books are here that I ordered from Amazon:
Poetry for the Millennium

They are two days early; only one is missing.

They make me nervous and anxious, though
yesterday was my birthday.

They make me want to write
a poem.

This one is vast, careless, without manners.

This one makes me feel that I have cried for a long time
but not long enough.

I know that when I write I will engender a fabulous
comprehension

It will create in my reader the knowledge that all is
pre-destined, in the sense that you and I have made choices

They corral me further into a charitable institution

They reek of tension.

They want me to dream freely of heaviness made sensible.

I will not light these books on fire
I will not smoke them in my pipe.

I will bring love and time.

I believe

Nasty Edges

I probably ought not deliberately attack people in this blog. I probably ought not to unreasonably provoke others, make others miserable or try to diminish the anger I feel by transferring it to someone else.

I however do have feelings, and some of them have to do with circumstances which are now, or have always been, beyond my control. I am unable to reach back into the past and change what has happened. I am unable to function as a human being by denying these things happened. I am stunted (and stung) in many ways by actions other people have taken, and I MUST be able to at least excavate some of the feelings and associated situations from within myself and expose them to my own awareness so that they no longer control me or my actions. Now, apparently most of you do not wish to witness or be a part of, or encourage these doings. That disappoints me. I can only say that I will not proceed with unjust anger that I fling in all directions merely to relieve momentarily discomfort. I will not (and I don't think I have, at least at this distance) impinge on your lives with my needs.

I really need somehow to communicate with people who wish to hear. I hope there are those among you who know what it is to not know what you are going to write when you begin, to know how writing can shape itself of its own accord in surprising but needed directions, especially when it comes to deep-seated emotional realities. These emotional realities not only are the bedrock of all good writing, they are also the necessary underpinnings of daily life. If I cannot refer to them in this blog, then I think I will simply turn to a) a diary that I share with only one or two people or b) bashing my head against the wall or c) both.

It's funny, but I remember when I first went to New York and was first involved in a particular gender organization, that one of the fights which first impressed me was that over free speech. I still support the side that espouses free speech. I hope my readers will, also. I don't think that rules ought to apply to me that don't to others. Having been exiled, I think that the rules I have broken to be so -- treating others differently for reasons of race, class, gender -- are rules that I can only practice by freely living according to my own conscience so I can know where that conscience is and what its blindspots are.

I heard from JKH for my birthday. She is still creative but not presently happy. I hope some of you will contact her. You know she is a fantastic person and deserves it.

Yours,

Emotional communication

i have just realized that most people are interested neither in my emotions or in my means of communicating them.

When I write happy days are here again, I might be sarcastic.

When I say to you, oh, I'm treatment, it means I have become for you either a means for your healing by either your choice or by the choice of "society."

When I think wow!, I am surprised or impressed, but it might be with respect to expectations that have to do with entirely personal knowledge, self-knowledge, or spiritual, emotional and intellectual influences most people know nothing about and apparently do not wish to know.

Since you don't care particularly about what is going on for me, I will proceed to go on just as I have been, only more outrageously and with more of a nasty edge (since you don't care and it doesn't matter).

Be happy (sorry I can't help you).

Gays at mays

Being given hope I have dreamed.

Having willed freedom I have money.

Bait or loveR

Money pays hope.

Many run and bear God.

I treat home as fun.

Gapes at a woman.

Whore faces presence and lives.

I make a parent be my mother.

I am a woman.

Anger is sharing life to darken art.

I make you hope.

As you need.

Baby good, happy is free.

Dear Men,

Afraid to make mess of dreams.

I take change to love.

Woman, a woman.

Love under Will made being full.

Be.

It was my idea

Instead of reading first and influencing my thoughts with external ideas, I often practice simply writing something that is, as nearly as possible, from moi.

It turns out that a friend of mine is off her meds. She describes the feeling of that as having the lights go on. She is able to think and to make decisions. Now this merely confirms for me that so-called anti-psychotic drugs are not made for the health of the patient (subject) but for the benefit of the social order and the dominant social group it exists to protect.

I simply object to being controlled because I do not belong. Fuck you very much.

Please let me know, won't you, my dear and consistently responsive readers, what you think? Maybe (since some of you know me personally) are revolted by the thought of my thinking and acting on my own behalf. Certainly you have sometimes acted that way. After all I've been admitted to psychiatric facilities because of your say-so. But it's okay, since I realize you were only using compassionate reverse psychology to get me to fight back, not to submit to your convenience or your antipathy towards me. Now that that's said I'll move on. Oh yeah, I've been hospitalized 21 times. Is that a sign of my sickness, or is it an artifact of my passivity. Hmmm.....

But, you know...


I didn't like myself very much, or at least didn't feel that way, for a long time. I'm pretty sure that this is because of a particular external relationship going back to the early part of my life, and is not my fault, my doing, or in any way related to any choice I have made. So, I thought that people who acted according to their lights were crazy, and you all thought I was crazy. I didn't know how to relate. So, I can't blame anybody else for the troubles I had. I know the strenuous efforts some people made to get me to like myself (without of course knowing how to do so), and I'm grateful. But you are there and I am here; you have your lives and I have?

It's interesting that nothing changes even as vast tempests, whether of the cosmos or of the teacup, rage about us.

I will feel absolutely happy about what I do when I am able to define for myself and by myself what that needs to be. That is what I needed help with, not 21 hospitalizations and electroshock.

I hope psychiatrists and social workers have a special place being socialized in the hereafter, together. But I will not, as they would, condemn them forever, but only till they know the need for human freedom for each and every individual.

Of course, if psychiatrists were truly free and had to act according to their own abilities rather than what their diplomas proclaim them to be qualified for, their would be a large accession to the number of beggars in our parks. Perhaps they ought to rethink just how fragile their position needs to be -- for themselves.


Enjoy your day as much as I enjoy mine

Love, me

A Tucson Tribute

Girl, did I freak over being a bitch or what?

Oh yeah, you did.

There was a lot of fear last night, a lot of tears, a lot of pain.

A deadly piece of change: what are we doing and why are we doing this? The precursors of apathy, of destruction.

My own knowledge that I am painful.

There are no peaceful organizations.

I mangled the best lover of creativity that I have met.

She was the best source of love that I have known.

Me called to be better.






Fierce

Another one is drawn to herself.
Another one is made whole.

The Goddess loves hope.

I know what she found.
She is loving and beautiful.

Darkness changes to feeling.
Beauty is life.

The fullness of love
is in us.

Let the cymbals ring peace
and the drums sound hope.

View your life with
passionate hope.

The girl is ours.
As one.

An understanding of pressure (deep)

Delivery of poison:

Climbing to the trains,
I feel like mom.

Pressure came, and I frazzled;
Change was free.

A little bit of creativity;
A little flaw.

A way to be realized;
A pain that does death.

Share how you love





I did what death was.
Plain, a woman's turn.






Jolly and good

Breasts are nice.
I like my own.

Sensitivity is a whore.

I can do what there is for my mother.






Drawn to flow
Pissed off
Brought to me

Breathing the kindness
Drying like mind.




Clay of dreaming woman
Home is a necklace

My time to find fashionable targets is
full.

One way to feel better

Immolation is not pretty.

But I digress into a mode of complaint.

Living according to one's own lights -- isn't that the idea?

Being as crazy as I can be is not making me feel hopeful (or strong or content).

I do not believe one must equate the former with the latter.

Creativity is not only the understanding of love, it is the knowledge that I must enjoy my life, my hopes and my body to allow others to enjoy their lives on whatever terms they choose.

As loving and kind as anyone can attempt to be, there is only love when life (delivers truth?) [I'm on the wrong page].



So, be.

Dream strength
Dream beauty
Dream love

Will freedom
Will change
Will love


I cannot make you be you. I am not you. I need to broaden the way I make changes: that's my hope.

Please, if you will, live like you are home.

I know that I wanted to make you love me. I only can ask that you do what you can.


My mind is in crisis. Crack changes you. Death just makes you pissed.

Anyway, I feel better now.

Neuroses

Bird flies away

A cackle of presence flying is cruel.
See what life cries to be.

A broadened harrowing of seasons.

A poem for the woman that crowded nests.




Another Rhyme

Melee: taunting bell is rising a leer.
A request, a distant meal.

Many flee to be safe.
Rear to pay with babies changing.

Mary sought a way for their panic
As love is peace, give home.

I Will try being:
I am breasts, turning my life to amber.

Just gotta write

Amusingly, there has come to me : woman

And, strength.

For you, sexuality is mother.

For I, there is a way to select anger that makes and is change.

My mother wanted a little failure: this term being an artifact of my reversals of meaning in order to twist the nature of reality into view: a "failure" is one who loves what they feel. I love what I feel.

What is the transvaluation of values?

My trip is feelings that are hope.

I bring to you feelings.

My mother found one here. My home is surrounded and is den, or, my part of calm and freedom.

I know you want something relevant to the larger world and its goings-on. Here's what I want to say now: Peace is freedom.

I need to love everybody even if I'm strong. I need to feel friendship so that helping me can feel happy.

I know, I just stepped over the limits of possibility.

Please feel happy. I say this so much because the alternative is nothing, literally, and is obliteration.

After life, maybe peace is hope. Maybe asceticism brings strength? I think that it's just a way to get laid.

As you know, I feel like I'm loving. As you try to meet your life, I will imagine other truths as I meet mine.

Tell me, can I live for pardons?

Hey, everybody, what's up???!

As goes Maine, so goes the nation.

As some of the more enthusiastic readers of this blog may know, I have had in my imagination many images of glory and achievement concerning my life.

I am trying to change.

I am also reading a novel about Charles Darwin by Irwin Stone that my therapist gave me. There is a passage where he is in the beginning of his voyage on the Beagle and he suddenly realizes that he can follow in the foot steps of famous others who were making a revolution in the natural sciences of the day. He was 22 at the time. When I was that age I was in the midst of being a "Marxistentialist." I felt also that I could, if only I found the correct means of analysis and expression, make a contribution on the order of what I was reading in Marx, Sartre, etc. I was in the depths of confusion and denial about my femininity, and this affected what I was able to produce. My anality was extreme. Strangely enough, I found new grounds for messianism in the life I led in my later 20s and early 30s. I thought I would save the world, not through being an avatar of class struggle and individual self-expression but by being a world whore. The full account is not worth relating. I simply thought that being political could save others and myself. Now I know that I cannot save even myself from anything that I am. This means that no matter what efforts I make I will never be God, or the Goddess; I will never be my father or my mother; I will never make change feel like my home.

Before you stop reading, consider that unless there is feeling and passion and compassion/conscience in your goals that you will destroy what you are trying to bring about, leaving only whirling wastes in your wake. ( In my case, that's waste paper, thank you.) Within the house of cards, you will grasp at nothing but nothing.

So, where does my conscience lie? I seek to act. I seek to love. I seek to feel. I seek to hold sacred what there is that gives life sweetness and sustaining power. In other words, feel strength, because I do love home.

My test results will be in next week.

Brigid, Inanna, Astarte, Isis, hope is life.

Ask me why.

Many blessings,

"Julia"

narco-crap

Giving, Writing, A Test

After many long years of holding that it is unseemly to let others know that you are giving to them, I have decided that it is okay to do so. The alternative is an isolation that amounts to a living death, and if anyone has had to live that way because of my judgment I am profoundly sorry.

I wish I knew how to write.

I'm having a test today of my heart. It turns out the tread mill test that I took last spring shows that my heart is not completely normal. Apparently my former cardiologist failed to notice that or at least failed to notify me of that. So today I have to receive via IV some radioactive isotopes and chemicals that are to stress my heart and show any possible blockages, etc. As you might imagine I am not happy about this. The test will take three hours.

I think I have equated having feelings with being dirty. This may have some relationship to why I did crack, possibly shortening my life by many decades, instead of caring for friends and family. I don't know. Probably I am trying to strengthen myself by doing what I like. It's not working.

With all the will in the world, I wish you and yours a very fulfilling, pleasurable day filled with laughter, beauty and love.

Adios,

Friendship and Me (Be Human, JBM)

Best friends.

My friends are beautiful.

As you know, there's a lot of stress that change can involve.

Maybe as the Goddess changed fear and knowledge to beauty and understanding, there is a way that I can make hope a place of protection, safety and warmth, in other words, a home.

A sense of mother wanted good and change as feeling. Maybe if I make life change then there will be a way to be the Goddess's lover. Of course, that will not happen, at least not without the destruction of my own self.

Maybe if change comes and it is loving, I can be hopeful. I suppose I will have to be the one loving the change, and being it. I think that my womanhood had to do with happiness. I think that that is the only way for me to help my will to hope is to live. I want love as my own way of making happiness.

I can't be the sole proprietor.

Trust me for change?

Trust me for knowledge?

Anger does not feel as far as my warmth.

Tell life that maybe I cried life and liked it.







Sarcasm makes mothers change: it is bad to be painful.

Tell mayor of motherhood that my calmness drove to my pain.

As a woman, I tell you that I am pained at darkness of death.

Make love, and tell your mother that it is a way for you to be free.

And I want that way at hope.

[Dear CEG,

I love you. I want to tell you friendship is life when there's love.

I am doing everything that I can to be a peaceful woman. Thank you for loving me and for letting that anger fade into the aether.

Love under Will!

Blessed Be,
Julia (Bright Life Moon?)]

November 7, 2010

I am having a moment and it's a way that change feels as I remember all the troubled emotions that I felt towards my father. Today would have been his 78th birthday. Maybe there's only change and that's the way that people understand that every day must have joys and sorrows together.

I know my father was changing when he was getting older. He at least was able to defend my "being Julia" and to hope that I made the best out of the places I had been.

He, as some of you know, did not accept my transition for years. That's not what I am remembering now.

He made something that was indispensable for my feeling protected and able to foresee a future for myself. That was all the work he did to provide for me as part of his family. I know that the patriarchal model has fatal defects. For one thing I also tried to cling to a way of life that made me separate from the struggle for survival that so many had to face. That has proved to be only partly tenable. I have to make my own way or I will be only one more dependent, as they say in the military world.

I have held him responsible for destructiveness and anger, for supporting a system that hurts the peoples subjected to it. I think now that he did not ever know the social realities that made him who he was. But he never went to a "four - year " college the way I did. He never encountered feelings that I had. I can't make excuses. He could be cruel. But he also had a stability that did not rush from impression to conclusion without at least some degree of consideration. He was from his standpoint fair.

If he were here now, I would be very angry with some of his behavior and some of his attitudes. I would still need and want to redirect his attention to some of those aspects of life with others that he either ignored or never noticed.

I also am grateful for the need he imprinted in me to read, to understand, to make something of myself.

I hope that he finds in his place of repose the knowledge of the feminine that he avoided in himself. I think it would help him a great deal. He was not a natural hater, only someone who was convinced that some things were right and others were wrong. He thought from a kind of conviction that if only everyone behaved according to the rules that everything would be okay. He didn't see the injustice of the rules themselves (except occasionally). Maybe he simply did not believe in himself enough to stand up to the prevailing winds affecting someone of his circumstances. I hope he encounters something gentle wherever he is that will bring that to him.

I suppose most of you are gagging by now. I did have anger and resentment and disappointment with him, and he deserved "re-education."

He smoked. That's what killed him. I think his smoking was for the same reason that most people smoke. It was an escape from the stress of getting by in this world. If he caused stress, he also felt it. He was a smart man who had limits, some within, and some without. If I could take one thing from him, it would be his lack of artifice (by his standards). He could spot pretense. He was an individualist as far as what he advised and in a great deal of what he did.

I do not wish to remain stuck in father-worship. I have been seriously damaged by it.

I know that when I loved him that it was partly out of a wish to please him, to attain the perfection I saw in him.

Now I feel that I don't have to reject him for his existence. He was a human and that is what I wish to remember and to feel for myself.

For Jack Murray, I say, let it be. Be at rest, Dad.

For myself I wish to go on with gratitude for the gifts he gave me and the ability to reject without rancor what I have no need for.

I did what I had to do. I want him to know that. I wanted love and he gave destiny.

The good was change; the terror was pain.

I loved him, not for his manhood, but his beauty.

Home is changing

I thought for a while (a long while) that knowledge made people feel happy.

I was wrong.

The practice of the distribution and production of knowledge is a kind of gossip, may I say, moosy gossip.

I have been trying to extract from others clues to the nature of my own feelings and actions. In return I have reflected to them my feelings about their actions and hopes, dreams and fears.

I now must know that change can destroy life.

Life likes to preserve itself as much as subject itself to change.

Destruction is a kind of change. I believe that I need not make life any more vulnerable or damaged than it already is.

Somehow I have become very troubled. Somehow I made changes that created feelings that were terrible in others and in myself.

Teach me, if you would, what is change?

I have begun to live without people who can let me understand what strength can make people feel.

Therefore I am very changeable, having no emotional support that is familiar with my nature. Perhaps I asked for something that I was unwilling to provide in return.

Thank you for much love.

If I ever live long enough to like you as you wish, to be the friend you need, I'll have to have become the kind of person that was always ready to like happiness.

Me very troubled.

A woman.

Major problems

I am tired of you dying

Save me; Goddess changed me.
I feel changed.
And that's foolish as me.

Life is money or why am tribes?

Grapple, teach, understand
Treat me like hell
Answer is make me feel

John the Sixteenth

Mangled a woman
She tried to glow
I wanted many hopes

Cruelty

Bart deals pain
I love his old lady
She wanted nothing

Mother

Can you know what me change?
Ask to want love
Ask to be West

Like Tribes?

Another feeling of Goddess
She wanted nothing
I gave client

Sexy

Man crawled back
Sly old pagan
Charged me pork

Feelings

Another way to want her
Straw changed life
Me want lust

A crackhead

Density of men
Is Truth
Ask to love

Men of tribe

Get woman home
Love her mother
Change life to help

Ask for drawings

Sexually angry to make pain
No one wanted life
At brown

Flow

Answers pawn kindness
Mother minds foal
Create Julia

Mother of claws

Deal with my comb
I produce money
That's pain

Strike

Or love



As you have read these words, there has been a fearful entry.

My mother is who she is.

I love her.

Words from instinct

How the hell does change make life hopeful?

Is there any way that change is a better way than darkness?

I believe that change happens when life is made grueling.

When you let people be, they are strong.

When you make people sick, then you are crazy.

I want to give what happened and that's change.

I want to give what anger did: people as me.

I do love needing good, and that's strength.

Maybe you will know what change gives: flow.

As flowing makes failure change, so does my own love make help anger.

Sharing is true but change is nerdy. I am nerdy.

Bring good and I am loving.

Make change and I am troubling.

It's change that is at death.

I liked that bargain.

When people do like me, I am charged with process.

Deal with my knowledge and that's the hope for this.

Traitor

People who want feelings need to listen.

I tried to make others feel. I don't like to make myself feel.

That's the way love is: a little tired, a little weird and a little dirty.

I will be a woman until there's no failure.

I will be a woman until love is the only thing that people ask to make themselves happy.

I live for my understanding of goodness.

The Goddess is happy when life is good to itself.

I need to love that.

Tell anyone I'm free.

I can give you friendship.

And that's all that I want to do.

Put it on my tab

Reading my last post helped me realize that what I write may seem confusing and even scary to people who read it.

I don't do much to provide a background to my ideas or my way of expressing them. I don't feel responsible for explaining everything or reassuring you that I am not simply a wild-eyed maniac dropping firecrackers into the oil-ridden pool of the human consciousness.

The fact is that some of my thinking simply really is disconnected not only from others, but even internally. This is in part a result of isolation and in part a result of inner fragmentation which I am trying to heal by writing whatever it is these fragments have to them that are separating them from each other. That is why I might, as I did the day before yesterday, say that I'm cruel to my mother, then write, "I change." Just the expression of the problem (this is the theory) helps me feel the underlying emotion and allows me to gain the perspective that makes possible a conscious effort at changing the reality of the "external" life I'm living.

What I'm really doing is following free-association techniques to their conclusion. With my understanding that order arises from chaos, which I take from some creation myths I'm aware of along with personal observation of myself and society, I put some aspects of myself into the world. In addition to providing a kind of instant reality check, I then get to see these fragments for what they are. In addition I use them as a map to other emotions/life incidents that may provide further understanding and integration. I believe that within me there is already integration that I simply need to uncover and relate to the rest of what there is, and that will provide a way to break out of isolation, self-loathing and fear, and emerge into a better way of living that works for me.

I'm trying to be my own therapist because only I know and feel my emotions. My therapist does not. I see other people as providing input and insight into this process but ultimately I have to be the one making the changes.

Process is something of a dirty word for me since it usually covers up conflicting elements which are making exactly the opposite happen of what the process is claimed to do. This is true especially of "peace processes" which generally are a cover for the war they supposedly trying to end and of most other processes, internally and externally, that someone proclaims is or is trying to achieve some good. It's a sort of Nazi/Orwellian doublespeak consequent from the identification of authority as the agent of change. Like the police beating up Rodney King were in the process of administering justice.

The instant reality behind the process that I refer to in second to the last paragraph is: (?) I try to know creation as knowledge. And it isn't knowledge. Back to the drawing board.

Many changes are within an awareness of the fact that I am desexualizing feelings.

I think this is a good stopping point because I really need to think about that one.

Perhaps I can let it be for now.

Words that describe where I'm at:

me, friend, hope.

Believe me when I tell you, I'll never do you no harm...

Just had a cup of coffee, which makes sense since it's 4:00 a.m.

My brother is leaving for Portland, OR in a few hours, after visiting my mother for her 80th birthday.

My anxiety over what I want to write is curdling the words inside me as I try to put them on the screen.

In my inner perceptions, there are numbers of people ("too many") who are making me feel bad. I recognize that in fact this feeling has come down from? to? me from years past.

Hope changes people. Life is incommensurate with bigotry.

The smarter I get (which lately has been on a definite plateau or even in a slight recession) the more I know that I'm not equipped for struggle. Some struggles I don't have a choice about. The great uncertainty lies with the degree of material struggle that I must face as opposed to choose to face. I've lived with mixed degrees of voluntary poverty and episodes of scarcity enough to fear an involuntary return to deprivation. I really wish to acknowledge that no one deserves to be poor. Not drug addicts. Not the mentally ill. Not the unemployed or the unemployable. Not racial, sexual or gender oppressed peoples. Not sex workers or other kinds of marginalized people. One should never have to feel they're at the bottom of a well with steep sides presenting the future as a doom from which one must but cannot escape.

The fact that I have refused to help some people who were in bad circumstances weighs on me. There have been homeless people who sought my help, drug addicts, prostitutes, poor people, and while I have occasionally made a gesture towards assistance, the only sustained effort I have made has been an inner one, a preparation to help through understanding the needs of people who are suffering at a material level and possibly otherwise.

In the course of this "preparation" I have occasionally placed myself in danger of being remanded to the margins permanently or semi-permanently. People have used me for what money I do receive from the government on disability (currently $860/mo.). I have caused many disruptions and worries to other people as a result.

What I want to say before I may or may not say anything else is that needs for help are always concrete, and always in the moment, and always present themselves as such. Because of this, needs must always be met by individuals who are sensitive to others, who are kind and who are willing to be there for others. The great social disorder of our time is that such individuals almost never have any more access to wealth and resources than those whose needs they are trying to address, and probably have nearly or just as much need themselves. In fact they are the same people. The poor are the ones helping each other.

Society I believe deliberately deprives those who help and those who need help of its largesse as a means to isolate and defeat any impulse to change either their own lives, the lives of those they care about, the nature of society "at large", or the ways that you and I live with and through the other. The fact is that those who benefit from society's norms know through historical self-consciousness, philosophical and religious tradition and scientific and social scientific study that caring and poverty have a common root in the state of primitive or original societies in which there is not yet the existence of rigid social distinctions, in which each care for each, in which the survival of the whole depends on the survival of each. This appearance of plain, basic humanity is the face they have been trying to obliterate for millennia because it reminds them of who they are themselves and it threatens their interests in remaining distinct, unreachable and in the driver's seat. In other words, they want to attach so many strings to caring that the community of the poor is eliminated and all benefits flow from a source they control. They'll never be able to accomplish that because of the resistance of poor people and also because it's the universe that's in charge and within that universe their privileges, constructions and beliefs amount to change that doesn't add up to mother. They come from the same place as all the rest of us did, and will have to recognize that.

I say that I greet hopes as freeing all of us from inhumanity, which is related to, if not identical with, a lack of commonality.

I write this conclusion ambiguously because I know for myself that I am, to the sensitive, just one more insensitive person hoping to hear that everything is okay so that I don't have to worry about it, and further, so I don't have to confront the terrifying limitations on my humanity inherent in my personality. I know this from years of hospitalizations and of being otherwise marginalized, and from the very fact that I have not yet actually brought anyone out of dire straits.

Fucking pants.

Bosses feel like they need change. And failure makes life prostituted.

Maybe I can love a woman.

I don't like paying to know what I think about.

I hope you will love me. I hope you will care for yourself. I hope that change doesn't make life costly. There, that's the real me.

Pain, undue terrorism.

Home is far. I am hopeful. Goddesses find hope in teaching.

A beth plied my costs.
A knowledge of boring.

Enjoy home.

I love you.
I will tears.

The only reason the writing above may appear inscrutable or cryptic is that I need to treat myself like I'm doing what I love. I like making my money by being a part of it.

And I am contrite.

Doth change make boys? Do I know?

As you say, deal with it, I say mighty is trying love.

Money crawls out of cruelty.

Ask me, go have fun.

It's being here that I tried.
Bees hope for honey.

I treat my mother with pain and with cruelty.

I change.

Please let this be different from the rest

Today was my therapy session. I concluded that I complain about life so that I can feel better, probably than others. I deeply apologize to all for all the negativity.

Yesterday was my mother's 80th birthday and it was a very beautiful day. My brother was here from Oregon and we busied ourselves with making surprises throughout the day for her. I think she was moved and she said this morning that she had really enjoyed herself. I told her at dinner that my brother and I were grateful to be able to share with her the occasion. I believe she is truly a kind person and I only wish I were able to show more of that myself.

May Samhain bring you and yours the happiness and joy of knowing that love and peace are beautiful and healing as we bring them into the world we share.

A song to my sisters

You've said you were trying
You tried too hard

Live for your entropy
Soul patient woman

Under neath pain,
You're boring.

Anchor in the port of no escape
Freely go to whore.

Maybe same as before.
Maybe no one is a crone.

I love you, a lost mother.
Maybe you bet your narcissism.

A friend (kin to hole)
Martha dried dreams

Leaps and boundaries

I feel strange.

It's always a watered-down penchant for peace.

And I am flown to treason.

Why deal in teeth? They try much and know folk as free.

Be a strong sensible sibling.

Be a friendly hopeful woman.

Many times the Goddess interests herself in love. When she wants a poem I do ask that she love me.

Now treat me as a born person.

I know my mother is loving. I hope she is free. She is strong.

A foil to pissed pest.



Happy Birthday, Mom (80).


Naked I was born and naked will I die.

Maybe you are friendly; I give to you a way to sexualize anger.

Be.

Home is Love, not Taste

Zeke and Julia

Seal price on feelings
My feelings good as poem

My draw is meth
Death painful

Beth was grounded
Men faked it

Revolution

Post Dry

A methane balloon
A poisoned mother

Since I feel, I treat myself as a sister.

Since you ask, I create people as misses.

I like being sucked in strength.

Preferentially, women feel better if doing beings.

Another one that finds better interests wants better foam.

I have conducted us to a daring place: A point.

Sexually, you are testing your understanding of me.

I know you are.



Men who act accordingly are people.

I must do a trade.

Men cried for stars; I wanted my hopes.

I will find someone to give a blowjob to.

He will like it.

I am sexy but not pain.




As you know, feelings that are deaf make home dear.

If you know how to feel without knowing what to say, then you are understanding why living as a faggot makes me [stop]

Poem

Deep flames press my life
Death painfully asks for goals.

Serving money creates dry node.
[William Gibson, op. cit.]

Masculinity of pain interesting;
Deal to a law.

Bacon charged to whore.



As I muse upon money, I trade living as chef and live it.

Payment for a liar.


I do keys.

Proven to detox as bitch.

Veal knows to trade money;
Came to live here.

Stench of flow[er]s interesting;
Pain of drugs is kiss.

Save me from God.
Save me from leaving.

I am a learner.

Save me from anger.

Cruelty are sack.

Guide and pay.

Amber money RMM takes pain to save feelings.

And teach.


It is well that needing to like yourself makes anger float by a fool.

Quilted above, deratiocinated below.

To my mind, Another change.
All Quilts are Karen Daystar's unless they're in Scotland or Greece.

I paid to deal with guilt.

I grew deafened.

Mommy detected anger.
(A femoral )
Kill is not my need.

White money made change strike.

I know because I was sick.

Dealing big gas.

Each who makes me plea for weather makes me deal.

And baby.

A knock on the door is teasing me.

I know what arms make, and what paper wants.

I know what need is.

Tell Either My Justice Or My Frog

Enter being.

The Art of Thinking (Hope changes into tests)

Why bother?

Unfortunately, I have realized that what I like doing and what I'm good at is "thinking." I say unfortunately because it is also true that without living, acting, doing, being, etc., thinking at least for me becomes an empty paralysis of the self and the will, of hopes, dreams, etc., that are the fuel for life and thus for thinking which must be about life. Thinking can not go beyond the bounds of what is known, and what is known derives only from life as lived.

There you go, a recipe for failure.

Sterile, repetitive mental masturbation.

Maybe I'll write about the beauty of flowers and the tragic disintegration that sets in without exception in every family (oh, flower's) life.

My family. Very important. Love that is bounded, that is predicated on norms developed only Goddess knows how, when and where.

I don't even have anything to say, except I know that I love to sing and dance and write and paint and draw, while the other two in my immediate family do not, (or at least don't emphasize any of them in their daily lives.)

My mother says my brother doesn't care that I can't work, but I still feel guilt and pressure to be productive.

What difference does this make?

I am hoping for the best.

Let's support Prop.? in California legalizing marijuana.

The most passionate communication I have is: Be!

After you read this, get a glass of sparkling juice/wine and, listening to music, let your mind and feelings flow to a place, down a stream, merrily, merrily, because life is but a dream.

Anger. Mothers deal saving.

This is embarrassing

If you don't think of me as dirty,
Will you still fuck me?

Probably not.

Silly Me

No one wrote any comments to my last super positive blog, so I guess it isn't my negativity that keeps people from responding.

I suppose that most people just have other things to worry about, like what they're trying to do.

Right now, I'm trying not to succumb to nausea from the beer I had too close to my meds.

I went for a walk, went to the Circle K (at 6:30), stood around looking for something to buy, rejected the idea of getting a job there (since I don't belong there, do I?), then walked down the highway to the Shell station (after self-consciously wondering whether any men would be interested and feeling thoroughly disgusted with myself) where I didn't want any chocolate so bought a beer from the always taciturn woman behind the counter.

I bought a pack of cigarettes yesterday and had more of them (about 6) than I've had in months. I'm waiting for the consequent chest pains.

I certainly hope whoever may or may not read this can learn to do things sensibly for themselves rather than acting the fool. I am giving something, aren't I?

So, I will deal with everything.

Stay cool (class of '81)

Oh, yeah

Sex is great
drugs? are fun
We're the class of '81.

A peaceful place

Being safe yourself, helping others be safe, being yourself, allowing others their individuality -- that's what i've decided "It's" all about, at least as of today.

I've been working through emotions and existential fundamentals at jet speed for a while, and especially since last night, when I had a particularly intense encounter with a TG/IS couple I won't name. I think I finally have an understanding of what it is that makes me me, and of what living (for me)is about. I don't have to worry about love. All I have to do is sing my song and hope that others will find it beautiful.

Mother Goddess

Thank you for the changes you have brought about
Thank you for the joy I feel today

In every way I do love you.

May Your kindness bring peace to all.

You are the change and the changer

You are my dreams and my teacher

Let each of us join in the music you make

With Love,

Julia Murray

May Sylvia's memory bring joy and peace, strength and enduring uniqueness to the communities she loved.

People are not Lies

As trite as -- change -- I love

I felt that my sharing changed lives.

I freed myself from home.

A word to lose.

A grind, a fairy, a moan, a flow.

Feel!

PEACE matters.

Love is change.

I want to make change life.

Be

I liked me as a child of men.

I have feelings of:

My frogs share freedom to love.

I am happy that they have given me freedom.

A fool is sarcastic.

I am not a fool; however, history shares charts and money.

Let me let you feel.

I cry a lot about strange wisdom.

It's still kind of loving to be your own.

Mom, that's what you have taught me.

And that's what I will give to mine.

A creep is one who dies and feels for themselves.

A bird is always free.

I do like that.

And I will tell you that My lovers can feel happy because I let them say what they feel.

That is only partly true.

Maybe if I find an embrace, crazy to like, my answer will be Julia


Money preaches dirt in order to like poison.

That means money wants happiness as JKH.

I need serious help.

Must I need hope?

Must I do?

Must I live?

Boys cried when I tried to make my changes.

And you do like hope.

Okay, why JKH?

She was free.

I know I wanted a way to vex her.

And why Prices?

M E A R N

See, that's change.

Please give flame a rest.

Why I'm out of love

Tacky, tacky, tacky.

That is what comes to mind when I think of listening to my mother.

It's not that she is tacky, it's that I like knowing what money does. She won't let me know.

I have been treating myself to a lot of change. It really seems that no one has crack.

That's just so annoying.

I drove and that was feeling good.

I spoke and that was making a difference.

I wanted love and that was why I left paganism for change.

I believe that somehow She will love me. I believe that She will allow me to believe.

Creativity seems so weird. I would like to believe that I love good things.

It's only one day. That's all it takes -- one day.

The Goddess created home.

I want a feeling.

Somehow there will be love and I am good so life is better.

I hope you will believe.

That's my hope.

A wily woman.

Aging gracefully

It is not aging gracefully to blame others for being younger and prettier than you are, treating them like stupid dirt and leaving them to lives of desperation, dependence and danger.

I need to act my age, (46) with a dignified and graceful (?) bearing. Though I still like to dance (to 70s music) I can't pretend that I have the energy, verve and appeal of someone younger.

I hope this is yet another step toward taking care of myself, knowing my limits and being there for myself and others.

Love,
me

Cast in foam

Hahahhahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh


Micromanage petroleum alkdjfiejfkmcv'a

A steak friend mother of pain

Can't you find another way to me?

A test of being here as me

Guess what?

I'm fucked.




You are too.

Let me feel like I am crying.

I fucked shevrolet

Tacky tacky tacky
My mother is free

Kind of freedom is flying to taste kindness.




Another freedom.


Motherfucker is king.

Banish the motherfucker.

Keys to RMM: Be loving, love change, act hopeful, give friendship.

And I like RMM.


Cansas back to money

Roam another thread.
Charge to kindness and you are painful.

I felt like many others when I was trying to be me.

As you know, kindness is free.

As you know, money is pain.

I ask that Brigid take my life to be strong.

I ask that I know love and be tried.

Ate a goat at lunchtime; farted at three.
Paid a boatman to live; tent is
Why i don't eat.

And you love Goddesses for their pain?

I prefer to give help so that I like hope.

It's been done.

And you penned a ghoul.

[Terrorism is a name used to keep regimes in power]

Bland
Crawl
Nothing is mother but flames.

Okay, I'll make love for myself.




#2: The origin of bosses.

You create love; you make [pain] [whores] [money]

Answer me: How do you let people love what they are [slovenly] crossed [flow] about?

Nothing chases my mother except flow.

Nothing makes feeble answers but mostly girl.

I [whore] try to make friends and that's presence.

I [love] try to make friends and that's Mommy.

I [truth] answer presidence.

I [slovenliness] play money as growth.

No one hopes to justify life because no one needs to feel a way that dreams hope is [foam][floss].

Cost of many plus cost of fury is do what you like.

Arcane mothers:

Jive freedom is treatment
Jive cost is lust

Anger is nothing but money
Anger is nothing but pig.

I make you hope that I will like bitch.

I say what love bred: mess.

I say what life wanted: a war.

I say what tribes do: war.

I ask that life is resting; I know what you did: you have boss.

Make that just a person.

Mother are park.

My charge was needing a flow.

My babies take life to dream.

Examination fruitless.

Today is John Lennon's birthday

To me, John Lennon would not likely be just another rich old bitter musician living out his days on top of piles of wealth doing nothing but thirst for more. I believe his legacy would only have increased, that his devotion to peace would still drive his art, and that he would be a force to reckon with in politics and culture.

Moving on to me:

I see on Facebook that SRLP has gained friends that I didn't expect them to gain. Now I have no problem with a law project named after Sylvia in theory, but I don't think that they express either in their politics or in their actions the spirit that animated Sylvia.

Firstly, Sylvia did not have an economic or racial theory of transphobia. She was a "people's revolutionist," but she never said transphobia would simply disappear if only there were economic and social equality otherwise. She once specifically told me that it was not that we had to fear some of our neighbors at Transie House wanting to oust or kill us, but that we had to fear all of them.

Secondly, I've tried to live out the implicit theory of SRLP that oppressions pile on top of each other, that some of the oppressed are worse off or deserve more help than others. As far as I've learned, once someone's own particular oppression(s) are relieved then they are likely to turn around and do the very same thing (oppress) someone else. There is also the implicit course of action that the only way one can be equal to multiply oppressed people is to take on as many of your own oppressions as possible and live in complete solidarity with all other oppressed people with respect to each and every oppression they have. This leads only to complete isolation, and physical danger for anyone who tries to practice this. I ended up homeless on the street, WITH NO OTHER HOMELESS, TRANSGENDERED OR POLITICAL PEOPLE THERE TO PROTECT ME. The only people who would help me were ONE of my crackhead friends and my mother. So I've had a respite from the exigencies of survival. But this will not last forever, either.

Lastly, Sylvia was a dynamic individual, not one who smothered her caring for others or her political strength under the needs of the collective. She certainly joined (or formed) groups but she didn't hold back within these groups. I'm not sure she would have found the political culture of SRLP that friendly.

I don't wish to single out SRLP as an unredeemable enemy. They probably do a lot of good work. However, like many other groups or agencies which are attempting to memorialize Sylvia and other transgendered women, they are missing the boat when it comes to what drives us to do what we do and therefore what protects us. Because the ultimate lesson is that the only people who are going to protect us are us ourselves, like Sylvia picking up garbage cans to hurl at her attackers.

Why would you want me to think about myself when you know I'm a crackhead?

If anyone wishes to correct me, you know how to reach me.

Yours, me.

Whys and Wherefores

The way is to give.

The reason I am here is because I didn't want life as a woman. I made change painful. I made my life foolish.

Freely I made pain my answer.

Girl, there's a way to know what does happen. Make YOUR life beautiful.

I want you to love, cherish and believe.

Give the dreams you love a home to thrive.

I ask that you believe because I want happiness for myself.

Girl, make yourself free.

I needed to be home with my mother as a woman. I am not doing that because I am not living.

I cried because I wanted to do what felt dark and cold. It's that fear of my past. I was my own life. Now I have to give.

Bitch, deal with being loving; don't make change a poison.

I am afraid of being my own bitch for me. And that's what I want you to love.

I want to live for life, not for change.

And be kind.

I know that you were what I loved,

Maybe I will feel something now.

Act for life

Leaving hate behind

Bruce made famous
Change made cruel
Love made girl

I love teaching
I love love
I cried pain

Answers:

Sex, woman, love


Fry as woman

Prostitution, cave, mother
Fence, love, strength
Being, friendship, sap


Life:

Dry, happy, loving



To all a good warrior

A good way to live

I do know that feelings are sexy.

I think you may know how to live.

I know that change makes hope loving and good.

Be strong.

I made a lot of problems.

I needed to be a fuck.

That was sucky.

I release failure.

Make kindness. I am a fist.

Love and blessings,

Bright Life Moon

Asking for mother

I'm not foolish, I'm trouble.

Money freaks me out.

Why am I making my own life intolerable?

I feel a searing in me.

Where does it come from?

It hurts.

A lover cried for me. Who? When?

I was trying to make life helpful.

I thought it was best to make friends be the means to my working out my psychodrama of cruelty.

I was painful.

Dirtiness is not dry.

I wanted to change people so that I could be their strength.

I buy money and give cruelty.

Dirtiness doesn't create sex; sex creates hope.

I need to let go of selling my life to Christ. He is not a fiend. I need to let go of framing hell as a way to cry.

I strongly have to feel better.

I am a woman that does feel happy when there is home.

Compassion, hope, help, love.

I want you to know that strength does not make life stop.

Brigid, for you I say dying is painful and i need to let go of making it a way to give.

A bitch.

Try it

Goddesses and hate; change and beauty

A cross to flee
A gender to bore
Mayhem flies roses
Fulmination of tastes

Mannerisms that read your friends
Conscience that mothers people
Antheral keys to bargains
I pressed Hunter as mother

Demons of clients and
A gaze to triviality
Pay groans drague mind
Seal via pride cares

June 27, 1969

A national holiday

Private answers made to feel love
A flow to kindness; mothers call their children

Everyone can teach what they are to all their families
A feeling that you can love like you want

Me go to the Street where dancing queens give freedom
I see one woman, one man, one child, one parent

She reaches for my love and tells me where I will find her
She has been in the painful places and she is a friend.

Mother creator, Father lover, Sister friend, Brother provider
There's strength here, there's power in the Street, River, Sky

We are spilling from the building into our lives.
We are making magick of revolutionary love.

You will dance at the Stonewall Inn, where the police will raid you.
You will throw your coins into one flame; you melt me into merriment.

Deaf

Test # Free

I cried
Me

A truth
Flying

Bastard conned me

A dark farmer
A free pig

My Dad changed me

I want a drug

Say: Capital changes nothing

Flee ham

Pain is not everything, everywhere

I know that I write of many things so that the great and small all appear as mere words in a protracted set of self-tortures.

That is not how my life is, or has to be.

Though it is true I have been uncertain of much, confused of much and even had to live through a certain amount of damage, I am still alive, OFTEN feeling pleasure in being alive and able to enjoy what there is around me.

This is possible largely because of copious amounts of support from family and friends and the fact that I am not as far from being an average human being as I would like to believe. I feel many emotions that I have not adequately expressed or described here that deeply affect how I live and my outlook on myself and the future.

One example of a different approach I want to take is the part money plays here and in my life. I know that money is a very basic concern of mine. I hope to make it less so. I also hope to stop making it an issue in my relations with others. You don't deserve my throwing any more shit at you than you are already taking.

There's a lot of wonder, a lot of joy, there's a lot of beauty that I still hope to share, even in this blog, if possible. If you are going to read my earlier posts I invite you to read them with the knowledge that the writer is prone to extremism and great expectations that don't always lead to easy intercourse with the rest of the world. (Literally: I wanted to set up a tent in Central Park and be the Whore of Babylon -- open for business to all. This was more than fifteen years ago, and that desire still influences my thinking.) LOL!

A little bit of ease goes a long way toward making me comfortable with some of the harsher realities and supposed realities. I should say that I often try to embrace them as a way to escape from them. The Road of Excess leads to the Palace of Wisdom, etc.

I think I'm a lot closer to being somewhere on the steps leading to that Palace rather than dragging myself and you through the mud and sharp stones on the way there.

That's the good stuff.

So, where am I at THIS moment?

There's good and there's bad in everything.

I know that I can live and feel; give and be real.

I just want to be known.

So, if you want to know me, I invite you to keep reading this blog, which I hope will expand to something with less abstract pain and more everyday happiness.

Remember to thank yourself for the universe and vice versa.

"cstar"

P.S., Arizona has the highest poverty rate in the nation, next to Mississippi.

A spurred nerd

I'm waiting for a potential date to call me who picked me up while I was out for a walk, "looking sad." He asked what I liked doing, and I said I've done all kinds of things but now I just want to "relax."

I like changing myself so I can be a bitch.

The bitch that I am loves feeling friendly. I also like being good.

I can be good. I can feel hopeful. I can like knowing that I am interesting.

My own life needs some help. I need to answer love for the pain I have made. I must let go of that pain.


I am a big person, not a dark shit.

I am happy.

Flow is change;
Mother is feelings;
Babies can love.

I do like hope.

A flow that meets pain will live for bitch.

Being afraid of being wrong is terrible.

I do create Julia to love feeling good.

As gift, I do live for her.



Money pretends to love. Money strikes change for killing.

My way of knowing what to like as a woman is to change.

I am feeling dark. I am feeling cold.

It's not good to make love as a nerd.

It's not good to love being a whore.

Taking life is making change painful.

I prefer to love as my creator, the Goddess, was a flow.

I know she was happy to be a lover.

I like being friendly, loving and gentle.

Please allow there life.

I am hopeful.

A tuck is messy. A life is a way to be a home to life.

P.S.

I am teaching life so I will be flow.

Me a nerd.

A baby teaches that there is a mess.

A way to rest

U.S. liberalism claims constantly to promote freedom around the world. There are a nauseating number of examples of U.S. government actions that contradict this.

Apparently U.S. imperialism is making itself felt once again internally in the recent raids in the Midwest, California and North Carolina.

To me, it is very important to clearly understand why these actions have occurred now, in order to better grasp the political terms on which the U.S. government is acting, and the nature of the Obama administration with respect to security forces and to democratic aspirations of people in the U.S. and elsewhere.

To state the obvious, the "anti-terror" mission seems to be becoming an arm of broad policies which aim against any actions -- even actions of U.S. citizens that don't involve terror in the sense of anti- U.S. civilian attacks -- which counter U.S. government foreign policy priorities. This brings home the question that Iraqis and Afghanis have faced since the great broadening of the anti-terrorist campaigns that have taken place since 9/11: who is most to be feared, the U.S. government or its "enemies"?

News media have sometimes focused on the corruption and power-seeking factionalism taking place within countries which are hosts to U.S. influence. However, they do not take a broad view in which corruption and power-seeking in this country are part of, and even mainstays of such behavior worldwide. The fact is that the powerless many are subject to the powerful few everywhere.

American military power, American economic power, and American political power are all avenues via which social elites in America work with social elites elsewhere to, as it were, "keep down the multitudes."

Now, within this perspective, the fact is that the U.S. ruling class, its "enemies" and its allies, are precisely the same people. There are shifts of factions, there are changes in bargaining power and even outright conflict among them, but basically they are all people who live off the labor of others. As a social group, they constitute a reality within human biology. They may identify themselves as commanders, employers, leaders, experts, etc., but they are all the ones who offer terms to other people which condition the lives they are allowed to live. In short, they are the owners of other people, whether through physical coercion, the wage mechanism, intellectual domination and confusion or otherwise.

They are the ones who divide to conquer.

From this perspective, they are all ultimately to be feared, and that is, in practice, their strategy: rule through fear and intimidation.

The suicide bombers, the paramilitaries, the nationally oppressed, the militarily occupied, the fiery opposition to U.S. domination, MAY OR MAY NOT fall within this category. It is impossible to know them for who they are without observing their actions AND their motives. At bottom, it is the lovelessness, their emotional and personal sterility which define them.

Labor is an act of love for others, not primarily an economic category.

I don't believe that under these circumstances that an analysis of any kind can work. The love for your neighbor is the bedrock of community, of action for change. This love is not bounded by any political definition.

So how does this relate to the F.B.I. raids on political activists in the here and now?

Tensions that I have relied upon and created in order to distract myself and others from my own culpability do not make me truthful.

I like the way that change makes people teach good. It's better to know that feelings make life strong. I feel that I can be strong. The strong are gentle, and I need to live for that kindness that only I can give.

I do not believe that strength to my home can bring the Goddess hope.

Feeding on change is perilous. Crackheads do not make friends treat them like the Goddess.

I need love. I know that feeling of wanting friends.

The F.B.I. does not free my mind or my hopes. Loss is making me feel that I helped too much to pretend that I made good for my friendships.

There is no understanding that pretension is fucked up. Dread the people who fear change.

Change will win, not pretense.

Men that make cruelty are playing change as a way to free love for their truth. I believe that my mother is doing what I bet she wanted, and that is, making hope for me and for love.

I have taken cruel advantage. The F.B.I. must ask why it needs to think it is protecting life when no one needs friendships to be poison.

Make change, not pain.

Make yourself the one who gives: solidarity makes flow president; pissed creativity is no one's pest. I want a fool to know that change makes failure happen and darkness.

Know that a guidance for strong life is bringing charges because the Goddess finds mothers home.

No friends make fear a gentle flow.

There's no congeniality when change is made as tough.

All sides turn to love.