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.