Attached

I craked my failures to streak and to love.

You like why.

A trust in my place, which is safety, is someone's injuries.

I called a friend with my pain. She is happy. I called her for my strength. I knew she would be my average vegetable.

Since giving my life to dreams I have made love to a goddess who was a possible hostess.

I needed steaming.

Density of a mouse. Cameras are life.

A murderer wanted one hanger.

Make love safely.

Make life freely.

Medea and Brains

Guilt frees injuries to save sensibility.

Blessed cancer.

Live

Sense safety see someone
Gave hostility; gave pain. (I did)

Levels of hope -- safety is loved. (by life)

I raise the simple owl.

You can live and give a mother for misses.

Bent against need. (I am)

A bag of luck. (I am)





Loud, peaceful, free.

Astro client makes woman life.

As teacher of homes I give a gag.

I wanted you to give me safety because you were free; you wanted me to give you love because I was playing boss. I was mao. I was your flustered rogue. I passed drugs. That's cold.

Many lives I've had. Now I love margarine.

I am changing as much as I can and that's why I'm happy.

Owl and Rabbit gather wings

Happy Birthday, Mom

I have spewed a lot of anger because I havent been accepting of my post-operative status.

I am sorry.

The pain I hope will now decrease.

Thats all.

Caesura

I love that word! It means in poetry a gap or division within the line. This introduces the possibility of symmetry and/or asymmetry within as well as across the line. An example? Well, the only examples I know of come from Beowulf, but I'll try to "demonstrate":

I know why You know how
People lie Like a cow.

Theres supposed to be a space between each half of each line but it won't show on the published version. Just imagine an extra space before You and Like.

The caesuras emphasize both repetition and variety within each line by providing an internal pause. At least that's the idea as far as I can remember.

Perhaps (caesura) I have reached a pause in my life and in this blog. I feel that I am between two periods of change. I can catch my breath and plan for the future calmly without being caught in anxiety and conflictedness.

I am happy to like myself today.

Stanford threw me away yesterday. I guess I needed them more than they needed me. My mother says that's the way it always is.

I think this is one reason for my relative calm.

I hope today is for you as beautiful as you wish or even more so.

Goth, Moth, Wroth, etc.

I am very pleased to know that a certain CEG will be hosting a radio show with Goth music this October 30.

The show will be on WIOXradio.org, or 91.3 WIOX FM, community radio, Roxbury, New York.

I went out in Goth attire exactly once and found an extreme lack of hostility towards me. It was really quite refreshing and energizing and encouraging. Perhaps I will attempt to purchase some death-white makeup and heavy black pencils to repeat the occasion.

I am really glad that there's a way to deal with morbidity other than mental and emotional obsession. Maybe this is what I need to do.

I used to occasionally go to what was supposed to be a Goth bar in Brooklyn. There were all kinds of people from punk to motorcyclists. The music was loud and overwhelming. I used to of course obsess with picking people up there but I dont think I ever did. Of course the contradiction here is that it takes money to drink at a bar so I participated in the contradiction by occasionally having enough money to do so. It's hard really to be downtrodden when you're spending 3, 5 or 7 dollars a pop.

Legitimately, it's okay to pursue some forms of intoxication, but realistically you have to know your limits and stick to them. I could usually do neither.

I wonder if the bars in New York still get the clientele they used to get. Probably not, given the great recession. I wonder if the 99%ers ever get wasted. My opinion of the ones they show on the news is that they dont understand that they are being provoked to provoke and thereby be beaten down. I think that even billionaires are human and its our job to remind them of it, not necessarily only be outraged at the ways they are treating us. That's what I've learned from knowing a few well off people. They are afraid and need reassurance and love from everyone. Its not so easy to practice when you're full of anger.

But blindness on the side of the 99%ers is no excuse to follow the Fox line and fall on the sword of one's supposed economic unworthiness and live in poverty for the sake of profit. That's my opinion and you're welcome to it!

Non literary, non coherent babbling

People pleasing stirs hatred. Thanks.

When I have someone to love maybe Ill have something to say.


You can give me a friend.


Private!

Yes, SIR!

Heres your R-I-D, Rage inducing Drug. Go Kill the Enemy.

Yes, SIR!

wHEN you get back, have some crack.

An Upbeat

It's in the past, the bad stuff.

I like that messsage. I like not torturing myself.

But I have to decide: do I write according to all the feelings I have or just the better ones. Do I lambaste only those I oppose, or anyone who violates what I see as ethical imperatives, despite my probably having violated them myself?

I called this an upbeat so I'll try to include something which brings out the possibility of relaxed calm, etc.

JKH and Rusty were at a Succoth in jail. It sounds like it went very well. That pleases me.

Why is it hooking that makes me change? There is so much else in the world.

I can be a philosopher of hope and beauty, etc. All I have to do is release her. She is alive. I share her happiness.

Inannna was a warrior. Am I? I always reach for peace. Seldom find it.

Everything on Facebook newsfeed is political. I want to be a healer of dreamers' pain. Pain assaults those who want something different. I hope to communicate that this pain can diminish.

How? I take different approaches at different times. I'll just try to say that people do like my happiness.

As I hope to theirs.

I'm a prostitute not a fool.

Sucker.

Just keep this light. I like dreaming of change. Ice cream, TV dinner fish, raisin bran, a cheese sandwich and a shot of brandy.

I have a good life.

Rusty Chelsea Jamie Antonia Manny Celia Randy, etc., live.

Dean, Mom, Carol, live.

Julia live.

Moving asses

Jargon

Sick poet balls asses with poetry
Sick poet makes money with injuries

You got it.



Nasty farce

Ouch!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




Dear Mother,

Today I make love to the hopes I bought with my needs. I thought I was God. I thought you were free.

You and I have made love a way to live like money is full of life.

I do have what I need. I do have this place. It is always my place. I am bought with senses.




This disgusting post is for you who wish me to like Sartre as my lover.




Eric Burdon of the Animals. George S. Patton of the Eighth Army. Mickey Spillane of detective literature.

Barbie Doll of Mattel.



Okay, DON'T CENSOR!

My middle class upbringing, though insufficient and incoherent, brought me to a place where I made androadsokfjwokdjrowljfdkjf

Pods.

I pod that.

I project you.

You enter my anger.

You love Julia

I kill pork.

I eat money.

Don't fool me into lthe moronic lies you wih =====

love as I oove.

Discord. Pawns. Pods. Money. Body. W:hore.

Guilt. Sex. No one who loves asses likes this hore.

Guilt. F:ool. Dereier

Anger.

Poem of Poets with no one to scream too

dhcelkjer'sadjraqser

Froujediosj f


kdjkfr'e

G:oddess. It's love worriedl.l..

Danger with my whomjel..

Krereted.

Anger.

Poetwty.

:Bam.

Like>

Deran.

Everything I do is Korect

Panel.

Today I have had some slight chest pains which are keeping me from getting my shot. I may, according to my doctor's medical assistant, need to go to the emergency room.

I want to write about why I have not taken care of myself.

Zen is bodies.

I have said yes to love.

With love, there is love.

I was mugging when my mother wanted life.

I was on a sensor.

I fought love; it's painful to see happiness for towels (low villages) because I wanted hostility because of my force (Anger).

The anger is old possibilities. Such as bacon, such as more. I have what I faded.

Visit with yes.

Am ham.

David wanted love and I made work.

Z R J

The Goddess is Sane

(Caring is Sane)

On this freedom I like family.

Queer Lore

Directions to steam

Bossy older woman calls life a possible hope
American archeress claims places

Illness pleases a famous seer:
Seal the loss with loud gazes.

More of that clay is playing
No one as sap.

Mack wanted this freedom;
Orgasms darkened with clay.

I work with sound.

Cameras are fun.

Pounding the part of myself that interests poesy,
Ick runs out of the places that I manipulated.

She hardens her sanity so that I am muss.

Derive your answers toward indra.

I release you from geology, hydrology, poetry and woman.

The stupidity I display is an artifact of fear.
You like the coldness; I am part of it.

This no one can not say anger is love.
This person can not give anger to your hopes.

If you created my safety, then how do I play?

Withal, and laughingly, you charted this happy boss.

I level my big senses; they were tall and impressed.

I call you my font.

Print this woman as stumbling


Dear hansel:

Loops for the hoops

Why write?

Pampered beer [not Heineken but Beck's]
Owns sex.

Dampened jaws
Sleep wonderfully

You and I see
Hostile Plots.

I rounded the
corner.

Pain with yes is
Like giving pleas.

Again I act with
Sores.

You know anger
As teacher.



********************


Gleeful cannibal

Damned fall -- you who witness that Goddess with her fists
Enter a new goal.

She used her mother's help.

I made life Goddess.



******************************

What's on your mind.

Peace can interest you when you keep this need a blog.

I helped sad nurses.

They wanted to place their mothers in bold fouls.

I needed to guide.

I shat to save a poet.

No poet, no god, no freedom.

I made God, so I made no more.

*******************************

Twisted

Answers to your ideas: a blog fucks naked answers.

I write this to live.

I warn of me.

I am money's part of foolishness.

Fools: Those who dream and create marcy.

Marcy: Sam Marcy of Workers' World; Peppermint Patty's besst friend.

Keep your peace and like answers.

The Quesst for me is peace.

If you discover my needs, you will think of yourself as happy,

My needs: cleaning, meaning, dealing,




****************************


There's a truck! a truck! A woman with broad shoulders and hips
unable to gracefully sway her body down the corridor.


*****************************


Mare alleys

Vote now for change. It's the creativity that lives for near weird.

Weird emerged from Ireland in the 9th century with a candle trailing her steps.

She talked to me.

I told her it's cold.

She said back to money.

********************************************

Proper Etiquette

Nasty hustlers dream what they like.

I see what I wanted: a son.

Santa Barbara bring me sons.

She will happen what is teaching.




Man. War. Death. Keep the help in love. They only wanted to slave; they were poor.


Dear Suckers, I made your place mother.


A blind back beasts bones bringing blades back blond.

Immolation

Bought myself another post.

This one is to like the way you have felt.

I started with this need: it's terrible to like your own freedom.

This only could make freedom a cold and fearsome need.

I love to give you this knowledge.

Teach your happiness.

Embrace my love.

Feel the round agitation.

This is the way.

Nude, I give love for a friend with no feces.

You have loved a friend with no male twin.

The next struggle is to anchor all these words in paganism.

I have done the plain with a goddess.

She treated me to naked happiness. She made this world a mother to Sandra.

When you play one need, you make one love.

She and you are good for love.

I will only make this the last ware. Me dry and fogged.

Motivations

I wanted women to like me without telling me I was nothing. Unfortunately, a sex change does nothing to change who you are.

I don't remember what I wanted.

I remember that it hurts to like your own suffering. I liked it because I could always deal that need to life. (i.e., others.) Now i have to live and safely deal with the Goddess. She is beautiful. I try to give reasons to live. One is listening. Another is crying. I am about to change.

I was terrible because I wanted to be a crone.

That is the pain of life when you want to please cold boring foolish people. These people include what I feel are me. I preached dreams of safety. This means I have to live for a woman who was my poetic failure: Shaida.

She was poetic for me.

She liked the safety of life with my poems (needs, feelings, farcical saving anger).

When you like to claim why there's need, you have to listen to peace.

This is part of what love became and what I worried about as a punk.

She wondered what was love. I knew that she would give me answers.

I think she did dream of love. I dreamed of happiness. I hate my needs.

If you ever want to give me love, I will change dreams. I will change what I do. That means I will live with the pain of being a blogger. (Not, fool, poet, flame, dream, clone, blond, fat, bland, glandular sheriff).

Best hope is to live for a homosexual named wisdom.

I want to like myself. I failed to make love with this person's needs. I am Julia Murray. I am a lean pest.

You deal with woman. I'll live as my proud closet fag. (woman)
Rome leaves a possible failure. (vinegar)

This post doesn't convey the injuries that have made life so mean.

I plowed the shame with love.

Fun

Seek what you love.

Speak what you feel.

Live what you are.

Today I have lived in that today I gave my hopes for love to life.

I believe that love interests anyone who can live with giving to people who are home. This being "home" is identical to anger and to belief in happiness.

I suppose this indicates to you that I have no understanding of what I need to like being here.

I have told my mother I can't stay here. I have told myself that I need to be happy where people are hopeful. I am hopeful. The hopes I have given to love and life are with peace and serenity.

Maybe you do not prefer this terminology.

I only wish that somehow you who read this would give some happiness and patience to your life.

Now that you feel that I have made feelings the cornerstone of life, I must say that I want life as I love good things. Some of these things are: beauty, craziness (money that makes priests give freedom to one brain), and coldness (industrial freedom).

I have a lot to examine.

You see I am not self absorbed. I am working through this clown I am. I am working through a grounded blond possible anger, even though I am not that grounded, blond or possible.

I seek this way because I am patient and because I can help people live by disseminating patience freedom and strength.

None of this is meant to be repetitious. My decision is to be pagan (alive to Nature, to the Goddess, to one happy love of life.) I have to be alive to all there is. Not just me but all.

This leads me to wonder why I rejected others. I wanted anger so I could live like a mother. I wanted dreams of others so I could live with people.

I am one person. I am one part of her peace.

I do not wish to trade love for calm.

Today I greet love and life as my hopes.

When you make freedom the way to strength and belief, then you make life poor.

When you make changes in life the creativity that begins feelings then you make life a flogging of me.

Creativity comes from living as it is, not making changes only for one grieving. Grief is blind. Grief is cold. I will that my sexuality is hope.
(Drinking)
I will live.

With passion.

Elmo wonders

Mommy, bodies want justice.

I peed off this person.

Pull me into crafts that industrially settle as bonnie.

Scratch.

DCM is pleasing bonding.

Ask him love -- hands taste agility.

I bad. I barded industrialism.

Keep this poem bossy.

Rang what drove me to ponder soaking.

Rome possibly was a vulgar comb.

As death.

Keep money with your place (sane)

As your party itches, nest (entrance to a mainly pagan lover)

Women want ponds.

I like ambers.

Kiss loving the flamed in God.

Chap.

Propriety

Angus beef Arby's drips fatty juices onto plate.
Policeman how 'bout them apples?

As terrorist organization grows, US war against fundamentalist islam
produces more death.

Guilt of the possible angry place as dear clients sail to freedom
with their kisses on their porkchop lips.

Energize the transporter beam for me and I'll be hopping down to
the M-Class planet with my lasergun antics.

Engrossed in political verbiage, dreams play pinatas with the Goddess'
errors.

Delightful frocks billow about the legs of recently released prisoners
taking hits of nicotine beneath windows opening onto the splintered land.

Safely returning soldiers blow money onto the tarmac as wives and children
playfully enter into companionship with their flight instructor conmen.

I rest my words anticipating a friendly return on witchcraft with no
enjoyment of ardor under the arbor's Southwestern civil rights record.

Display oneiric pain via zombie articulate bonafide striated muscleslashes
for the record of the United Cabalists of Detroit villagers.

Descending to Earth my nature gives little to be pleased about for the
Little League's final outburst filleting a ponzi scheme pang.

Kiss my antiquated lips and know possible outgoing chiefs ratted their people for sixteen and a half bulging eyebrows.

Actors! Performers! Singers! Prophets of Homeless rage! Defeat your opponents with zero kinship peace to all failures.

Irritation

Today I approached a pond
Where dreams shone in the colors of
Daisies and Buttercups glowing for my peace.

But I cannot own peace -- what I claim to have seen did not happen and would at any rate have been a delusion.

You can't own peace either. Perhaps you are deluded in your own way.

That is not for me to say, but I said it, so you'll have either to overlook it or become outraged.

Derive my interest in love from saving a mother from her peacefulness. The reason (resonating) is prosaic as this writing: Pain made her drunk. You can't stand by and not interfere with someone else's pain. She embraced me and I paused a moment to engage with her place.

She would give her life for me....

I did not answer her freedom.

Sick Sexuality (sick personality/mind) gives one answer: dead poem.

This is the corpse of my own making. Go further with reading or writing and you will be consuming the filth of your own death.

Hahahahahaha. Brilliant, I say. No, offensive and boring. But I never said that before. It doesn't matter. You are trying to hinder life's imperative. Give:

Powell and money equal family.

Latterday green shoots outgrow the boundaries of their precursors.

Celery and wheat interlaced
make your next meal.

Ann Tourage

Eek yore.

As you engross the poems
Above with your nurturing ardor,

I select three creative homes:

First, I dream of pleading with bliss.

Second, I treat you as you wish.

Third, You live and love.




Marada, monna, manna, money, marauder.
Delection, Direction.

Im poem poem poet.

Cloven sleeves give entrances pleasing fame.


You remember surely.

I think you like hooking. I like beacons.

You understand with love. I love that.

You keep seeing JKH; I love that.

Teach.

Poem

Brown as a barn, lit with sin.

I write to you as your murtherer.

She brought this costing love.

Guilt pays no price for its sham pain.
I folded one pond: Since a possible closet asked where.

Ambelow.


Lower shadow slit as pore.
A Goddess addresses Indra.

Foul passion what anger as
Lingering pain.

Dear Fiend:

Day of running came
As did that.

I kept your last name
And changed a crown for ingrid.

Down.

A pezterer all for Chock.


Okay, the above few years have been
An attempt to work one pause:

Danish anger bawls my no ledge.

Pent in saga:

A wooden call as monk gives
Chalet.

Give yourself a sense of being.

I chased at me.

I may wish to tell you that there's teaching and there's helping.
I am free to help with embers.

Let cases lower with Sallies.

You want to walk.

I ran.

A bitch sold blame to flame.

I ran.

Fucking death is church.