Metastasis

Hello,

Alone.

Mecklenburg.

Land is free (now).

Okay.

You with your beasts; me with my places.

I ordered you to God (he knows his base is act)

Crack was not yes to order.

I resemble the love I have made.

You are men with reasons.  All people are men if only because men are truthful.

Delusional anger is toward my own memory.

Lady.

I am not a lady.

Goddess:  Below is As Above.

Supernumerary alterations are feelings of peace.  I remember that you and I have thought of what had hope.  Such were open and free.

I can write if I only let go of my poesy.

Dread the remembrance of crack.  I do not like it.  I do not need it. 

These words do not capture the pain that was known to me as:  I crawled for my rug.  I cried for my leaf.

Leaves, branches, roots, stems, bark, canopy, woods, forests, copses, and then a meadow filled with
grasses of various appearance.

You know when you are a pasta:  You eat rice.

This means that everyone is what they hope for.

That is my logic.

Activism

Meth of ground rice;
Element of past.

Flow is marsha's pain.

I remember that Sylvia thought:
(Illusion is mark.)

Delaying my freedom is not
Helping to listen for failure.

This tone towards my own life does not become my sparkling character.

I have an "uncomfortable lightness of being."

Write:  Write:  Write:

Gift from my mother:
I hear her saying,
"You are first ... embers have home."

Dat was not a lot of beauty.

Kind words for a sour mama.

I remember you (myself) are the mama I am referring to.

You, I, We, They, Me, That, This, His, Her:

Sex with hoses are naturally painful.

Woman laugh;
Laugh My Ass Off:  Clouds war flask is full.

Illness.

I thought that I knew what you did.
I thought that I knew what I was.

I thought that there was laughter
In cream.

Lesbian dream is to make left.

inches

Orphans
Rowdies

Payment
Femininity

Gandalf
Round

Blame
Loom




Energy that I expend on wistfulness is beginning to feel loud (stale, occluding, old).

I know that you are good for oceanic pampering.

William go to your place.
You are bossing a gram.

I have known that your pain makes rinsing off love cruel.


Central House -- bathtub in the winter -- steam rising from heated water.




There is no writhing here of water vapor lest it be from a pan or a cup.  It doesn't get cold enough.





I race the plaster ring.



Home began that epoch when Love was trapped in its own lope toward people's remnant of molting.






I have a few clues.

There is a place where our lives take me as trauma.

I reject life making me a plaster rope.



This knowledge makes me seek trees.
I know that certain words are recurring -- trees, e.g., -- these words are strengthening or focal in one way or another to my life.  I must unravel their relationship to the broader set of expressions so that they are not so compact that they are opaque.

Thank you very much -- I love expository prose.

Poet:

Floral hopes resemble dream
Which leads to rendering play free.

I am nowhere near giving my strength the dream of blessing.

I know:  dream, tree, amber.

The dream of the amber tree
Proceeded from the abeyance of self-censorship.

You who read this loud body of western strength:
Try to need your place.

At: Go(ld)al

Trash it for its dream of slipping on the mentor.

As far as it goes I read way too loudly.

You have made this goddess lace.

I am not the goddess, therefore, I plead with you to let go of blond fiend.


Priests gild the anger with placation.
I know you are far.

Down with oafs.
Up with sons.

You know this is going toward a reciprocal laughter -- I can pay you to justify your grappling with trees.

These discoveries of my unethical grounding/development scare me.

I was in the hospital again last night.
My chest pains were not serious enough to keep me past this morning.

I have been taking too much blood thinner.

I hate my doctor's lack of careful treatment.

So now I list open lore.

Moment here is moment's lever.
I laugh because I say floss is mental.


Drag your plane across the runway
I will be at the gate, soterior (what does that word mean?) reason for your poem.

Grant that moments make up life.


May all the force of Sandy expend itself without damage to my friends.

Algorithm for algae:  Glass.

Surface reflections

Law
Custom
Ritual
Belief


Now that I've taken care of those...


Ethics


The Imperial Chinese political and social arrangements were certainly as valid as those of Medieval and Renaissance Europe, at least as far as I can tell from reading half a book about the Chinese empire.  There were expected ways of carrying on life by the elite that relied heavily on artistic and intellectual achievement, which I of course have always favored; and these ways compare favorably with the cobbling together of "universal" law as a glue for societies divided and impoverished by the loss of the unity (of a kind) that the Romans provided.

I write this only to demonstrate that when American and other politicians go on about the sanctity of the rule of law, they know very well that they are asserting only a very partial understanding of the varied ways in which human societies have often very successfully worked.  The place of the individual, of ethics, belief, ritual and custom, are made abstract thereby contributing to the ever-present confusion about the relations of people to the government and to each other.  Is there a valid human justification for this?  I don't know.  All I know is that there is more than one way to skin a cat.

Now for the inchoate personal stuff.

I have found myself wondering what I can do about my life at this possibly late stage.  I wish to tell each and every one of my friends that I love them.  I do not know how to become better than I am.  I am sorry.



Important attributes that are hustling a rose:

Me.


I wish to engage my life with freedom, devotion, happiness.

May all your steampunk endeavors yield brassy fruit.

And maybe all your life will be free.

Love,

Julia




someone with dreams of safety is real.

A mound of shite, glazed.

remnants of racism

Land of shopping

Res judicata

Dragging life into this city.

After knowledge

Hindsight.

Laughter at my lantern:  I proceeded like Diogenes, not seeing the beauty in me.

There is good that I raided.  There is good that made crack gross.

I talk a lot about what is free.  I say that when being hopeful is strong (when it is strong in you -- a person) that it is strong because of the people who have strength.

I give love short shrift -- I don't trust my own love.  I don't believe that when people claim they have a lover that it is me they are talking about.

Laugh here.

Lesbians who are trans are teaching this laughter.

I remember that it is all life.  Death is life.  Life is life.  There is no nothing.

Limp of plague I do read.

My mother and those who have made me separate (not necessarily my mother or with their knowledge, inclination or approval; i.e., those whom I have used to separate myself) are strong.  I give myself the complicit approval of dreams.

Life is flowing away from me, I believe.

Toward me flows a lot of love.

Maybe you will understand.

I continue.

The knowledge that I had of myself was that I had prior standing (before the members of MGN) EVEN though I was a closed fleece.

This was because I had been where the life of my friends was life.  I thus (apparently) never did think that the rules applied to me.

This was both fortunate and very very unfortunate.  The friends I had were beautiful.  The friends I made were beautiful.  I have lost all of them by keeping two separate categories.

One is:  "I dream therefore I live"

Two is:  "Goddess stayed with her mick."

Slamslamslamslam.

Those are doors in my mind shutting down in stark horror.

This feeling that no one understood me was a way of disguising and excusing a lack of reasonableness.

I rest because I have said what was so frustrating:  I knew freedom of behavior, but not of belief.

You may now be necessary.  I shall be lock.

Chelsea, you are what began the art.  Should I live, I bequeath you dream -- chastity.

Now I am recessive.

A very brief note

Withdrawal from hormones is causing me to gag, throw up, feel generally uncomfortable.  I am trying to find out what's down the road.  I hope my doctors realize I'm post-op.  I also threw up my Coumadin today.  I think I should be in the hospital???


I just wanted to like people.


So much for perfection.

Okay, it's okay.

Raw, Censored

Elements of Love

Blown crystal:
Swirling blue
Pinkish hue

Illness flees
Shorthand bees

Chance goes back
Altering tack

Beautiful time
Supporting rhyme

Warmth inside
Life undried

Joy-cast  mold:
New threshhold.

Passing night
Ending plight.

To complete --
 Field of wheat

Results

B
C\ R
U


Crab tells me many rose:
Goddess is l
e
mom

Tray of narcissism:
Key to my own.


Love your peace with trees.

I love my body:  its brazen gravy crackin' piss.

I love my woven plait of roses:
Tell me

Why are you in this crack of loud men?

Death was here with me:
I spoke in the language of pain.

His knowledge of me was interesting:
You are beautiful.

I love the grief that I was needing.

This was my life:
Penguins with mustard (and onions?)

Craft seeks love with dreams that give safety:
They are also the need for mustard.

(Mustard)
(Master)

Crash into my sexuality with your big shaft.

I will know your honesty as dreams.

I will know your pain as matter's tree.

Your laughter will give me a belief in loss.





Moose.

Creep.

All together now.

Lass gave her needs a lot of  aggravation,



My Nest:

You with your life in your smile
I with my trace in my aisle.

Come up, you.





Tension

That which needs slack
Is that which holds back.





Organism

Cats with tails
Rest on sails;

Combs with teeth
Make the wreath.



Potatoes and Flour

Grading the Crime
Loses the Time

I remember when
Base was open.



Latter day romney

Make his binder
Flick his minder.

Oh Goddess,

With these words I raise
Your sacred praise;

With these words I seek
To let go of a peak.

I resemble a wish
That grabbed a niche.

Your Mental Door

No Fear, No Sore

America the malevolent

Language gives itself a prize
Tolerant of fear, but not of flies.

Woman death is nothing for
A partner's life making lore.

I seize the day with all my might:
Words I slay but not my sight.

Illness crowds its pain with flame:
I listen for my triple shame.

Marbled flags raise the wind
Methods of change protect the sinned.



Change what darkness treats you with.
This is me with no yeast, no kith.



Masked tree grabs its pain
Around life:

I reach for a poem that
Creates a world

Where knowledge of
My flaws

Makes a way flowers.





I was dirty to my mother's dreams
 
Love is not a person

God is not a fake

Cruelty feels like home

Then I must throw my pain away!

Pain is the truth of my friends ending their friendship
because I paid them to.













Laggard makes a weird blend

Love me

When I departed the civilized world, I became enamored of the ease of being accepted simply because of my skin color.

I didn't care because I thought I was nice.

Now I live to start what I was making in my mind -- a way that is love.

Nothing.  I hated my friends.  I thought I was life to a lot of people because I understood art.

Now I know that many people need to have their own lives.  I can not begrudge that.  I need mine too.

I'm good because I remember what is happiness.  There is what is good.  And that's a priestess who cares.

I cannot depend on her any longer.

Thank you, I loved the ones with being; I cared to hope.

I did not fake all the pain and suffering.

I like life.  I like home.  I like what is strong.  I love you.

Uncle

Belittle the night

Makes the dream
Last.

I don't live for
A poem.

Tiresome

Each and every day that I can write is a day of life that I love.

There are trees in me.
As know one.

Retirement:

There was hope.

I chose to keep smoking though in April a voice came to me pleading in the name of my friends to stop.

I smoked because I was baloney.

Out of here, I remember that no one created this pain.

There was estrogen.  There was people.
I know that when one hope makes me turn to the ones who knew me, I ask peace.

A la a feeling (her crazed black whore).

So now I am the trumpet of terror.

Projection on Marsha.

I knew that she was one life.  I was envious of her dream of Love.

This knowledge was messy.

Call me actress.

When I knew my mother's dream that I give people beauty, I was mostly torn as the family that I rested in.  She was here to have life.  I have been her audience.  I have been that which knows money.  I have also given the knowledge of femininity to men.

They got that frame.

When will I stop being cryptic?

I dealt my feeling (justice is me) to others out of fear of embers (the source of human culture: fire).

I fear one:  bunk.

That you know is piss (Why is there rhyme?)

A lot of people have loved me for that oboe -- a twin-reeded instrument.

Fat Goddess was my rut.

Sylvia dreamed for her people the need of being alive.

Tomorrow?

Stanfordian Te Deum

Dear Trees,

I can no longer afford to write Notes toward a Prolegomena of Greek Religion.

I will not write Origin of Species.

I have thought about the Goddess.  I have been here for a long time.

She does not pay me to love her. 



The blood clots in my lungs, the deficit of hormones in my blood are --
unanswerable.



This work of worldly peace is only toward that divinity that rests in this dreaming trace of memory.

Mnemosyne?

I flatter myself that when you give yourself someone with whom you are ready to be on intimate terms that I will still be hopeful.



This way of trying to give without knowledge is a way that I have found to write that does not involve strength or failure.

So I will now commit myself to a strong failure.

Crap is the failure of reason.

I dream to live; you have made me give you womanliness that was famous for being a grace.


Wishing for another world, I admit that I do not try to give others peace.  This is because there is a Goddess with peace.  I want to know that which I was.

She was her own loss.

When I have your beliefs, I will know what I know.

I believe that this runt was testing my freedom for my guesses.

I guessed that I made love a bird.

I wish that I was here for some time.  I need to keep writing what is here to write.

Sylvia Rivera was mother to marks.

[this draft will be rough for a while.  you may read it or not as i continue to revise it.  now this is what i have made peaceful:  a family of lies.]

Know thyself

Slavery is a topic that I have obsessed with for years without being able to arrive at a firm understanding of my own feelings about it.

It is cruel to take property in another human being, but cruelties abound. 

Slavery is like a continual rape of the sense of one's own humanity.

From what I know.

I was trying to say that no one is good enough to be the only truth.

Or bad enough.

I resent making love as if I were my own tribe.

Never make justice the dream that is mean.

Give people love because you want to.

Listening without making strengths for others is not okay.

I answered this life with trees.

Okay -- if you who give your attention to what I write want to know what it is to make rain, you must make your life crazy (try to make yourself motherly).

She who knew what I wanted was ready to give me every try.  I felt that was shit. (!!!)  I thought I was the only one with love.  I thought no one made laughter without my own lines.  These were:  Money, God and cruelty.

Literature is peaceful when you give it peace.

Today I will make someone strong.

I believe She is a lancer.  I have thought this was strength.  It is raven as rose.

I ask Her, may I live?

She will know hope.

I know this means that I am loving.  Eggs with life begin with feelings.  I was a nest.  I am a homosexual creek.  This means I was working to be a narc so I would be reasonable.

You are what you are.  Maybe I can tell you that it is good for me to love without cruelty.

How will I be free?  By knowing braces.  That is, flames.

Now there can be love in my dream of yes.