An escape into the reader

Grinding down the words to zero --\

What anticipation and joy do I feel upon embarking on a sentence which no end may ruin as a source of pleasure to my finely attuned wit and sensibility?

There is none other than the exceedingly small grinding of the constituent letters and words in all their grammatical and syntactical diversity against the hopes and dreams that inhabit me and which wish to jump through my fingers onto the screen.

I know without a doub t that whatever I say will emerge as a flatulent, otiose set of verbiage nothing like the subtle, beautiful and even instructive thoughts which I bear within me.

For instance, who could say, other than me, that I am Julia Brigid Murray, a transsexual graduate of Stanford and a life of drugs and p-rostitution,. >

I know that somehow these aspects of my education mesh, that somehow they match each other and are even succored by each other.

Still, there are words and more words vying to spill through my fingertips. But they forget to whisper to mne their nature or theire own desires and how they may relate to mine. I want themn to know me and respect mne, but do I know or respect them?

It is not for me to detrmine the reception of these thoughts; you may howver, feel a certain creepinjg coating climbing up your feet towards your throat. That is mek trying to convince you that I am here, purposed, with drive and needs for recognition, but nonetheless a sticky sort of moss that oine wishes to wash off as soon as one can.

People love a rendering such as this has made.