My side of the equation.
I do not belong to others.
Caring for people changes my happiness.
I am hoping to be hopeful.
A failure.
Justice is making my beauty strong.
Love me.
Busted for being safe.
***
Men are changing;
I am peaceful.
***
A clock with no hands
A beast with no pain
A rose with no chin
***
Dreams with life are needed.
I write for a feeling of seasoning.
Leave people beautiful.
***
Zero money is zero licks.
***
Be women with steam.
Datum:
Congress with a loud priestess is awesome.
This is lousy. Thank you very much.
Be safe.
Love,
Me.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
A la change
As far as I can tell, I'm involved with cruelty.
When is anyone strong?
Do you wish to live? (Please note, not a threat).
An inquiry.
I find myself asking for good things to happen. I find myself hoping that when I treat myself as a person who is hopeful that I receive happiness.
I find myself thinking that everybody is wondering why it's so lewd. I can only say that I am falling away from being a person who is changing for others. I do not understand the reasons others do what they do.
My only solace is feelings of happiness.
I am bored.
Other thoughts: I didn't want to be a woman, I wanted to like people.
So when you are doing things for yourself or that need to get finished, remember that only hope is always there.
Art is Life.
But is it philosophy?
I am beginning to believe that art is not a metaphor for the Goddess, but rather the other way around.
This is beginning to sound like I need a life.
That's good. First Harvey Milk Day in Sierra Vista this Tuesday.
Steady as you go!
When is anyone strong?
Do you wish to live? (Please note, not a threat).
An inquiry.
I find myself asking for good things to happen. I find myself hoping that when I treat myself as a person who is hopeful that I receive happiness.
I find myself thinking that everybody is wondering why it's so lewd. I can only say that I am falling away from being a person who is changing for others. I do not understand the reasons others do what they do.
My only solace is feelings of happiness.
I am bored.
Other thoughts: I didn't want to be a woman, I wanted to like people.
So when you are doing things for yourself or that need to get finished, remember that only hope is always there.
Art is Life.
But is it philosophy?
I am beginning to believe that art is not a metaphor for the Goddess, but rather the other way around.
This is beginning to sound like I need a life.
That's good. First Harvey Milk Day in Sierra Vista this Tuesday.
Steady as you go!
Monday, May 14, 2012
Astral Ostrich
I teach what I feel best about; and that's home.
The only culturally specific chant I know is an uneven cry amounting to a quiet scream.
I am angry with myself for allowing a homeless man to briefly watch pornography on my computer. I have no couth, no modulation in my relations with others. No one will teach me how to develop it or where it comes from.
Lesbians change.
The Goddess changes.
I have tried to embrace the beauty in life that so much of what is culturally transmitted attempts to hide.
Please understand that a poem that fails to believe in its own beauty is a way to coldness.
I am trying at the same time to integrate myself, to integrate the world around me, and to separate myself from that which seems to be destructive as well as separate what does not seem to me to belong together.
This began as an intellectual project, but now I understand that without putting life first, it can become prelude to horrible destructive acts. I just wanted to go back to myth, in my own life and in my intellect, to undo the separation between poetry and philosophy that Plato introduced into our "civilization." Now I am clinging to the shreds of wholeness that remain.
You probably want to stop reading what I am writing. Before I go, let me simply let go of the sick pressure to communicate in coherent language what must first emerge from spirit, feeling and love.
I hope you will read this and not think it a total regression. I've attempted that also. It does not work, leading only to a self-enclosed entity without outward activity or inward awareness; in other words, a kind of death.
Say, how about them artist softball players?
You know that it's okay today because no one is making my anger anything but a distraction from hope and not an unbearable and inescapable wrath a la Jehovah.
May your awareness of your life give you pleasures great and small.
The only culturally specific chant I know is an uneven cry amounting to a quiet scream.
I am angry with myself for allowing a homeless man to briefly watch pornography on my computer. I have no couth, no modulation in my relations with others. No one will teach me how to develop it or where it comes from.
Lesbians change.
The Goddess changes.
I have tried to embrace the beauty in life that so much of what is culturally transmitted attempts to hide.
Please understand that a poem that fails to believe in its own beauty is a way to coldness.
I am trying at the same time to integrate myself, to integrate the world around me, and to separate myself from that which seems to be destructive as well as separate what does not seem to me to belong together.
This began as an intellectual project, but now I understand that without putting life first, it can become prelude to horrible destructive acts. I just wanted to go back to myth, in my own life and in my intellect, to undo the separation between poetry and philosophy that Plato introduced into our "civilization." Now I am clinging to the shreds of wholeness that remain.
You probably want to stop reading what I am writing. Before I go, let me simply let go of the sick pressure to communicate in coherent language what must first emerge from spirit, feeling and love.
I hope you will read this and not think it a total regression. I've attempted that also. It does not work, leading only to a self-enclosed entity without outward activity or inward awareness; in other words, a kind of death.
Say, how about them artist softball players?
You know that it's okay today because no one is making my anger anything but a distraction from hope and not an unbearable and inescapable wrath a la Jehovah.
May your awareness of your life give you pleasures great and small.
Monday, May 7, 2012
The River is Dreaming
I oblige you no longer.
This song flows with embers from a melting rock;
It is cold as the peace by which trammeled opposites search for honor's desired unity.
(Famine will sell its bonds even to occult guides, giving
No reason to like pain, which runs to asherah with lowered jaws.)
Pockets of acrimony are left for me to inspect.
Because they do not suffice, I pour art into
Streams wandering the abyss.
The auk framed her extinction with a soft murmur; I stay to give fists to my hopes.
This song flows with embers from a melting rock;
It is cold as the peace by which trammeled opposites search for honor's desired unity.
(Famine will sell its bonds even to occult guides, giving
No reason to like pain, which runs to asherah with lowered jaws.)
Pockets of acrimony are left for me to inspect.
Because they do not suffice, I pour art into
Streams wandering the abyss.
The auk framed her extinction with a soft murmur; I stay to give fists to my hopes.
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