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.]