Being alive creates me.

Teaching love is not crack.

I been sore.

Death is tough.

Me don't care about sharing: I prefer to like home.

I know that you are annoyed. I am also.

I was wrong. Freedom creates change and that's good.

I know for myself that I treated people of color badly because I thought I was God.

And that's the change.

Maybe there's good and hope.

I like hope.

Can you like me?

Toward a Phenomenology of the Cleaned Up Mind

Leaves Curled, Dressed as Men With Little Oompa Loompah Overalls
Scenario found Charged as One Curled, Changed
Pain Charged to a Goddess: The one that found the Trees

Killed with failure: Marcus Aurelius, Herbert Marcuse, Karl Marx
Wandering to and with sexualities: Another fantasy of peace
G:uilt: Another Sexuality with Near and Far Complicated Needs

She wandered through the enclosed ward, appearing attractive,
Dancing and Ecstatically nodding toward the middle-aged women knitting
Sexual creature in blue pajamas with Fugees Dancing

Many trees were there.


Assault by Haole Haloperidol increased love like changes make money
A Red Beard: She doesn't know if she's a man or a woman
She Needs Her Mother says the Woman declaiming Biblical Verses

Negative is the Idea of Knowledge: A Psychiatrist a Day Keeps the Love Away
Private Conversations in Closed Rooms. A Needle in the ARm, A Pill down the throat
Confusion and Bad Food: The Administration makes all decisions -- Angry Men.

Vietnam Veteran Bearded Talks to the Psychiatrist, sliding feet along the floor
Not another Freud speaks life: Bitch was Needing Hope
A Place to Find Goddesses: Sarcasm is the Damned Cloud

Daughters: Already I was older. I looked at a pretty blonde woman
Desire comprising envy, love, need, etc., etc.: You are a man.
Maoist exercising behind the closed doors of her room.

ADL's everyday knowledge of man knocking at the door
You imbibe Heroes' feelings. You are Lost In Meaning.
TAngled together, you ask for a place.

Six months of mothers' shrieks to give life for change.
Still life is good.
Another Kindness Made UnWholly Shredded


Thus was the Bellevue Passion, 1996.
The Past Made Present is the Kindness of Fork in the Face
You Learn to be Equal to the Bottom of the Ocean

Deal with your kindness. I know it's cold.

Your Verse of Today and Tomorrow

Peace

Feeling dry

Genius makes cruelty boring

A condition of death is life

I like home

My mother likes bosses who treat themselves as sources of freedom

I prefer hope

A way to like Her is to give words that are best.

I was wrong.

A discovery

Emotion, literature and spirituality

Feelings are a metaphor for the Goddess

Yay!

Today is the day I get my colonoscopy.

I suppose there is a kind of ironic justice in this.

I spent the evening sick on strong laxatives. Now I feel better. And there was no blood.

Maybe the doctor will conclude I don't have a serious illness.

That would be nice.

Bodies do change.

I fought to kill. That's the upshot of living for war. I lived for war by making
change only a part of love. Change is everywherre and love makes that hopeful.

I think that the only one who knows feelings that I wanted to have (a liking for sharing, a KNOWLEDGE of hope and a passion for being alive) is me.

Maybe you will feel other emotions for other reasons. Maybe I needed hope. Maybe I loved meanness: it's just fair.

A kindness toward (those who provide) safety is "fit." (seeming)(requisite)(appropriate).

Boidie, boid, how is your doid?

Mother's.



I love a woman.


I'm doing better. Thank you.

New

Feel what you feel

Listen to me

I brought to myself a woman who was underage.

I made time for sex.

There's death, there's hostility.

I am cruel.

Take what you need.

Babies are life.

I love you as teachers.

I hope that you do what you need.




Cost

Many friends are gone



I thought I was truth
I am a shit.


Sarcasm dies; I wanted a friend.

A child is not there to make me a woman.

What is there now?
Crimes
A nurse


Make it bitch as error: as dangerous and cruel

Money is a death.

Dealing is hate and cruelty.

I loved being a shit. It was shitty. I loved being a path.

Cops are your friend.
No: I love curses.


A fork makes pain
I make a false justice.

Ohdio
Ohlo
Ohcrow
Money cold
Pain changed my beastliness: make it me.


Force

A letter to myself

Dear self,

When you made love to babies, did you feel strong?

When you made changes were you peaceful?

Did you like being cruel?

Dear writer,

I made my friends change

I tried to like a mess

Maybe you are loving; I am foolish

Dear self,

Listen to the Goddess.

Dear writer,

I paid home money.

I was shit. That's my sarcasm.

I was bad in that I was me.

Dear self,

You were good and you made feelings teach mother.

Dear writer,

Thank you for helping me love.

Dear self,

You are a woman. I am what I loved.

Cocksucking changes need money for sex.

You need to stop making time to make friends.

You need to stop being a man. I want you to listen.

Dear writer,

I wanted to need girls. The reason was that I needed to like hope.
Crack was poison.

Dear self,

I know what that was. You made darkness your need. You made freedom a mother.

I hope you will listen.

Dear writer,

I love you.

Dear self,

Money is not bargain.

Dear writer,

I suck bargains.

Dear self,

That's fucked up.

Dear writer,

Nothing is money to cruelty.

Dear self,

Money loves pain.

Dear writer,

I like cruelty.

Dear self,

Change.

Dear writer,

Crossed pigs are shot.

Dear self,

You need to make your life loving.

Dear writer,

Okay.

Dear self,

Be free.

Dear writer,

I was a bitch to live.

Dear self,

You were a woman to live

Dear reader,

bargained and made justice

Know the drugs are love's sadness

I am sick

What the hell?

I made someone bad.

I wanted her to need money.

There's no god to ask love.

I dream of sex.

Give me a woman who loves good drugs.

I am past.

Make me sexy; it's for church.

I wanted love soft.

Now I feel a nothing.

You are giving shit to sexy prostitutes.

I made you pay for me.

That's what I sought.

Ben Will

made me pray

What the hell?

Obviously incoherent notes on the recent violence and racial tensions

Sexuality and Satan

JUST KIDDING!

I really want to write about some of the sentiments floating around inside my head for the past week, ever since my congresswoman was shot.

Wait, while I think this through.

Okay.

Excuse the disorganized nature of my remarks.

I am leery of the consensus that seems to be developing around the culpability of the perpetrator in that shooting. Though I have no doubt he was the shooter and that he deserves treatment as such, I do not believe that any "chemical imbalance" or psychiatric diagnosis accounts for the crime he committed. It is not mental illness that creates horrible people, it is (sometimes) horrible people who develop what society (sometimes) categorizes as mental illness. I think that the picture of him with the maniacal, murderous grin on his face says it all. He was hiding some terrible personal characteristics. That was what was manifesting itself in his bizarre behavior, his drug use, his outbursts, not the other way around.

It is now becoming the typical response to run away from this demon that may be lurking in anyone, including our neighbor or ourselves. All of us need to face him and ask ourselves, what differences are there really among us that account for some people having one fate and somebody else having another.

I have to say here that some of my writing and my concerns echo those of the shooter. I too have had fantasies of violent revenge against people who have hurt me either as employers or politicians. This disturbs me. I can only say that efforts at civility will not succeed while rage is still an expectable condition in this society. People will not accede to being kicked in the face repeatedly to maintain someone else's social position or wealth.

However, I would like to address here one of my favorite topics to think about: race. I have written some things lately in my poetry referring to some of the things my parents said about black people and about angels being "white," that I think anyone would say were not sufficiently analyzed or glossed or discredited.

I feel that creativity and human relationships must depend on a complete and unbounded recognition of the basic humanity of every individual and the basic individuality of every human. This statement is not to play games with concepts. It is a call to not bring harm upon others for their thoughts, opinions or actions. There are other ways to treat people who are, as the shooter appears to be, capable of despicable acts. Isolation is one. I know my friends, for instance, have isolated me for what may appear to be my political apostasy. They may have every right to do so.

What does this have to do with race? I know that whether or not I feel anger toward people of another ethnic group usually has to do with something else entirely than that person. I know that other people are not inferior to me. I also know that with the passage of time, as long as blindness to discrimination and persecution continue, that the consequences for the persecutors will become more and more severe. The question for me is whether I, as a person with a particular past and having the material supports and conditions that I live with, can simply not defend myself when my life is on the line.

So, who is putting my life on the line? I think that usually it is my fear. Paradoxically, however, the only way to show that you are not fearful is to be honest with yourself and stand up for yourself. I think that in times past that this is exactly the kind of paradox African Americans in this country faced, and now it is one I must face.

If everyone is family, then who do I stand up for? Myself? My friends? My allies? I don't know.

I think I had better get into the background to the idea that the civil rights movement was a "Negro uprising" as I said my parents told me.

I believe deeply that no matter what I have done with my life that I cannot turn back the injustices of the past. I also know that as someone who does not personally remember the civil rights movement that I am vulnerable to claims that it was an uprising.

I cannot make changes without beginning from the beginning.

I was cowed by my parents into rejecting certain people as my friends. One was named Raymond. He said things like "damn" and "shit," which my parents objected to, fearing I know not what since they said exactly the same things. My father actually had a conversation with me and my brother at the time (when I was six) in which I had to choose to say, "shucks" or "darn," instead. I chose "shucks," (always currying favor with my father.) Raymond was black or African-American.

Why should any of this matter to me?

I am trying to say what I like. And that is, crack is pain.

Money is pain. Crack is money. Money is time. Pain is death. There is a circular equation here.

I must be strong and tell you that I thought I was good.

There is also the matter of being queer and of being a whore.

I give a drug to myself called love. I cannot do this anymore.

Seek the hopes that are good.

So, listen, everyone is good when they give.

I give home. That is my justification for being alive. That is what I do.

Home is something everyone without regard to skin color needs.

I am a fog.

The cruelty that exhibits itself in me is painful. I would like to treat myself better.

What is happening right now is what we all need, good or bad. I cannot look toward a political or social or religious paradise. What there is to love is right here: the earth and the creatures on it and ourselves as we are.

To lose my own bearings in terms of taking care of myself in the present, of having what I need to survive in favor of some ideology or mass movement or sentiment that does not want me on the planet or wants me defenseless is not what I can accept. It is better to work with others as they are than as they might be. I do believe that there are currents of hatred, racial and otherwise in many, many people. All I can do is acknowledge mine and know they are there in the present. Such acknowledgment, and even love of the characteristics of mine, such as a liking for some aspects of Western "civilization" in both old and new forms: literary culture, beauty, individuality, the power of women and LGBT people, the knowledge of my pagan and my classical roots, and the further knowledge of its kinship and descent from all other cultures, and the desire to be myself whether others like it or not, my own autobiographical diversity from my days as a nerd to my activism in the anti-apartheid and other solidarity movements, to my self-discovery as a transsexual who needs to love herself first and foremost in other to love others, the fact that I have a right to self-determination with the resources I have a right to: a household, friends, lovers and a community that does not wish to remove me from its presence. A guilty and hypocritical and angry adhesion to anyone else's liberation will not substitute for a realistic and human and honest respect for the aspirations of all.

Lastly, I hope that you, the reader, will embrace yourself as a powerful and creative person who can live imperfectly but with passion and self-acceptance. Organizations and groups can only be a means to this end. Usually, if not always, they will fail. The possibility is that all can respect the now, and see that all our needs are expressed and taken care of within it, no matter how difficult.

Just as I would not give up the last of what I had at the Church (my broom) to Kristianna, so I may not have asked her to give up the last of her resources -- her culture. We, in all our "groups" deserve to retain what is the most unique and most necessary to our survival as individuals and societies.

So, about that Negro uprising and the white angel: the knowledge that people of color are the future neither gives me the right to take away from the dignity and beauty of that fact nor the need to obliterate myself. I suppose this is a vision of peaceful co-existence. I think of the Celtic culture surviving under Roman rule. ????

I wish you would point out the inconsistencies and residual ignorance here. Possibly I am too suspicious. Possibly what is best is simply to cheer on the accomplishments of others as well as your own.

There is love and I believe that you will always make change dream.

Dreams are there to guide I who am free to feelings.

May you have a blessed day.

Addendum:

I have been looking for death as a liberation from the endless round of good and bad. I need to let go of feeling bad or afraid. I need to let go of treating myself like I'm drugged. I need to feel happy. Let it be.

I am frogged.

Gentle goes the Sears

Meager Cries

Maniacal and loving
I cry life

Dinner with pride
brings to me somber
intimations of bees

Women with large noses
Interest me
Strangely

Soft lies
answered with
crack --

The liberty bell
chases my knowledge
of political excretion.

A bachelor handles himself
before me; I
create cloven lines.

She has drowned me.
I have been
needed.

Tease me with
your need. I do
live as a boundary stone.

Cloven
Magick
Is Fear


Dreams of Guilt
Win Erroneous
Pain

Will your Desires
With Freedom:
Angel is White.

As a Candle,
A Shark
A Cup.

Dreams are Sharing.



A Filling

The Hustler
Is I

Meet me
Behind the Door

I wrestle with
your Sheer
Pout

You and I
Treat Each Other
As Narkotics

Be Who You Want to Be

Moving on:

I have been fooled into dreaming.

Same as the girl that made home mine
Is the woman who reads.

I have made tremendous feelings.
There is within a good and changed understanding
Within I know what God is.

He and I were similar and
i created something that
brought pain.

He and I were the same
when I created the same
as I am.

She and I were the same
Now I am good to free
(Hustling): that's another crime.

Inwardly the jargon maneuvers
as in one becoming dry
as in one living to slay.

I have known that
my ancestor was brought
this way.

Create a friend and
slay your justice.

I know that I have borne
mothers with reigns.
I have borne that friend.



She and I thought together.
i and She began a new feeling.

That somehow is nothing.




I began to see that one love is
poison.

It brings change of money.

It brings love of money.

It brings a way to change
flow to bosses and
life to whores.

Neither am I one who
sexualizes ass.








Gears and money are
trust in feelings.

The money trust
is a joke.




Similarly to shame

Gas it up, Mom!

I Like Red Because It's Sexy: a note to my readers

On Selectivism

A place where love causes deaf gold.
Every night I feel needy.

Merry Christmas Day feels alive

People try love and guidance

Selective cruelties are devoting hope to causes.

Maybe another effort to calm safety's slave is fun.

Crashed on force.

Around here there's crack; save me, I ask.

Clean and sobriety is dream of ladies from Aurora.


I don't know what good self-freeing anger might look like
I think I ran for priesthood.


It's sort of nothing.


Maybe you will need a nut job.


See for yourself the cries of my changes:

Freedom whore shit on nut of calmness.

I loved life before my change became nice.
Slew the cream of Sartreian pain.

Baby, you are happy.

Since Christ was truth, there's anger of neediness.
Since cruelty is money, there's darkness of flaw.

(But cruelty is there in me.) --

A slow car enters a dream as passionate Aubrey L.
and wails, "Martha drew gaze."

I say yes to hope as owl and Monet.
Whence cometh Pookah.

Need is safe; trust is poem.

My apologies to one who argued for gentle treatment.

I love sucking tigers with me.

Sick is not change.

A girl.

I include myself as one of my own wimmin.

Does summer hide from mechanics?

My grandfather aboard the battleship Arizona
Married a dancer, Eudora, and had a baby Jack
in Los Angeles, moved to Seattle because of
all the Earthquakes.

My grandfather, the mechanic (did he own his shop)
sold popcorn in movie theaters.

His son on the way to management, drafted for Korea
stayed in the Army.

His manly body in the foreground, married to my exhausted
Mother, me in her arms in Georgia, USA.

1963 was the year.

Gratitude begins with love.

What was her Will that brought together the son of a sailor and dancer
and the daughter of a machinist and housewife
many years after the Depression and World War II (during Vietnam).

Why did my parents call the Civil Rights Movement, the Negro Uprising.

Dark harmonies were altered to meth.

I loved freedom and it was all there when sun shined on children
just back from the US of A.

It was solid, tough, strong.

Now I know that feelings freedom are created truthfully as
fruit of Bruce (my old name).

She and I are loving and have something called love from
my mother (she said).

I know that she will treat me like I am free.

There is the sun shining.

The mechanics are treating themselves as men.

I must try to embrace the creativity that caused change:


Will home to live fool. Bartering for hostess for love.
A punch to the wood; and a guard of the bee chest.
Mother of whores, let love lie hopefully.


My mother loves me (but not as Julia).

I created change for life and now it's another person.

Declaring myself as a hollowed mother to babies.

A poem to drugs.

Being in the State of Arizona is cold.

Many seek tallow; I write for madness.
Deal is slime.

George Oppen, a poet, wrote of summer and mechanics.