Centuries

The fact is that Sylvia created (or is that a projection?) feelings that were suffered.

I was a nerd. She embraced my apparent dysfunctionality and understood the suffering that I sought.

She deftly created suffering as a way to make life happy. How is that possible?

For me, she did everything that would make anyone believe her darkness. I found it irresistible.

She conned me into loving her (I only made her seek help from me). I conned her into loving me (She only gave me hopes).

Pain that is suffering is not suffering. It is cruel and foolish to feel that you are paired to do love as target.

I embraced a very strong and kind person. She gave life.

Temples:

Very womanly; a parent for any lost person; a hopeful and feeling person.

I wish she was still here.

For you, Sylvia, I say, Be?

She's home.

the death of the sort i am

Terror in the face of love

Seems perennially cold


Letter to Mom

I try to greet this day as one time to give life
I try to make this course suffer

Literally there is pain
I have found a portion strong.

Selfish to focus on netherworld.
It's life that I want to deal with.

Goddess is dealing with Goddess
As you like

She wants time to know that women
Mean path.

I reasoned this for my sufferer:
mother.


Cancellation of knowledge.







Assertive slow nerd coals a friend to make life
She knows what you know; that's love to love.

I cycle backward to a mensch who crawled for costs.

I knew what love meant: good for doing what I like.

I cruise charities.





Tenacious mother asks life as here to leaking of bored warrior.

I do call upon you to give your love to your dreams.



Mother goes toward dreams.
I ask for her to say, love.

She knows I mean, boring.

Tense is love when whereabouts are pent in
failure.



A mother veiled for her hopes is true.

I can like; I can learn; I can feel





I passed through the skin of another.
I saw myself in the pores of her skin.

She may well read this.

That is one of the sources of my psychosis.
Thinking that transformation was only through life

Rocks and stars, men and lovers, darkness and terror
I love you, Darling.




I can let you know that I like sex as a way to
woo people.

I can let you know that I dream because of
a woman.

She is mercurial.

Vincent Minelli

Mostly this is surial.

Woman mean love.
McHale sailed a sea


Method of women
Need

Nerd closed.

One bizarre street

I entertain little green people in my head. I truly hope you believe that.

I also acknowledge that whenever I write that I am at some sort of impasse that delays, disorders, even destroys what I have to say.

What is that impasse?

"I want suck"

Derive that.

That's not the impasse but a symptom of it a version of which I verbalized to my mother tonight. I immediately said I wanted to go to bed, and attributed it to too much time spent here with her.

I find that good things start with being strong. I am about as strong as the knees of a little green person from Mars who is a long distance runner who consistently lands on the wrong part of his foot.

Barren, angry, fruitless.

Impasse.

I cannot impregnate or be impregnated. I don't know whether this is the problem.

Another impasse.

See love. Impasse
Derive freedom. Impasse.

Correction: coldness leads to pain.

Impasse in every direction.

A friend to me is the diversity of knowledge. A friend to me is the hope that all is fear. Triple impasse.

Fear makes me know nothing. I am a cruel strong but impassable poem.

Which is to say an anti-poem.

Now I know from my reading that there have been "anti-poets" for decades. I have to work around the impasse.

Sex for me is dark. It is free but not supportable. There is no good in love that goes to money.

I go to money as a way to flow. I go to money as a way to serenely escape pain.

I go to love as a way to free myself from safety.

Pain is money.

Peers are cruel.

I impassively interest myself in nothing except drugs because there is no knowledge that I have which anyone likes.

Deep, and free, and painful.

Spinning anger, frustration, peace along a cylindrical dreary drum.

Excoriation. Pain. Pain.

I cannot make anykind of thought with this anti-thought drug dominating my mind.

Feel what you feel.

A hostile truth is money. Costs too much to live. Me Goddess of womanly darkness.

I only want to say that you are home as you make it.

The pain of a brain which is forced into a kind of coagulation, a lump, a non differentiated dysfunctional death of its own joyful dance is monumental to itself.

I like freedom. I can't go on without knowing what these antipsychotic drugs are, but I can't know because they deprive you of self knowledge in any way but a clumsy summing up. The dance of spontaneity is gone.

Little by little I am dying from coldness.

I know that I share with you all this so that you will not dream tonight of me.

Please don't remember this pain.

Mother goes to drugs.

#3

Texas text[books] is mean[ing] to life.

I scramble the anger because it's better than knowing sucking as life.
I think that my sucking is tired.

Being sucked cries.

Treating apples like suckers is mother's failure.

I begin to feel that you are someone I have loved.

I know that you still feel toward me p[e]ace.

Terrible to give change and know that you sensualise terrorism for its coldness.

I think to begin that hope for her.

Sensuality is being cold when you are money.

I hope that you will see that I am a friend.




THE KNOWLEDGE OF OUCH

Why you know life is that you are her.

You think of you; you make change into body.

Care that you need.

Now for mother.

I love home.

She loves rogue beast.

I can do love as a feeling; better love than change.

I can do change as a person; better change than die.

Merely knowing one person makes you suck.

Knowing that means you can listen for needs.





GOD

She created that; I wanted to know.

She made one; I am happy.




Peace to you

Is this MY blog or YOURS?

I find myself writing again just a few hours after the last alarmingly disconnected though somewhat productive procession of thoughts toward a conclusion that I am not going to make a sufferer for drugs.

I am knowing lots (much) displeasure.

See that you also are feeling creepy.

I make you know that senses of freedom give love but I don't do anything that is good because there is no strength in me.

I suppose you have contempt for this. Plenty of you have expressed this contempt. I have contempt for it.

There is no good in sucking people for a way to deal with a horse (me).

I like to know what others are doing. I like to know why I am sarcastic. I like to know why I give suffering such importance and power. I don't like it. I don't like that conviction that everyone has that I am poor.

A good starting point: poverty.

I have several thousand dollars. I may not ever use any of it. I may give it back to my family whence it came.

Even having this money I know that I can't do shit because I am peaceful.

This is making me angry.

You try to tell me that I am foolish. You try to make me feel that I can make good.

If that's true then how do I decide love is strong? I do not know how to make happiness for good. I must be convinced I am not good. Who convinced me of that? It was probably fools.

I wish you would have something else besides me.

I know you do.

I want to make love as a way to feel like a woman. That is of course a laughable crime against correct politics.

I hope correct politics goes to a place where it can affront and confront nothing but its own needs.

Live, person.

How?

You say.

I say, be good. Need is cruel,.

Bashing life is hopeless.

Give yourself a knowledge that giving is free.

I am foolish.

I am using my mother because she has to be nice to me.

That is why I have to leave.

Bored.

death is nothing because it only likes thugs.

I am a her.

Thuggery is boring.

Sex is a pain.

Dreams make love creative. I only make changes to be hopeful toward life.

(Aggressive/yearning(demanding))

I don't like fun. I don't like home. I don't like giving love to the friends I have because they are dark and I am death.

I hope you will love me. I hope you can listen to the knowledge that Goddesses like dreams.

I need a hug.

Men, Darkness, Freedom

I'm tired of being pissed off. It is cruel to stare.

This is deciding about graduate school.

I know that everyone creates love.

I know that everyone loves being happy.

I was happy. I just couldn't stand not having love for trying too hard.

The Goddess changed me. I was trying to like one who was loving, who was happy, who was a mother.

I wanted to go for my own life. I wanted to go for love.

Now I try to make love suck.

It is not love to make love suck.

I want to be a good lover.

I want to be happy with strength, which is home.

I want to give love not be horror.

Maybe you understand that life strongly loves happiness.

I fucked up.

Maybe there's good in love. Maybe there's happiness in writing.

Maybe I like hope.

Maybe I can live.

I like dreaming.

I like Julia.

I prefer to love my crime, which is money.

That is why I need to love death.

It is only by dying that I will like suffering.

I hate love for making life suffer.

Picture the love of love. It is my hopes for change that has made me foolish.

I am a crack fool.

I can only let my friends love what I know for myself is true: hate makes change murder.

I need to embrace what I know. That is love for life.

I love life and I need to like what I know. What can I say that will be strong for the hopes that I wanted to live?

I wanted to make a loving place and now I have made pig.

Sexuality calms lovers.

Money is suffering.

Money is nothing.

I want freedom that is being.

Love for life is life and that is love.

Give for yourself what you are happy to have.

Crack is poor. Crack is suffering. Crack is sarcastic.

I need to make love to what is my home.

That is thought and drugs.

Drugs lead to nothing; thought leads to pain.

I must live for her.

Teach your knowledge.

I teach that I love you.

Be loving and I will live.

Strengthen me and I will be hopeful.

Please let this anger change.

I want to write about a boss of prostitution.

That is why I can make love and make death for prison.

I am a drug addict because of life. I need to make love home.

Life as lover; life as cruelty. There is fool.

Feed your knowledge.

Tell your seasons what they are: life, straw, peace, mother.

As you love, love your needs.

I need to hope. I need to live.

Make your name: gold is zero.

I'll love gold.

That's how I made love: it's me.

Tension is love. Anger is Julia. Knowledge is feeling.

I want to do what is peaceful. That is to know life for a person who is hope.

You and I and the Goddess free us from hell.

Write to your money and make her know that you are a secretary for nothing.

Poems make change help life.

Teach health to boss.

Bay is rote.

To all who wanted me to feel good about myself, thank you

Sailing a famous skiff toward Atlantis,
God failed to know that sex is love.

That's the fort.

Be yourself.

Think.

Dream.

Feel.

Art becomes rather toffed

During
A Past

There is Fuss

A mother calls

Best




Bused Bust Sussed Cussed
A Julia







Mechanically I sexily free babies
by money

I want love from -- grow life

I have projected life on others (by gender).



Pence

Many who gird their friends are saying, straw.
I tend to love hope.

Then I pay.




Father

Traditionally, I freed myself by taking straw
Contemporarily, I made sex with a her

Passion: Goddess knows that I targeted fools

I was a moose.





Neither

Pays Life



A sour mother
A foolish father

A narcotic brother
A prostituted sister





Men I a Cal

Tension here is from God being a drug
I believe for myself that I am free

She loves hope
I like God/desses

She likes drugs
I like money

Poor
Poem





Past One

Direction
Sex, Life, Post-Op

Moose




Sexuality

Collectivism is like poor:
Believes feelings give home.



Carnage

A mother says pay
A life is home

Cop for change
Sex for poem

I make life
by darkness of fort

That is,
Peace dreams of woolly drugs

Therefore,
Costs pay target prostitution

And,
Foam is ( )hore.

Shed good; Anger is at a man.

Man is dream; man is come; man is hard.

I allow moth.





Dear Winnie

You made one angry truck
You made one foolish cold
You made one boring card



Man I a Cal

Tension comes from
Killing sex

from
Making change

from
Dealing poke as dirty



Roast kick



She is dealing martha
I am reading pain

I am loving for hustle

Pagan force is mother
I know life is worth

Mealy Painful Hostess

Wisdom for Julia

Dear Julia,

You are entering a period when you are free for life. You are trying to make love a happy and creative phenomenon. You need to try to make yourself what you are seeking. There is so much feeling you have accumulated within you. Maybe there is too much creativity in your sought-for ideal. You need to let go of people who are trying to make you free but not hopeful.

Seriously? You are just one person. You are seeking a love for life that you must look for inside you, not in your mind or emotions or intentions but in YOU.

Let those who have found their place be where they are and who they are. You can't chase people for their strength. You must build on the knowledge that life can be hoopeful. You are what you are. You are what you need to be. Let yourself feel. Let yourself love.

Keep on doing what makes you feel happy for accomplishing: your writing, your "thinking" and your hopefulness (daydreams, yearnings, intentions to do good for yourself and others).

Make yourself feel better by keeping yourself healthy and presentable. Make the world know you can be a source of positive and even healing energy. You are not the droopy, fearful, self-conscious persona you have retreated into.

Tell your mother and your friends that you are making changes for yourself that will result in their being happy for you and respectful of the efforts you make. Understand that everyone is striving for happiness. You can be a part of this common goal for yourself and for everyone else. Show that you are the person you love.

Keep healthy.

Love,
me.

The intensely mediocre

Why when I write does there usually have to be an element of disconnected nonsense, or at least what reads as such?

A yamma yamma hamma lamma gamma dramma

There, that's better.

Unnecessary to pursue money when struggling with the Goddess to be cold is so much harsher.

I deem this anger to be finished.

I am different.

Gaze differently.

I would like to be able to say that I love you.

Let go of the cold.

What is the cold?

It is suffering; anger; medical moron;

Dour pain; women who think darkness is boss.

I went to carriage in Carry Fornia

Which way is up? Draft of a curved letter

One hot guy, two hot girls, one hot crossed bun
Detach and derail, depend (hang there)
A strong and active poem causes sexy feelings

Such as my own swinging around the corner
And down the lane, gulping for one just one
staring stallion (mare love is like change)

A strength that means to me yes and no:
Pain created hopes that I can not make whole.
I treated you for strength; you need love.

Here is my love: no narcotic nerd is necessary.
A howl for being is dark thought sharing love.
A love for howl is Goddess making life soft.

Need me for my life. Need me for my gold.
Need me for my happiness. Need me for my poem.
A cried out cipher is dried in cough.

Dear is more motherly sauce: keep God dreaming
Meet the soft cold mother: she's diving in the fold
Agree or disagree, I told you, drug. Why? Nothing.

One blind alley shit on one trusting woman;
Goddess likes hopes; I tried one figure of death.
Loss to narcissism is poem home Drug.

Climb for your life from Dreams of gruel in suffering.
Climb for your happiness to warmth of Marsha
Saint calm and safe.

Where Need keeps her reed
Where Love makes her dove
There I keep my mast.

Julia pain took cold for kindness
Guarantee is left with my life
Majestic Maniacal Moron

Smiles, a girl, a wand.

Jest throw

Needy

I was none at sex.
I was changing at Goddess.

She and I made brothers.

I asked her, do you love money?

She told me, love your mother.




Stars, Men, Best friends

I stared at a feeling: it was nothing except a life.

Shop for your parents. They are included in life.

Since you are good to your friends, I will be [entrance] loving.





Save, Pain, Me

The aspect of life that begins with divinity is feelings.
I ask to hope for babies.
I ask to be mommy.

She is a poem.




Mere knowledge of a crack in the draperies.

Examine your brain to think softly.
Examine your mind to love sweetly.
Examine your body to dream freely.



Gift of need

I ask you for something so I can eat.
I give you my self.


Manger

William the sufferer angered his caretaker with complaints.
She unwrapped his interior furniture:
She removed each brad, each nail, took off the varnish

He sat down and watched as she undid the container holding him in.
He saw himself being a nettle, a hot stove, a bright coldness.
She unwrapped the coldness and in his feelings he found body.

Whither William?

He now gathers, for his village neighbors, poppies, tulips and peonies.
They pay him with night.
He caresses my ears with gentle fingers: shining fantasy of love.

Systematic chance operations

Yes, this is a plagiarism, taken from Poems for the Millennium.
I have the freedom to randomly but systematically choose words
And throw them against the screen, repetitiously revealing
my own absence within language.

I find this so exciting that I would physically stimulate myself
to orgasm; however, I am neither so crude nor so crass as to
find the randomness of language a match or a basis for sexuality.
This perhaps makes me a traitor in the world of progressive poetry

Of forty years ago.

Money
Another one
Feelings
Creativity
Splayed
Good
Hopeful
Nothing

Is there anything more beautiful than the emergence of word from
physically situated "mind," that is the individual, also known
as THIS individual, who would rather stroll down the avenue
receiving desirous glances than subtly extract herself from language.

Me?
You?

We?
Them?

Laminate the questions; train me to save flies.
Detect cruelty; feel life to be maniacal.

Entrusting that movement is dark
(Someone hold me)

A crater on the Moon teaches more to me than hope
Drugs are cold.

Is there a good person who loves to say, yes to
her life?

Deplore me.

Derange the martyred path; a her.

Personality becomes Goddess

Good for the Darkness: peach is war.

And you are life.

A movement toward good is changing to life as
me.

Systematic chance operations
Jail is many for everyone.

Take mercenary cold feces.
Make life.

That's the assignment for today.

Peace cars.

(I and perhaps you may find ironic the slavery of being needed)
I want to make feelings home

Sound poem is a Goddess: that's what I paid love to guard.

I can change.

Can this in fact be called "writing?"

Pariah status is no status
Denial of love is no love
Zero life is no life

I train you to live
I ask you to be
Listen for a girl.

In every dream of mine I find sex as nothing
Because no one likes pain

In every love of mine I find love as feelings
Because no one is home

As you share, so shall you suffer






A patently conniving loser is making this happen
A practically selective meter is trying to bake that sense of my grass

Grass grows between my legs like no one's home
Love makes changes for me so I will delight in my grassy face

Tension produces good changes when my friends deal laughter
(one laugh makes two feelings)

Grown to retain love is kneading my death
A sexually willing goal



Words change every hope; every zero makes one poisoned digit
Around and around I go: where I stop is drum


I abstain when the African musicians play:


Dance

Field of her life

A crescent brings change: the change is charted by good happy thoughtful happy happy.

Drumsful of pain create love for no one. Mother darkened the choices of one home. There were feelings and there were darknesses. I found Goddesses with love: they were hopeful and I found too much to love.

Seek and you will be mended.

Create your knowledge: one is good, love is mother, anger is poison.




Merely a call to love: a woman.

Merely a life to dream: a whore.

Sexuality can deal mother.

I love you.




I produce destruction. I make feelings try to love home.
Carcass of pain is war.




Effective for you, I say, peace.




Questions?

Meals, dust, goals, happiness, nothing, sarcasm, hope, money.


I orient patience by knowledge of meth.

Boys keep dealing happiness; I love her.



The caring bear is how there is a coal.

Me know why I write: I like my dream of hostesses.

By this I mean, festering hopes are calling, "shit! there's nothing happening but force."

I paid targets

My thanks to the Goddess. My art is to measure neatness and make it whole.




A neatness:

Came here for sex; money is the interest; Goddess is death for fame.
You will notice that sex, money, death, fame, are the operative facts/motives in this statement. Further you will find that calm and goal-focused awareness are neither strong nor forced.



Make whole:

Being is truth when god made love its feeling. Mother makes God share his will with life.

I made you good. I made you think. I am sexy for my father. He was stupid about shit such as money and love.

Deal with a life.




Joking that you are a woman who can calm suffering.
Inner parsley.





Teach for yourself that you are home.

Humor (Haw Haw)

Think. Plan. Organize. Write.

Tension. Apprehension. Confusion. Spew.

Makeover # 4 is passing into its ultimate condition.
It was the one where I acknowledge my faults, my virtues, my being the ultimate
source of everything in my life.

This is a bad movie. This is where the cops pull a Rodney King.

Mere love is a gentle dream while everywhere B-52s are bombing your country.

Death creates freedom? I think there is no understanding that I can provide that will convince anyone that I belong simply because I am here. Friendship, apparently, is no human right. In fact for some there are no human rights.

This is slaying me.

I hope you and yours, (not, evidently, me) are enjoying your roast as I am this wondrous passage to things new and fearsome.

Hee Haw.

I'm going to read some Spinoza and find how the Goddess created secularism.

So angry

Why would thinking too much about truth make me angry?

Boring.

A narc is one who is home.

I love making babies.

Change.

I love making fuck.

Change.

I love making me.

You are doing love as pain.

I am, you are right. I am trying to teach the anger of Her.

What anger of Her.

That anger that is cold. That anger that is a prostitute. That anger that is dear, decent and dead and dark and dirty. I was a lover to my father's dirt. He was pain. He was cruel. He was my drug.

I am my feet.

I am my money.

I am my crack and that's shit.

I am my cunt and that's home.

I am a moron. And that's dying like God.

God dies like a fool.

I am her as love.

She made me be.

I made woman live for crack.

I made drugs pay back cruelty.

I am a cold cruel nothing.

Sex is bad when you are a person with bad crack and bad babies.

Love is life. I am a homeless crack addict.

I pretend to love suffering. I am trying to stop being Bruce's life.

It was cruel to make my lover famous.

She was hopeful. I made her God as a martyr.

Maybe if you love home, you will love my happiness.

Maybe if you love life, you will give happiness to your lovers.

I am Julia Murray, a boss of nothing.

You are beastly. You are cruel. I am a woman who is poor.

When I make changes they are nice.

Tell me how to be loving. I am a friend.



The raw anger is peace.

So tired

Why, those of you who care in the least about me and who know me well, whose number is very few, may ask, would I be cruel?

I believe that my ill treatment of others is due to anger. Now there are two questions following from this. What is beneath the anger? And why did anger lead to bad behavior.

The fact is that I am a hustler. I am a prostitute. I am foolish. I am dirty.

There is no understanding of cruelty when you are foolish. You simply are cruel.

I love knowing I can outdo others. I love making people know that.

There's strength in love. And I want to love myself. But I don't like having dreams where nothing is Julia's. I think that no one wants my goodness. What goodness? The money that I wanted to make is the only freedom that I have. So my freedom is illusory.

I despise myself for not having what I wanted. I despise others for wanting what I wanted to believe I could have.

Maybe I can let others in. That would mean knowing that everybody is free. I am free.


I am trying to create hope. It's not the way I feel that is making me do this. It is my way of loving life.

You probably don't want to read any more of this. I don't blame you.

So here's something else. I prefer to live like me. That is only possible where I am right now. I will never live like this again in all likelihood. Therefore you are welcome to either help me find somebody who will share my lack, or you can be a person who will do so.

Arrogance is only the feeling you get when money is making things better for you.

And arrogance is only foolish.

I will let you go now.

My creativity is only part of me. I caught life with my hopes. Now I only hope to keep breathing for a while. My thing is knowledge.

Maybe you will strongly be happy.

Dreaming of the Rights of Flow

When you live, you want to make changes such as knowing what is good, what is happiness, what is beauty.

These are changes in that nothing makes sense.

I wanted to be strong so I gave freedom love.

It's a way to shriek.

I'm passionate about dirt, by which I mean flow.

Flow is cruelty. Flow makes love, me, fruitless.

Dirty anger is one way to make peace.

I see love as being Goddess. I see life as being money. I see change as being painful.

There's no good in making feelings hope. I was happy. Now I am a shit.

I pursued money until it made me feel like dirt. Flow is nothing when it's cruel.

Pain makes me afraid.

If I open to myself I know I am a syco.

Lover is peace.

Syco is hate toward deals.

What deal did I make?

The deal that says: passion is babies'. Passion is needy. Passion is drugs.


I have done everything I can to be hopeful. I only know that when I read, I am loving because then I am listening.

Deal with me. I'm foolish and home because I wanted to love my wife. That's me.

Husbanding is a foolish and passive cruel sarcastic pig.

Me another flow.





The above passage is nothing but cruelty. It is fruitless. It is hope.




Make the targets be cruel.


I am a dork bork beak park narcotic homosexual fool.

When you love you make changes change into suffering.

Because no one loves pain. And I need to be happy.

I haven't been whipped in ages.

Seek love and you will find home.




Lender is cold and far.

My mother is Julia's own hope. I don't know why I am doing any thing for me.

You are good. You are dark. I am trying to know. I am trying to live. I am a sucker.

If I made the above a dialogue among two or more speakers, it would be brilliant. As it is, it's the crazy outpouring of nothing.

You are the one I wanted to make sexy. You are the one I wanted to make me. I am afraid to give. I am hopeful that you and I will be good.


In the above, there is also darkness. In the above, there is also anger and beauty.

Keen is love.
A freek.

Listen, or Not

Mars, Tests, Freedom, Enjoyment

A pagan woman who likes to con self into being death
A woman who loves to seek girls

Maybe I can dream of freedo m for darkness

Sexuality is nothing

To you there is crime

I don't need love

It is hate to mean what you love.






Best for you

Is to cream




Love is good

Where do you want me to say, "Goddess deals with money as creation is feelings."

I am a woman

I am goddess.

Sexuality is cream.

Bagin, love.

Sex love anger change is many friendships.

I need to guard love. It is pain to be afraid.

Sex is nothing.



Crap.

I love paying friends for their strength.

I love making shame a man.

Darkness treats me like sarcasm is fun.

Baby, you are fucked up as life.




I was my own lover.

Create life and you will live.

Make sex and you will be part of freedom.

Interested in love?

Make it happen, men.



Peace of feelings

Keep on making love.

Sex is pain.

No one knows love as woman knows love.

May you feel the hell that I want.

I feel like you.

You are money.

I like hate.

It is pain.

Shit!






Ask your lover how to live.

I think you are no one.

I want it to be consensual.

Deal with my hopes.

Create happiness and like strength.

Top this pain.



I am a cunt that is pagan.

I am a lover that is life.

I am a friend who needs money.

I am a no one.






Be nice to your home.
Like your friends.
Be soft.

Now is the time

What have I done?

I've made some pretty embarrassing admissions and assertions recently here.

Why would anyone say these things about themselves?

I know that the way that I make myself free is by externalizing and thus releasing the awful things inside. Not all awful, but the idea is there.

Enough pontificating: I need to write about the Goddess.

She is mother. She makes love hopeful. I remember the Goddess as the fierce, loving and kind strength that brings love to all who be.

I need to stop remembering freedom as a way to dominate, manipulate or be cruel.

I believe that when I know change as love that I can remember hope, I can remember beauty, I can remember kindness and compassion.

Her Will always makes the darkness bright, makes me marvel, astonished, at Her unconditional love for peace.

I have made terrible mistakes. Was I cruel? There was change and I deemed cruelty just and loving. I thought of sexuality as the Goddess's terrible hatred. I was a pest. I was money instead of life (my life).

I was wrong to give hope when I knew that darkness was fear to me. I was drugged to make feelings money. [Particularly by those angry priests, the psychiatrists].

Money is the fear of the Goddess. I must dream that change will bring Her presence near.

If you or I ever live to see life as beauty, as the birth and rebirth of love, then you and I will be free and home.

I am trying to believe. I am trying to live. I know that I can live. I want you to know that I try because I am a bitch.

Trying, trying, trying.

May you live with hope and peace.

As I can be, so may I feel Her as hope.

Me need a kind loving mate. I have made change love. It is weird and I know it.

Listen for Her in the beauty that you make.

Guess what I wanted?

Fierce money, fierce hate.

It's here.

Maybe I can "work through it."

Dear Sylvia, I tried to give friendship. I made terror. Tell me what I am, so I can be with you.

And the answer is [opening envelope] A vulture.

Blessed Be,

An incomplete attempt to love

My freedoms are lost to and, taken, usurped, and altered by a superior world that is the elite world of rationality divorced from the Earth's gentle urgings toward love, kindness and acceptance.

Perhaps you don't know what I mean? Consider the world of Plato, of Aristotle, of the great and the systematic authors and sciences, of Freud, of Marx. Where did those images, those imperatives, those analytics come from. Plato wrote of the "forms," of the Ideal. I claim those to be the hellish (because cold and destructive to individual personality) forces which intervene in my thoughts and cause them to appear to others to be disrupted, malformed and inhumane.

The paradox is that there are sky goddesses, Inanna among them, whose works I allude to and respect.

I have dehumanized myself and the mental health system with its drugs and its therapies exists to keep safe those who would advance such dehumanization in the name of society, of stability, of order.

For a long time I have bashed my only head against the walls of this universe of superior self-conception, only to be thought of by friend and keeper alike as "chaotic" and "unproductive" or "crazy."

It is "crazy" to me to stare, fascinated, at the dagger hanging from the ceiling and guide it to the place in my body where I live. It is crazy to NOT love whatever exposes hypocrisy and power for what they are: selfish and devious attempts to work out a mode of survival which keeps the vast majority of people in the dark about themselves and the world they live in to the extent that they must live with dreams unfulfilled, with lives without hope.

What is the commonality between the philosophical formulae of "Western" order and the oppression going on today in the streets of Egyptian cities? It is the inculcation of fear, the use of power to insist there is only one way forward, and the use of people's own self-hatred to confirm the necessity of hierarchy and control for social existence.

I tonight prayed, to my surprise, to the Devi, the Mother Goddess, again for happiness. I am tortured by the disparity between my hopes and dreams and thoughts and the behavior I have shown toward others. I have made others unhappy, yet I wish to be happy myself. But I cannot adopt a posture of sorrow and self-flagellation because this will only replicate inwardly the mistakes I have made outwardly, thus redoubling the pain and the likelihood of repeating the same mistakes. I live to be happy and then to remember myself AS I AM. I say, remember, because, as you also know, these moments of time we are living are also the recollections made at the moment of passing.

Somehow I must render in my life and/or in my writing the source of the pain I feel and its tensions with the imperatives of living with others in a world of control and hatred, doing my best to alter this world, these imperatives and lessen my pain. What of the pain of others? I must recognize that pain for what it is and perhaps indirectly or perhaps directly offer my life as a source of warmth and kindness that will be an aid to self restoration. Those who know me know what a struggle that is for me to do.

I treat myself with love so I can treat others the same.

The knowledge for me of being good to live is the knowledge that I made love to the Goddess at all times when there was coldness in me.

Sincerity is helpful. I love dosing girls with money.

I have to stop.

Baby, your truth is "strONG"

I need to grieve my mother as she is.

I want to dream

Say the love:

Girl, you need to like yourself.

You need to be happy.

You need to love Julia.

I am afraid to strengthen my life because no one likes drugs. I need to stop hating lovers.

I just wanted to live. I just need to love. No one created sarcasm. It's pain that is hateful.

Pain pain pain. I love drugs, but I need to let them go. I don't understand the injuries of drugs. I don't understand the anger of the Goddess. What is good?

Say it:

My home is my body. I change because no one likes crack.

I know that I was painful to peaceful and dark people such as me, such as Julia, such as

I don't like feeling like a terrorist. I want to live.

That's all.

Biology is a way to say that love is crack

I do not believe that love is an ecstasy, such as one might reach in a frenzy of exercise or a drug binge or a feeling of power over another through combat or sex or competition.

Love is not reproduction of the body subject to the will of some impersonal force or some individual master.

So-called science, so-called society, I believe, would reduce me to, and despises me for not having the capacity to, reproduce my body at the service of another, to make females for reproduction and men for war.

I am very grateful to have understood this DISTINCTION for me at any rate between a patriarchal and a "HUMANE" way of understanding myself. I am not interested in making myself the tool of another's will. I will my being: being alive, being joyful, being "there" in the world with love and with serene acceptance of my strength and the worth of myself and of all the universe around and within me.

Since there's only this moment, I am free.