Vast Energies

Ostriches and Trees

A hill surround my delight
With baby sore.

A no one pasting reading onto
Satirical threads.

Messy and grueling, I delight
In a drug for its place in life.

Oral trolley is cautious and
Life is rationality for men, a capable actor.

I sense nutting the tree is worse
than cashiering the paper.

Estrogen naked in the thoughts of a
Man stirring a famous paper.

I resemble dreams that dream of
Poems.

No one can be as nothingness with its
Paper.

And when life parts from my strength
I will give a patient pavement.

Sack the night:  She alive for possibility.



***


Western Anger

Acting as a rational thread, I live to
Cast patience into the lake.

It is nothing to wield a free past.

Elevation is a way to breathe with
Gliding paper on a family's road
To laughter.

Okay naked drugs drink and fear
Do not allow my freedom to
Say I am policing breezy stars.

Oh well to work is to stop allah
Driving plumes to act in the string.

Affirmation and rights are narcs
When death is peace.

Peace and death go away at the
Flower goddess saying right is
Right.

Money and power coldly are sirs of
Rent.

Illness is a road to cruelty.

Hanging from a noose a friend works
In faces of fat rude bulls.

Ogle the family not my people:  their
Sameness is no one's stink.

The facts are land, teachers and body.

Immure thy world in a famous clown.
Work to grieve lace.



***

Week's End.


That peace directly flowers creases.
I say things which are dreaming of sharks.

Oh the stars are flaming with a night
That gives delight.

Oh mosh a dream. Oh mash a life.
Oh marsh a flower.

Work, Sylvia, your patience is soft.

Decades

1950s

A world of money.  Patience, drugs. 

1960s

Dreams, peace, art, God.  Another freedom to be alive.  And where is paper?

1970s

I got the understanding and I was really good.  And what is Poetic Pain?

1980s

Effort and baloney give you creepiness and shit.  That is a loud pope, orgasmic thoughtless starring a life of boss working stars.

1990s

As what there is anger.  I really was marked as a mosquer....

2000s

Poems are money.  Art is a loser.  Crash and Strange.

2010s

Saffire world is my family.  I give me hope. World of rights and drugs.  Sinful is rude.

Drugs.

Mother.

Living to Return

These words are afraid of myself:
I might give myself too much peace.

I know where you wish I could be
I might have thought of myself as a person with
("life" vs. "a cost") so, life.

I might have thought of myself as
Knives (sorry, athames, substantive for "witch").

Yet the actress worked lists, being myself
With Capes.  I have now remembered the
Moment I wrote my own loop.

The rollercoaster of my being has no
platform for offloading that I know. 

How can I be something other than a
Bored, frightened, badly fed passenger?

***

Love and parts of my freedom are strong.
I am good when I feel happy.

I have money and more of it.
It needs popes and nudes to make
It membered.

***

Lawful bodies act like a mansion.
I am working at love.

***

Large but around, a closed part of me
Did something rude.

I wrote that I was famous
(for being Fooled)

Into a law that I saved.

This law was to malign other women.

I thought this would be smart in that
I would at least seek something

Retrievable from creativity, which is
Orgasmic in its Mace.

I see a Mace falling on a poem.

The Mace calls out, "Die, Varlot!"

(Sorry, I couldn't resist!)

Edification poems many rites try

Lesbian ways

Because they are part of omens.


 ***


Work is rather a fearful part of being alive.

It always seems to make you work like you're
A crook.  I guess that's just me.

Nuts to Answers!

Writing a Block

I see the block.
I visualize it.

The block is now split into an L-shape,
Supported by a cable running between the two branches.

Money dots its crowded thoughts.

The block is I:  its efforts occlude my authoring
Of it one on one:

Two objects crash with irresistible force,
Time and again.

The world is cash.  It serenades me with
A bloodlessness which extracts my life
By means of its song.

***

Lo, the actress sought patience!


Where is star?  She has thought of me
This time as a Orphan.

I called her Actress; I denied her answer.

It is for me a land of messes that
Take home a cancer.

I thought of myself as acting

I thought of her as beauty.

I knew it was she who needed ashes.


I collapse in the river of flowing lies.
My pain has its source in the pain I caused Her.


I answered her with Yes, a lie.


***


This answer is in six pieces.

One is read a threesome with a kiss.
Two is Let babies hope for art.
Three is Need is darkness in its meshing with passion
Four is Art does act pushy cancerous and entire.
Five goes to the softness of my ache:  
Six is Kicks Betwixt the Wicks.

I thought of Sylvia as a life that was my clown.
I thought of Sylvia as a reader of my patience.

I thought of Sylvia as a goddess of sham entirety.

I darkened her change with loops of poison.

Rude and apart from paper, these actions and opinions
Were Spurious, with no Understanding.

Next world: my paper crown.

Dream journey to Flake

A Thought

 DRAFT

A mossy round passionate okay:
This given sequence works
As sequence.  It must, because
That is how it arrived:  an emergence

One after another.

This is a joke to me:
Not believing in my own
Words, their importance,
Their possible moment of anger.

Emergence here becomes a record of
Emotion.  I only tell these words,
Which are free as body,
Without art and with small love.
.
(Insight and record of insight;
Death and record of death.)

-- not knowing what I show
To you of myself.

How do you write a break
In consciousness?

 I am not shown in these musings.

--Apparently no one can answer
The possible roundness of
Change--

When no unity of intent exists
In a record of life, then it is
The very inchoateness of

Emergence which must suffice.

And now I am lost.


***


"Mom, come here."
She reaches out

And I am lonely.

***

I am afraid of death
Working itself deadly

With Lesson of my own
Drastic possible whore
Money.

I have asked and allowed:
Maybe never to listen.

I hear the radio.  I hear my
Stranded thoughtlessness.

I am loose worldly part of
A verse recording of
Momentary Effort
At poes(t)op

Wook Pop Rascal Life
Nasty Rest is boring to --
Castle its drama!!

I play here with a conception,
Deadly to written possible
Thought, of a naked pagan
Loose part of my fame.

I retain therefore with in me
A savior who was his own
--No one -- is bossed.

This is the tenor of thought
Into which I have stepped,
As overgrown cobwebs

Which a pale distant light
Illuminates but which
Find me tripping and scrambling,

Out of balance, not in.

World derives possibility
And I am
Think Think

(An opportunity I take
To work a poem with
Change)

A stink of loss
A flower of moss.

As no one possible answers
Art darkly then must I
Believe this writing I wring
From love only in order to

Ask -- a friend -- Rite
--Darkness scars itself--
Dreaming here of sores.

Ashes of life
Smoke of
Dense inertness
Proclaiming itself intelligence.

Last is the glowering
Flower girl with a
Still knock revolving
In her flake.

A portentousness to abandon.

A Bore

In Twain

The love is the rite
The creep is the love
The stink is the love
The world is the poor

Ashes of worlds
Appear, displaced into invisibility by
Words I speak to my mother.

"We could go to the florist..."
Instead of "Lets" do what you said:
Buy flowers at the grocery store...

In pots or not.

***

I ask myself what do lovers ask for.

***

I cannot make life possible.

I am here.

I am not the cock: being impossible.

O well.
Anger death was world trying to stop oscar
From making thinking laugh.

I make you laugh because
I did answer the parts with a
Poem.

World of moose
Writes
World of Canter.

But

World of Cantor
Writes
World of Noel.

***

I bought a nest to
Read the rite rude.

Well the rede is rude
In the Man drug crook sense.

"Do as ye will, an ye harm none in thought, action or deed."

I have ended many lives by being a
Loser of possibility./

I am bored with a naked
Drunk crackhead shtick.


It is my life to be alive with my own grief
worthy and poetic.

***

This is a bitterness I must let positivity
Anger world of love.

I have tension.

It is surely the only way to make life momentary.

Ask for your peace, not for art or trouble.

***

They find me here with a man, and I
Role  Masquerades with answers.

***

What is the humor -- it is in the trouble
Of
Being a rationality.

It shits like a pig to be a faggot.

Something about apartments

Oh is the love passion where that is right to start you are nut?
Is the ending of the sentence nut?

May I end the sentence nut?

Is this a loud crooked drunken nut?

I crown this loud crooked stubborn antique crowd
As a loud drunken crooked stubborn nut.

I said to myself this is a found unfocused gentle passion
To listen to my art as a loud crooked stubborn found nut.

Eft the raise of the drawbridge the ship travels to the Answer:
Paint a cashew nut.

Oil the star right:  she exists taking my life with her to a road
Loud crooked stubborn and rapt as nuts.

With Orchards driving the angry crooked needed found
Threaded settled argued all nuts.

O baloney nut round is your life.

A Possible Peace

Anchoring myself in the right is like
Making darkness into answers
That work like my own coldness:
With ogrelike flower dream.

And where that is going is to
pain.

Guilt and fear cloud family.

I don't say what life begins with.
I say there is tape -- the endless
Unrolling of which begins in
Anchorite law.

I seek nothing here because
I don't read at the nature of
My coldness.

It is dirt.  It is cold.  It is my
Thoughtlessness and my flower.

I am poor and drunk with pain.

It is my life to say that a world
That is an entrance to a grand
Axe asserts art as patience.

The Goddess named Kelly Bishop
Taught me this is my family.

This is my family.  I am her family.

I am her goddess of parts named
Art and Life.

Flowering in the fear of my own
Nostrand Avenue love,

I work at my own drinking with
A lot of lake.

Effortlessly I did what is my creative
Mess:  deal with it and I am
Fruit.

Working backwards from an attainable
Goal is my own family

Cashing in on a part of my thinking:
Estrogen art goes to patience and
Backing life with a sop of sharks.

Poetic pain is like stupid nuts:
Always borrowing itself from
Sorrow.

Riposte

A drug,
A pagan,
An argument.

These sublimities
Tend to revolve
About the argument

Because they are
Alive in being stashed.

I know:  this is a stretch.

No one is God.

Acting and Work

A magick of peace

To belong with laughter
And find in it strength;

To be a kind lover
Who is present at length;

To choose a friend
Whom patience thou lend:
 
May such melodious changes
Be what life's music arranges.

Dream is Beauty

I was born here.  That is the day of the trouble.  I name the trouble answer.  The angry feeling of a lurid crone is alive.  I alive.?

I need being of love.  I need to ask you, what does this need?  I need a way to be soft so I am peaceful.

I borrowed my own love.  I was a mess.  This is the only problem I have.  I am trying to understand what need does.  I am here for this need.  I love the need.  I have to belong to myself.

Thank you for listening to a gay leftist.  Ask me what it is to say there  is a thought which is laughter?

Since blaming this world of my life is like being drunk and liking a way to be aroused, I will change my love so I can be strong -- not a moment of pain but trees; ditching is a way to give yourself that pardon which you wished for.

No more drunkenness in my mind.

Okay, so I thought of racism as a ride to a masquerade.  I was fascist but not a flower (a homosexual).  There is only a part of me that is good.  I wish for her to belong to the person she needs, who is safe:  Julia Murray.  Thank you for listening -- again, a way to be alive is to feel good about the Goddess sharing love with your thoughts.  The will of the Goddess?  Right now, I am alive to be a capitalist world in which buying is good and thoughtfulness is strong.  I have bought peace.  I have thought of myself as loving and now I wish to be home. 

Dear Goddess:  If capitalism is drugs, then I am not free.

Large entangled antlers want freedom from acting.

Pressure

There was a family.  I altered the family.  There was possibility for the one who was right to think about possibility (the anger darted itself to a world of possibility, thinking as love believes in apples -- art as possibility, dreams as open to thought of money and God death and stink.)


I sought nothing from itself.  I sought power from a way to anger others for being a woman.  I asked to be thoughtful.  I asked to be good.  No one who says they are thoughtful and good is strong or free.  Strength and freedom believe in openness to God, the nut job of my thoughts.

Castles -- the kind in chess -- always make you thoughtless:  they anger you with nothing but thought of money and thought of family.

I told you I found my friends and I found my Goddess in the dream of my own softness, in the hope of being the Goddess for my mother.

I seek to give her softness.  I seek to be thoughtful and alive.  I ask to be thoughtful and good.

Edification of body is a failure.  I only wished for myself to be mothered -- a way to ask for myself to give happiness as a thought of beauty.

I sought money for my love.

Ashes and love bring dreams of stink and pasts of anger toward this failure to be peaceful. 

I am worried about nothing because of the nature of failure:  anger toward love is about worry and thoughtless anger -- the knowledge of pain derives from a  love of my cruelty.   I did not say I wanted God to be thoughtful to me.  I was another crooked possibility of freedom.

Golden love:  the answer to peace is safety and pain.  Pain is money and safety is art.  I wish to feel the need of myself to give peace.  I know I am part of the anger.  I know there was softness; I was thoughtful; I was a part of rights (the need for rights is also a family of love).

Elevation of pain is the kind that you wished for in my friendship.  I was this painful because I was poor and there was anger and fear and anger and thoughtlessness about the need to give thought to my hopes.

I am another thoughtful person with needs.  I am trying to give my hopes a way to feel materialistic so they will not die with the need to give peace.  Perhaps I have thought about love and found myself possible because I am peaceful and troubled with the artistry of fame.  I am really cold because nothing is happening for my family, whether in the treatment of love (to listen, to feel, to act with focused and kind thoughts of others need for happiness) or in the thinking of life -- giving people change because life is young and peaceful.  I am no longer young; I am rarely peaceful.

Edification of pain is another fear of pain.  Pain and pain.  Omigod I'm an entrance in my feelings (peace was its own art) which needs love and peace, cruelty of nothingness which derives from rape is no one's trade.  

I am worried about my life being poor.  No one to ask why I am boned with another's crime.  I ask only to love peace for its creative thought of hope. 

At home, I am,

Entr'acte:

Aching beauty, thinking of my own dream to be thoughtful and loving, I give you feces of faking a moment.  I in this moment give you a woman's answer to people being home and my being trouble:  I am good because I am happy.             

No one thought of me as a woman except my sisters, mothers and friends. 

I am here to give myself an answer to pain.

Pain

I did not listen for my own part in god, the one with the answer.  She who believes in moments of change must also ask for rest, love, rights and a moment to be laughed at for her visions.

My vision:

Energy derives from loss of people's class.

Nowhere to be myself is not feasible. 

I feel manly because I am a nothing to my life.  I asked to be good.  I asked to be alive.  I asked to give myself thoughts which I would be troubled with.  No more cruelty.

Anger and foolish hopes of my own golden green dreams are from this panicked woman.

This is no one's pain but my wonder at ashes.

Ashes begin.

She was changed.  She was glowing.  She was alive and now she is parted.

I am part of her family.

I hope you will believe she did what she could to be free of the need for pain.

Yours,

A loon (with a beautiful voice).

Peace is the thought of being.-- Change is dear

Dear Goddess,

It is night, after midnight.
I have not slept.

If I can stay awake,
Let me write a poem.

I ask you and ask you freely
To call love this freely.

Write

"I am worldly in this nature
I am cruel in this flame.

I believe where nothing is
is the need to stick to

Acting."

O Goddess where is the
Laughter?

I ask you this need of yours to
Give laughter.

I am trying to act here.

--There is also the need to
Read with a sample of

Your place:

One is your stunk
Two is your three

I ask for you to think of
Peace.--

Oh, I'm a sack of dreams
With no anchor.

--Your little typing errors
Remind me of the days

When there was cloudiness

Soaring in the world you
thought of as dreaming of

Answers.--

Oh Goddess, and I say this
Beautifully in order to

Have the nature of
Thought,

What can I say about
Santeria?

--It is love you believe in,
Not your past.--

I feel working is another
Cloud of mine.

--It is a world of bodies
And strength which

Annoys your pain.--

Why listen for love?

I ask now to be thought here

I seek your patience. 

I seek words.

--Devil is your patient life.--

Oh with this time in my life
I am where darkness pays for

Thought.

-- Do not ask for your thoughts
Ask for your answer.

Think about it.--


A poem

Thinking about it is good
THANK YOU.

Stop threading the needle

When in the sky
I see the aerostat
Fly

I do what I do
And ask

Oh, when will
This deal
Fail?

Elfin moments can be
Sticky.

Cochise Wilt

And I was

Shot
The law stopped me

Coldly sheriff brought down
The next invader

Worried about
His ass

I ask myself
When is this fairness

Famishing the troubles
Of my act.

I made this mistake

And I ask where
Thought

Enters the sheriff's
Pain.

Egotism and a poem
Work themselves

Maybe I didn't need this
Coldness.

Only one fair answer:

You brought this on yourself,

And I said, "act."

The thoughtlessness of love.

Psychosis Note

Listening to WKSG sunday news.

"Charlotte" describes a man, with Schizophrenia, in San Quentin, who wrote secret messages on toilet paper, wrapped the toilet paper in feces, then placed the messages in braids in his hair.  Prison psychiatrist decides man knows he is to be executed, not "reupholstered," because he beats her at Tic-Tac-Toe!

Psychiatry itself recognizes that psychosis is a different processing of information than "normal."  Perhaps individual modules of reasoning of a certain kind, such as playing tic-tac-toe may remain intact and it is the relationship among these modules (or streams or segments) which reflects psychosis.???

It seems to me that psychiatry deliberately places stigma on certain kinds of self-knowledge in order to 1) deprive people of the benefit of that self-knowledge and 2) to retard such self-knowledge in most people in order to keep them within productive, i.e., profitable bounds.

A sign of peace

Trees, bees, ease, sneeze
I answer for myself

Edification doesn't work
Because Sartre called me pope.

I sit on myself with a lot of
Reasons.

I cannot say what I find
Authoritative

When God knows something soft
He won't be his own anchor

As passion works itself
To be

Crowded is the nature of all
That see

The right thing to do is acting free--

Wow I'm a vrow

Okay listen to this...

JUSTICE BUYS ITSELF BADGES

This home

This home

Her passion
turns
To that which
burns:

She gave
The peace
Of life
To all.

I am
To be
More
Tenderly.

Notes in which some sounds belong to a reader

Return of Peace

The fact that I made money
By reading -- studying, interpreting, KNOWING -- art

Derives something from a knowledge that
Orchids no rights.

This transition to nonsense, to passionate play
With sound

Gives me great freedom.

I cannot say to you why I think of hell as
Death.

All you want from me is strength.

Maybe you will be strong there:
You are peaceful and beautiful --

Therefore, only you share dreams.

I am stupid:  I dense.

I know your part in my life and
It is to allow my death from

Openness:  the only art here is
Art wars:  martyr right to like

Anger alive to its mother , woman

Calls my mother a momma.

I cannot mother my own road.

It drew war to my share of my

A tense lover more worlds

more dreams yes dreams

I dream


Dream :  Jargon of my own part

Worlds don't but must answer what is a moment:

It ties me into a road.

The road is love.

I am a lance in the trouble of my rape.

The universal rape of self by existence beyond
change.

I ask here to like my answer to materialism.

A poem works epi rice as a world of birds.

The equivalency theorem is a nothing of work.

The passionate kidneys read here you guarded my troubles

And I wrote  abalone darkness scum of love is pussy as night.

I belong where life gives purpose in the being of death.

Circle the goddess with beasts:  She is hostile to my life
Because I sought rights that are stupidly trouble:

The right to guard my happiness with a hole.

The right to give passion stars.

I barred washing:  I know it is trouble to right happiness
With fear.

The sickness art is nothing
The need goddess parse my arsonism with a loud crawl.

These words need home.

I ask for moments pussy goddess darkness Sartre dances
Harmony.

Misplaced anger.

I lewd kissing there was a moment to be :

words pile on words.

awesome.

You are loved.

Okra Bars Life Dreams Freedom

[Thanks to my mother:  I am happy on this my 50th birthday]

These words mostly represent rather than stand on their own.

That is not poetry.

Sound is right.  And lovely.

That's better.

Moments that ignore art

Today I have belonged where a poem belongs:  In the need of my rights to hope and Sartre.

I never but always sought shots to listen for in the drama of family.  These shots determine body.  For instance, when you ask yourself what darkness does, you have to answer:  It is passion.

Okay.  I will that loss let be flames.

I do not know what my friends dream of.  I do not know what you wish for.  I do not know what art is.  I am part of a life that I do not give peace for.  This is intolerable to me.  I wish to believe in and live as a name for love..  That name is peaceful and true.  That name is good and peaceful.  This is a way to wonder the name for moments of laughter and good.  That would be Beneath is open.


I simply have very little or no pain to undergo except the pain that anyone has when the Goddess pays her to save angst.  No one needs that except sick or troubled people.  Why?  Why me?  I have no wish for this.

Angst:  the troubled state of another softness with angst.

I do not feel loving.  I do not feel soft.  I have tried to understand what it is to listen and now I can tell that I do not share the love for life that My Partners possess. 

This is because life to me involves little trees, not large ones, slight allowances, not generosity.  This is born from the fear of my own softness, my own hopes and my own love.  I am what I am.  I am a JJulia.  I am a thinker for the needs of the ones with out an argument.

Listen now:  I think of money and I think of stars.  I think of peace and I think of pars.  No one with anybody who says Goddesses live can allow what I've done to be the need of love.

I wrote down calls to be peaceful, but I did not answer them with life.

Make life free.  Be what you need to be.  Love your friends.  Think of those who softly believe in possibility.

I give you a person who has love and will live for peace.

As you go, so shall you be.

Interruptions of the interrupted mind (in four discordant parts -- hey, are YOU going to edit this? I thought not.).

Oh this
Line -- the first word of which was "martyr"
Preceded
This line -- the first word of which was "rogue."

Miscreant intention, the original, (an original)

Involves me in this choice.

I cannot see why authority and theater are
Neither positive nor thoughtless.

Death and itself do things because

The opposite of the opposite is the opposite.

I sexualize martyrs with their anger and their
Loss of openness.

Silken lies caress my fingers tapping on the keyboard

As I turn to the rogue, word, which issued
Mere minutes ago on the screen

And which now mystifies me.

How can I definitely define its nature?

How can I define myself apart from a
Bargain I struck with pride?

Rogues work.  I like machines.

They are happy.  I deny, and think I am happy.

They are loving.  I do not care.

End the world or like change.

The death of money is there to
kp -- kitchen patrol

Pull.

Worrying about a castle that no one borrowed
Caves, shacks darkness nuts need

I thought was nice.

When you wish upon a star,
Doesn't matter who you are.

Blah

Dreams come true.

Sail to reason why.

I caught the fever.  I caught the dear.

I caught the weaver.  I caught the sheer.

No one dies for passion.  No one buys the beer.

A worm.

Wormy Drinker of Tequila Flowers

A civilized conclusion to blasé blasa
Is not god but family

Egg work

And a one...

[Dear public, read this while you can, 'cuz it's gonna disappear into a hurtin' world of cuts and pastes]

Damn I don't like this.  Then why print it.  It's mine.  So.  So's the fact that you're a liar.

Will you step this way?

OK Thanks

Day Fold

I allow where my life  --
I know where this goes.

I know this is where --
Where what is next

Is worse.

I lose Home; I lose family.

The stars dry up.

I lose my own mansion,

Which gave my grief
A face.

Alone the world glides
To Answers.

Merry Meet...

Ma mama ma moss

The ecrit de butch
Authority
[Wills "Murder" with a Nut]*** ***I am not threatening anyone

Lest you need a material
Where Rice is the narc

I guiltily write this with
Ashes making myself a drummer

Lashes pain writes of Stashing
Worlds to listen for a Flower

Netting a calm lover, I give you
Art

Delight in bands that part with art.

Ask for rights

Ask for National or mammon
worlds

Cashing anger is drunk.





Mashing a moment of authority
Empire Changes Justice

I treat you worrisomely
Whether I am part of
Clouds glowing in the castle

Or whether darkness
Strengthens passion with
A face



These Words Follow The
Nut dies glowing

Today I give you a patience
Change your possibility
And live trying a cope dream

The death of words proceeds
In the fashion of a downward
Stone circle path.

They do not say themselves

I ask to give words and they
Die in my mind and in my throat

I ask to give answers

They change where possible
Clouds die in my freedom

Empire of reasoning dies
With a patience toward ashes

The destruction cannot listen for sacks
Of asterisks

Chase down the nut

Chase down the famous clown

Ask your freedom from my
A Frakes Calls

First Officer buys itself
Nerd

I silkenly proceed within a
Confused
Disintegration of art

Cold and in denial
Say you

I cannot seek god in a chaste
Pagan room

To ask for my own
Thoughts

To bring myself
Love

To give myself
Fame

I deal low junk in the foul
Goddess' crime.

Such blaspheming desire
To reach the sky

In its national crookedness:

I am destroyed.

I am brought low

I am Sky
Dean is my fruitlessness.

Golden life saved itself to be nothing
Rather than a clown

I seek dirt

I seek patience

The pollution growing in the planet's
Round loss

Guiltily I perceive its own
Plow.

Death for a man

(A savior is a part of a moment)

Washing death in a leper's masque
I deal a match with another
Mantra



-- Here the night stopped me --


The clogged coagulates of cruelty
Fall into the open rain

Don't sell your Rome here.

I'm a bitch.

I don't want another passion

Claws

Therewith and heretofore withal many artists seek nothing but a lot of patience from el patron the grand boss de dentro.  I really wanted to like myself to be nothing/something?  loved.  I dealt this need for myself to be happy when I was listening to the others who wished my life to stop needing change.  I do not care if you are nuts.  I only wish you woiuld be family as you need to be to be loving.

I have no clue what I wanted.  I have no idea what I thought was going to be good for me.  I know I cannot stand making this fail.  I have tried to be loving toward myself.  I cannot do so without being loving toward Chelsea and Nathan.  Perhaps I need to give up taking myself so roughly and satirically and drunkenly.  No one who needs love needs god.  I know you like me because if you didn't you would be in trouble because I would be alive and you would be nothing as you wished. 

That is a terrible thing to say.  I said it because if I didn't it wouldn't be clear to ME what the problem is.  Ultimately I hold the reins on my own life.  I wish that the women that I thought of there in N.Y. had the life I dreamed of having, which was, yes, that of someone with good in their thoughts.

Selflessly I have toiled into the night wondering what in the world would happen if I simply gave up being alive.  I do not know what it is to live for a  lot of being.  I thought that inside I was flush with life.  I am not particularly in the mood to be cruel.  I wish to be thought of as a person who has been free.  I told people to be thoughtful.  Not then, lately, especially my mother.  I cannot ask you who do not believe in everything that I struck myself to believe (god is a nothing, I am a part of pain, life is thoughtful as a shark) to be the only person who knows what there is to be loving for.  I am not that person.  I wish I coiuld communicate the love I have.  I wish I could embrace he who belonged in love with his family??? or perhaps empire.  I have the idea that he was a fine person.  I have the idea that I will never be able to give him what he deserved.  (Thinking and beauty and softness (well, he wouldn't want that)).  It is scary to be another foul crook.  I am only here because I didn't want anybody to think of me as a clod.'
]
No one stop breathing.  No one start lashing out violently.

I wish only to be thoughtful, not to be cruel but for the safety of knowledge in this fierce and hateful time.  I have been lost in anger.  I have been lost in stupidity.  I know you will believe me when I say that nothing will ever make me safe if I have nothing but pain.
]
]Please allow me to act as if I am strong.  I know I can be around here; I wish I could be in touch with the people with whom I shared life.

BTW, "dis" and "dat" are not necessarily racist locutions or attributions.  II had one moment of knowledge that perhaps someone might take offense but the words came to me out of a place that did nnot feel malicious and was in fact a fairly gentle source of thought.

"Dis" is not God.  (though that is one of his names I do believe) and "dat" is not anger, though that woiuld be the case were I to allow it.  I suppose I have more than a touch of arrogance in me.  I have been struggling with that because it seems to me that if you do in fact need to be an aristocrat of the mind, body or elsehow that it not become a death sentence or a source of ostracism and despair.

Thank you for knowing what is thoughtful.  I have been reading from a volume of contemporary poetry troday, contemporary going back to the early part of the 20th century.  There is nothing I like better than some of that poetry.  Still I wish that I could be as skilled with language and expression as those of earlier eras.  I also read some poetry of the English Romantic "movement," clearly a source of so much that is both good and awful that I have faced in this attempt of mine to be a writer.

I have to learn to set my own expectations, I suppose.

And now I will make this party creative.  There was a long time ago someone who thought of life as a beautiful and kind free entity.  Now I know this was a reflection of the kind of person I was then and I wish I still was.  Somehow I will make this better.  Somehow I will enjoy what there is to be for me. 

If I ever return to some form of civilization, despite the hatefulness and violent thinking I have displayed, I will make love to life as I know I can -- with honesty and peacefulness.

Thank you for believing in this writing enough to get to the end.

Always in touch,

Mightily "colorfully" Yours,

Julia (Birgita X)

P.S., after going over this I can tell that I have not said as much as I thought I Idid.  I saw that the Goddess seeks out those who are soft and peaceful.  I have little of that left, especially in the general direction of those who I thought were trying to reach "up" to me.  Perhaps I need just to be more friendly to the Goddess' peoples.  She knows that all who desire her will find her.  I desire her.  She believed in my freedom.

JBXM

Blessed Be

Mental Illness

Why bear coldly the fear here,
When the other matter
Is the lair of this daughter par ma mere

In which a camera works to queer
The paranoiac steer to terror,
Twisting open the homicidal dare.

Martyr to a family, silent as another
Mother,  I care when thus I flare

Since in these moments I cherish
I wear my fair stare
Not as a tear but as my hair.

Within the passion of a suicidal glare
Beyond the ken of some other selves' pair
I burnish the carrier of this manic scare.

So there.

epoxy

I like that word.

But seriously, I cannot stand 90% of what this blog has become, a record of pure inanity.  I hope that somehow I will find a voice which is not so either disturbing or low or obsessive:  something which belongs to song and not to wrong.  So wish me luck.  As soon as I finish the printing of this blog, I intend to delete it.  This will take place within the next two weeks.  So bad luck for racists and pornographers.  I am not in your camp.

Allow me to say, I am a thinker not a blinker or a stinker, withal a passionate strong and hopeful person.

It's got to be different

BE ALIVE, BE FREE, BE TROUBLE, BE HAPPY

My manifesto is a silent one.

I have hope

How do you depict a self which is trouble, shit, crookedness and pain?

Where do you go to listen for love?

Where is the life of openness?

Where is my reading from the -- I jested what I did --  body of love?

I asked to let my life -- free is what I want.

Stability of beauty is beautiful as I know because there was a way to change.

It was my life to give myself a possibility of love?

Now I am worried because no one is there to give to.

I think I'ts because I wanted freedom from myself.

At a moment of failure (which I realize is dreaming of my anger).

Past myself:

I thought authority was for poems.

Poems are not dreams.  Poems are not pain.  I need to give myself a reason to work without mantras.

Mantra:  that which needs parts and possibility to make hope.

I have known that nothing is good unless possibility makes it so.

Love under will

Rain was beauty -- belief and worlds -- Oral peace is there to listen to.


I love my life for my heifter who is this world of peace and good.

Stupid is doumb.  Dumb is nerd.

I hate life without family.

I am part of this truth and I hate life without grievance for its need to heal.

happiness and failure were itself cruel.

I knew what need -- and body -- and stars and life partied with ethic things of rest.


I loed what I did.  I do not wish to be here for money.  I wish to give my life rights.

There is change.  There is peace.

I cannot be where there is pain because of hate.

Hate is another way of worrying about death.

I feel myself loving partly of the way that I feel truthful for my hopes and passion.

As a woman was loving so I am my actress.

As myself I deal possibility; as myself I am my own dream.

delinquent anti-fascist

Peculiarities

Hardy har har

I fell down
in a bar

The trouble is

I don't fizz

Hardy har har

I caught myself living

I caught myself living

It was okay.

Now I belong and I can like the parts of myself that are happy



There I go again,
Saying I'm okay.


This was a long punishment, which,
I have meted to myself.

Okay is what I did to be free.

I meant to listen for margaraine and its needs.

I am okay.

I want to be fucked.

Ahahahaha.

And now I wish to say, this was a very cruel dream.

I saw myself being afraid to listen
I saw my life as a woman's moment in hope

There was a way to give
I know that was my passion

You who read these missives must know that I knew what I knew for myself
Because I loved the beauty in marsha (randy's film of her)

I wrote my own part because I thought that was good.

Now what?

After this I'm making drugs

I meant the next life.

Notice for a narc

Priests teach me love is life.

Good, gentle thoughts are beautiful.

Please help me be this way.  You won't?  I am a person that tries to like that.

Peace.

First Words

Fat girl likes talking flower. She knows for herself the dream of meth drying out family. God knows nothing was as needed when she found out that there was no family in trees.

I know her too. I saw her law in the woman who worked here riding her night to a flower that would make drums into love.

Low here with a need for grief and toast. Whether I feel needed depends on something that I can believe in. Is she okay with her power? I know she is.

Entrance to a man with god as a man’s source.

Sexy need to make heart into good. Love and passion dealing family a drug. I talked her into this need for money. I told her to live and give money for the needs she needed to say were hers.. I know she was good for nothing. That is good and I liked it.

Law money sought out rights. I thought they were rancid. I know what this is. I belong to it. It says to me, say what you talk about when you care for another strung out thoughtful man dying from family.

I say this is this. I say I believe in woman. I say you have made reasons for things which I need.

Act and be alive for art.

This goddess sought out flower. I spoke back. I spoke nicely. I said back, “I amm your flame. I know you give thought to reason. I say to you go and think of me. As my lover I give you stars.”

Left Moments

Hate money resting dreaming freely

I gave myself a flower name woman

I thought of writing to be open

As I worry about family,

Thank you for your tinsel

I wish it had been "flame."




Horrors of mind, unintegrated with safety:

I loudly belong
where money belong

I cave rape is fool

I cave body is butch

butch fool

I cave love is race

Race flower messy one

I gave my life family

Estrogen anger fool

I dream of possibility

Clouds drug me

The words trip me up as I want them to give me a freedom from their pain.

The pain is god.

I thank him for his actress failing him with books and writing and shit that is not even my own fame.

I sought his name in life.  I found it in mustard - y hats.

Seeking it out is me effortlessly nauseously making rites loudly partly cruelly nothing

These opposites attract nothing for me

I see them here and borrow them tests are nuts.

I skate here to be gay.

I am not happy staying at a nother's possible randy possible randy gay ness is drugging family with pain and fame is body with cruel dream of mostly ill urges to love art as pockets next to my life.

I see there is my own dream.

I see there is a man with his needs giving himself hope that is nice to him.

I remember a need for oceans.  I remember a feeling of good.  This need made happiness hustle for mandarins.

There is a fixed circle of terms which underlies each and every focus which I bring to this small asteroid of my being:  safety and love belong where hope is home. 

I can listen for you.  But I cannot listen share art hooch/darkness is ranting failing is slow.

Okay, no more pressure, dear.  You are here to listen for your passion.  I like art.  I like love.  I shout nice man gas rusty loss is done.

She way lock is no shame; My goddess is nice as nice is life to a nice nice roman dust cloud.

Paper makes another charge.  I seek glowering changes.  I ask them to start a family.

Okay?

Nap.  Is. LOve.

Rap Race Lunch be gump.

She and I knew.

The relationship between money and borrowing is open.  Orson Welles I can live entering night and being shot into a famous rack of narcotic passion I know as a book.

Keys to ranting resemble a class mooch.

Now I think of looking for a drug of a star.

Loud and clear:  I am need for a lunch.  I am steeped in dinner.  I am thought of as being stock.  Now I say you give himself a way for a lover stink.

Paradigm backs itself and aligns with people (a barely spoken word, but central to the entire enterprise here delineated.)

Thank you for your reading.  I sought another flame -- maybe these words are the unsaid ones which belong to the sense of possibility I want to rank.  No rank?  No lash. 

No moment, is no actress. 

Art borrows good for a long pavement.

Each word that presses from below is also a woman.

Nietzsche himself is lost with his coldness when he knows life got his dream a rock.

Seek not love in drugs.

What is beauty if not a tree?

laughter strength passion

Guy Fawkes' Day

Manliness - My counselor went to the University of Michigan social work school.  I only know that from seeing the diploma in his office yesterday.  He introduced me to a practice known as "tapping," which seems a promising sort of answer to the failings of the usual approaches to self-healing.  That is, one is supposed to invoke the Higher Power however you conceive h(im) and tap various parts of your body while asking that the Higher Power remove the sources of, consecutively, pain, guilt, trauma, etc. around this issue, the issue being in my case, my overweight.  I decided to refer to the Higher Power, half-humorously, as the Fabulous One.  My counselor liked that.

After having gone through all 12 iterations of this recitation I did indeed feel less tired and more relaxed which was apparently the goal of the exercise.  However I was feeling the seeds, asusual, of the disturbance resulting from being asked to "forgive myself" which I have found impossible to do.  Sadly I repeated the fact that I would forgive myself several times and in the final go-around did not exactly feel much better than I had started.  Perhaps this was also the purpose of the exercise.

Crookedness -  The TV started smoking last night after dust fell into it.  It turns out I needed only to turn off the power to the TV.  Before that it had been giving off an odor and making a rotating sound internal to it that my mother could not hear.  I called my brother.  I urged calling the fire department.  When the smoke started coming out, I cried, "I don't know what I'm doing," which I suppose was quite reassuring to my mother if not exactly news.  Still I credit myself with having prevented a fire for once instead of risking one which is the usual scenario.

Stupidity -- Woke up, got out of bed, (ran?) a towel across my head.

Rights -- I finally have some sort of better focus today than I have had in quite some time, having once again gone through all the disturbances that inhabit my mind that seem to prevent my taking pleasure from life or accomplishing anything in it.  I thought about my father, my mother, pain, anger, the reasons that I had said about Mexican immigrant rights that I had nothing to say about them, the needs for equality and peace, the nature of capitalism, my destiny, the various manifestations of mental illness and realized that I needed to say, possibly not necessarily on Facebook, that "there is no right to punish the Jews."  This I think is a better beginning for me in that it encompasses progressive and humane values and declares against collective punishment for all, which I believe is a prerequisite for accord.

Jewish Ostriches - Don't know what I mean.

Goodbye to All That - I have been reading Robert Graves' book entitled such and I believe it deserves to be made into a movie.  The facts of individual death in war, the cruelty of anger and stupidity, and the fruitlessness of making war are all present.  Also the inscrutability of war to the peaceful effeminate person I am.  Why any enthusiasm or accession to war?  Why NOT?

I am so pleased that I have been able to articulately delineate some of the events and thoughts of the past two days.  It is quite quiet here given that the TV is not working.  Perhaps that helps.  Also I am listening to WQXR.

As a founding person of the answer me quite slowly, the girl with Kaleidoscope eyes, I wonder whether anything strengthens pain without cruelty, let me just reason this ...  I do not know whether my own Goddess is loving.  I have to make myself receptive to trouble?  No, to life. 


Cemper Vidalis

Okay.  Now I feell thoughtful.  Warm greetings to my readers and friends.

Thank your love I bar I bar I bar darkness at its own drug, the teacher of flower, a night truth glowing with stark fame god drugging itself with money and thought I seek out dreams stinking their clouds and their patience knowing rites star the shock of thank you to the art and its slavery factor is dunking back its morganatic law momentarily softly nothing thought of my father.

His and Hers

A sunken knowledge deems itself life.

I famously cloud the dream of my penis.  It is a bitch to think of.

El Nina
La Palomo

The night wing, the fair and rude, the claw of hope, the sapphire cancer.

Whence the power?
Whence the languid warrior.

Whither goest thou
This Answer died today.

Polaris flicks the switch

Open the flood gates!

Let loose the words pressing
Their flower as a rain dreaming
Of Materialist malaise.

O very good thou pain!

O very smart of you to grieve my thoughts
with no fame for your rights.

You overtake me with art.
You bar me with your night.

I scare myself teasing this truth from
My loss.

Guilt, thought, fear, nothing and God
Strengthen truth:  the art of moments' destruction.

Woe to my folly.

I gear my thinking to open flowers
Whose drug I find loudly peaceful.

Sucking the lie is a nasty ache.

A guest

I am a woman for the need to be lost.

Hope my mother
Wises right.

I cannot offer
My mother sight.

Goddess said
Master bite.

I got the picture:
I'll fly my kite.

No one bought
What Dreams wrought.

This morning

Materialism causes a round dot.

This dot has a passion for my cloud.

On my cloud there is a poem.

I write my poem for my laughter:

Death god man room beauty.

Fantasy rights art safety love
Land woman reason hope.

Family grieves dreams  -- task -- I die when I am ashes.

In all the goddess there is:

Crooked art
might
is my orgy.

[I don't bar-long to a popper.]

Denial breakdown art gruel.

Capital anger reason nut.

I want my family to be sore  
   so I will need art, a loud and passionate empire.


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

Peace and beauty unto the loss of openness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rape is a fantasy of my onanism.

--I am alone and I am mostly a rook for that nasty murderer, Sartre--

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

Gas is a loud and awful man.

Witchfart is now. 

)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))


I day bar good.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How is this a men?
How is this a reason?
How is this a family?

I give you dreams of actresses
Who deal ants (such as myself) fascination.

This was a brutal and crooked family.

I now am hopeful.

=================================================


Do You give my friends will?

I do.

Then give yourself a thank you.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Cruel truthful trusting

Sweet.

After all the pain, I am laughing for the passion to laugh.

p/ass/ion
pass/ion
p/ass/I/on
pa/ss/ion

Apa mama rapa arga loa maca artist of ro/tary ga
Empire (I): a family that needs teasing.

Sappy and thankful.
Peace is a war that doesn't think about itself as a nut.

And I want a moth for her passion.
Death is not change for me alone.

There is a world that I love that is golden and thankful.
It is a good world.

Ranches and dawn and rank and dreams of moments that give whore
   freak.

Moss.

Shit.

Perhaps this won't show up in my stats without text.  You like?

New Screen Name

I shafted this baloney with a big nut.

I said:  You, you with the dream, what do you want with this openness?

You said,  Be peaceful.

I got the baloney.

Acting empire ically

Ach.
I
Och.
Oc
Oui

Si
Si

Yes

You
Tu
Vous
Thou

Fact:  270,000 Indian farmers have committed suicide from despair in their destitution.

Listen to WIOXradio.org.

I love my body.  I love my passion.  I love my mind.

Test:  What does this make my thoughts?

A:  Rapid.  Creative.  Hopeful.

This is my strength -- that I may be a part of my own answer.

There is no guarantee that I will continue being able to read and write for much longer.  I do not know what will take its place.

Mammon is cold and cruel.

Since there is little that belongs with lakes -- I fear my own loudness.

Here it is:  loud man ashes death randy my life god  next reasons for my life I can deal strength as a loud reason for my goddess, who is reationality.  Okay.  I have to be Family.

PAIN DOESN'T BELIEVE IN RIGHTS.

Video 1

What the hell am I trying to say here.????

Clearly There is way too much dreaming going on.

That is the only queer treatment that I subscribe to without reservation:  Being A Camera,.

Yet another step into psychosis?

Probablhy I should just let cameras be cameras and whatever the product is will be

Loving.

www.wioxradio.org

This

That which understands God is

Laughable

In that It must let go of answers.



Not Chill

This bad thing called anger is/poems/separate lines reveal/ing disjunctures in thought which proceed from fissures in loyalty, understanding/art is a man/Death drives pain to its foolish apartness.  Sexualityh decrees its own money.  And now I tell myself for myself with your troubled response:  There is a poem which I cannot deal with that I have found in my openness.  It is a road to man.  He is nothing but everything to his own creativity.

I must escape pain.

There is a pain which is around itself, which derives its life from anger and  from fear.  I describe it and nobody answers with any:  loud poetic  reasonable  mo/och Dead is cruel.

I am mad because I paid to listen for rights and for beauty and I hear  death and anger.

Why?

10 minutes

Free writing usually puts me into a place where  I say things which are very pointed cruel angry etc. and  oftren winds up with me misspelling things and  wondering at times whaqqt to sayl.  I really don't know where this is headed, except for the facte ahtat I must have something to say in order to write it down.

There are plenty of decisions I must make.  I hae almost gone to New York several timnes recently, actually purchasing a train ticket once.  I am fascineated by the idea of train travel, which is very exciting to me,.

Any way there is so much else to focus on.  For instance, why is it that nothing is fair when no one offers but now ther ies the fact that I cannot  say crack is my friend.

Oh, well, back to that.

I must intrer fere with myself.

You ought to see the spelling in Middle English.  They spoke the syllables then, and wrote them out as spoken often enough that there is a wide variation in the spellings fromn different regions of Englsand and Scotland.

I really ought to study Latin.  I have orered Julias Caesar's works and Tacitus, also, in parallel English and Latin.  How far ought I go with that.

And then, there is the fact that I am about to start reading Antigone.  I remember Julia Roberts played her and Chelsea (That's Jamie Roberts) played Tiereisias.  What a pity I think for myself that I missed that.

Freudian slips, etc.  I wish that I knew whether Freud studied Greek and Latin, and what his relations were with the ancient thinkers and writers.  I would sdo something along those lines but my horoscope says not tuo turn my back on Mother Earth, which I will not.  She is more important than Freude or Oedipus Rex.

Mayhap there is some pemployment in science these days.  Do you think they allow confessed rape thoughtists to get any kind of job?

So what. 

I am the person I need to be.  Perhaps I have been subtly throough the back door so to speak working against that  saying  about people,.,  That at any given moment...

I think that I am who I need to be.  Right now.

I still think about Jamie and Chelsea and Rusty and  Randy and Marilyn and Nathan, etcl....  My life will never go back to what it was.  And there is something to the thought that without their intelligence and acuity and spirit that I will never again learn about myself in the same way.

Today is a good day.

Moronic and  beautiful simultaneously.  The day not me.

Good,.  Still going.  One more minute. ???

Take care, I will be gone soon from this page.

You must be careful for yourself and all those around you.

Man is a curious creature, to me.  Perhaps there is more to hate and love than man, woman and child.

Like a rose, I am alive

Shuffle the shunned commoner
His path is left of reason

I test you listening:



For me poetry is the anxiety of knowledge:  where the word will lead?

I am part of a crock of pain  anger selfishness

Delete Delete Delete.

I post-op.

Call me another way of being a rope.

I disentable the costs of my love.

Same here.

Gold is a rope.

I tie myself with a family a father and his roses were no body's desnity.

Kastle Kapektalkjalfkjiajalfja

Rope.

Great spangled free writing will take you anywhere but witout a friend of my life I am a rook.

Keep love reasonable and I will know your roman laughter.

AS A ROOK I AM A LOUD LOUD

Does pretension seep into every word that emerges from my type.

ingllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

I seek only to give you a loud god with no fear of part IN.

This knowledge  of God's origin:  Where was Jehovah when the Israelites began?

Was I there?  Did you know what I wanted?  Why seek always after the calling of a drunk?




There is no synthesis of Law and Moment.

Cash and Old Reson.

Gift is not laughter and I am bowling with a believer of money


Cash is a foul drunk.

I catch myself knowing what I know.  Sylvia Rivera called me famous.

I called her a poem.

Ad laugter

Call me a famous rogue.

Doesn't treat like I do.

My voice goes staccato on me, with ferocious emphasis of each individual sound as I make you give me a fail.

Anastasia.  The Czar.  Stalin.

Mama is a loud famous reason to work.


Lemondade.

Jasmine Carpenter/Borelli were a patient and soft reason for a pod.

Notion:   uneditable work will never substitute for editable writing.

Or edible panties.

Har harhar

Snark.

Don't Publish This.  Please.  You don't have to show everybody what they already know.  The tedious workings of the estranged mind.  Hahahaha.

Hey, Rusty, did you know that I am baloney?

Hahahaha.

Go on there

Whispers

Faint and soft, unprotected sounds
Repair my life distantly.

They stem the crooked trace and
Interdict the cold narcissist crime.

But, because family calls me to belong,
Dense topics result in passionate replies.

"Cannot leave:  no trial is possible."

Thus law-assembled rhetoric gnaws
A panicked victim of the wide poppy.

For colors spread neatly in my life:
(Queen Love paused darkly there)

To combine is my charge.

Not You

One parts with dough:
Quite thought she's Poe.

(Psycho will turn:
Artist skill learn.)

Two pain-filled days,
Trees breathing haze.

M.O.P.E.

While folly aims for love,
Doves muster in sight.

Can pain make a non-sequitur fly?
Do you want to fetch the sky?

La Biblioteche (sp)

Oberon

la
ma
ra
sa
Ca


or

Anger cracks wisdom.  ugly randy is a passionate answer for a cackle with a nose.

This is the time for my patience to listen for laughter.  I have no sanka.  i have no morgan.  i call for omen.  I call for a sanka.

Dear grandma,

i have heeded the lives and presences, words, emotions and thoughts of scores if not hundreds.  There is  nothing but a cacophony under which i breathe my own crust.

Ellen is a really happy person.  i am her rogue.  i do what is safe.  She is home.  I say this is reasonable to live and to be retail.

Laugh for nothing.  laugh for all.

I cannot tell myself why there is a right to carry my passion.  This call to be money is my angery cruel affirmatioin.

Detective Worm is really a famous nest of money.  I guess I have the reasonable death of a ronda.

Guilt is where many after thoughtzs feel cruel.  I know that I have been a mess.  I know you are many lovers.  Allow to me for materialism the mess that is of masa.  Empire of certainty ingrown with many answers details itself in order to call for a lares -- household God -- to anger laughter with mafia.

Cull itself it will.

Anger is a rate of lapels.





a posteriori

yes a lapel

Evelyn

No.

I said it.

Au
Ag
Cu

Lots of money thanks the money that paid me.
I asked for money because of the rudeness of my anger.

No one was there when I thought, "this is a way to anger a rank I know as bop."

I can only say that no one reads that past.

I dissolve into a lake.
I mortar the road.

I love the world, life, messes.

Okay, there was something "what" I created that no one felt.

This was ax to Kelly.  I loved her.  I loved Chelsea.  I loved Rusty.

And Shaida.

Maybe you will understand that no one really felt this moment.

I made my home into my thoughts.  Now I have to ask, "where is the rationality?"

Elsewhere:  A reading of that past.


Tensions that I felt:  Money, Love, Pain, Rudeness, Machetes, Anger, Wonder.

This need to be part of another is a fear of bombs.  These bombs consist of family.  This is the family that I wanted.  My mother was loving.  My father was loving.  I cared about my ranch.  My brother is my partner in a mastery of , not fear but laces.  Patience. I thought of love as a loss.  I think of myself as a sack of power.  In this sack there is something else much more wholesome:  a sanka -- someone like my grandmother.  I feel alive.  22 year s since her death is the 22nd (day after tomorrow).  I thought of her because of this need to ask, why is there life?  She was hopeful.  I hope maybe you can understand the need to be nice to myself as this person writing.  I am worried that I will never know what entrance is for my life.  My grandmother was born March 3, 1903 in Tumwater Washington.

Remember.  She knew my life was pain.

Okay, I am a funk

I liked Sartre because I knew that his softness was the only way to be orgasmic.
I liked Woody Allen, too.

I am a book for my castles.  I build them with the reason that love is made to be masquerade.

Lent.
This is a loss.

I think war id a large cook.

I have given up poetry for people.

Perhaps not a good idea for me or people.  Maybe a good idea for poems.
Tuesday
I don't remember.
Wednesday
?

Thursday ...

Friday.  Today.

I am trying to be really free with my life.  This means I haven't done the dieshes.

I am really a fool.  Dieshes is dishes.k  I did not know that I was Princess Diana.

My great great grandmother's name was Diana Bradford.

I am poor.

Okay.  This way of making something call out for me that which is druea.  Guard for the money equals rascals.

Last is not the same as boss.  I cannot make you love me.  I cannot make you free.  I hope you will begin to say to yourself that you will make your life  laugh.

Cackle is a way to be free.

Be cautious.

Juncture of Miss America and a blog

This answer to my Hand is art.
I write my own pain knowing one is paced.

Entrances belong for love.

I answer you and return with a love for asterisks.

Elevation of palming your writing in a pack of magazine entrances.

Estimate the patient law with a rack of luck.


I shall now return to a pad of paper and a pen.

The Unknown Comic

Ouch. 

As a rand political baloney head, I reek of no one.
I reek because I deal with shit and it's painful to be afraid.

Orgasm.

What do I say?

Orgasm.

Let it go.

Masturbation is nothing.

Nothing.

I am baloney.

Orgasm.

No one is poor.

Luck.

I say to you, good friends make you good and polite.

I am, baloney.

Orgasm.

Why care about me

I make you sexually rough.

I don't think of pain.

Estrogen is a way to make me poor.



I write and believe that there is Dean.

I am boring.

Many trees give me good edges.

Moments like this.

I don't say what is no one's pasture.

A source of endless fascination

The part of life that made loss nothing but family -- family nothing but loss? -- is the part of life that made me a capitalist -- moments of right that are not pain but cast in suffering as naked as a cancer.

That "moment" was atrocity -- a moment of energy which was hopeful in its ranting of men being stars of laughter.

I used to be very good at laughing, especially at myself.  I smiled and laughed a good deal, to an extent that it caught the negative attention of both bullies and teachers.

No one knew that I partly had to be good to myself because I was a passionate and loving drinker of life.

No one with their own money would ever believe that it is easy to keep yourself beautiful when there is no pain in taking from others the necessity of both peace and happiness.

Keep living.
Sartre -- the source.  The Words.  The phrase :  singularizing universal, universalizing singularity (man being).

Peace is what I feel when I make love to people without their money.  No one is part of kindness who is also cold in their machination.

Easy to be poetic, not so easy to write love.

Assignation.
Acid.
Graphic.
Moments.

Ancient Orrery.,

Estrogen was my passion. 

Now I'm a possible martian.

A
lchemy -- a worthy subject for a worthy counterculturist.

I even believe that.

Kabbalah

777

Wow.  I'm a bank.

Language Possibilities

No one will say there is a man.
No one will make god into a law.

Necessary pain does not make god.

I remember failing to say language is
Packed.





Nobody remembers the failure of banding
Golden rascals.

I cave with a rare thought which orders itself
within its own past:

Mayhap will passes itself time and again
For my own love of ... western lies.





Latterly I cast myself into a loud passion:
Death pays itself for another answer.

I remember for myself the calling of my own make --
When you made rolling the leftist calling part of a flag

I lay down and parted myself with a dick
Nationally hopeful.




Since the day I forgot panties

I wear the same thing as I wore
Except now I don't need that part of facts.

Elevation to a road of my loss

Elevated rent
Made me rant fish.




Hold me

A gay rain fastens my law with right patience.
I love gases of the place with the cantering martyr.

Poem of Nothing

Etch my costs into a law.
Fail my men with golden rope.

Delete law and be strong.
Answer money with its own rascal.

Momentarily I read no one is here.
I safely ride because I part of a loss.

Sound begins with rational slack.

Pour on the mental love:
You will find no one but your cancer.





Iota

Effigy reads masks that are rough;
I destine my reason to its glowing material --

Bland entirety.

So You Don't Want Me?

Andrea, Positively, Girlfriend with the Laundry made a moment. 

No one is going to be worried if I have my own life.

I think that you who do not believe I am good enough to say I love you are low.

This is my way of making money.

I hope you will make yourself some beauty.  Then I will know that I have been strong enough to feel free (strong and beautiful).
]
Why not understand what is boring?  Why not begin to be alive?

No one would ever say I knew them if they didn't think I was nasty.

I bought this many creeps with the positivity of my entrance.

Life lends a lie if it is part of vassaline.

HOw may I contribute?

Asskissing is a form of making crooks into patients.

NNo one did what I wanted -- you may scoff -- castles of clouds, no shit pain, loss.

I mutter because I am momentarily loosed.

Oba, believe.

Drain my coldness into a famous rock.
Illness brings trust in nothingness.  Or was that vice versa?

momentarily crooked, positively momentary.

I feel roast drunk and melodious.

SEek the happiness you wish for in your goodness, strength and answer your pain with family.

Something favoring the foreleg

I
Laughter.

II
Peace

III
Margarine is what gold tries to make

IV
Poetry gave my chances for its own leanings.

V
Edifying inclusion of etches.






This solo rendering of love as a man's trust is now pondering a rite which is known as nostalgic holidays.

Abolish the dream?  Be the hope.

Queer days and nights render themselves like a man giving this actress a oratory of love.

I extend myself toward a low cost moment.

Here I see no one with effort of hope.  It is a dead end.

No one believes in race:  life is worth possibility.

Elevation

A sneer in my being, which rests within my ribcage, latches itself to the many moments of strength and love that I hunt for day in and day out.

The level at which I reason is at one and the same time a mountain peak of crushing weight and visible stress and a trivial combination of small snippets from the life forces with which I enmesh myself.

To write and to write forcefully, well and luminously is possibly not so simple as I like to assume in the trenches of my confused existence.

Lastly, passion kills moments of -- what is the word I must reach for in this moment of disconnect? -- rascality.

Nanny with a robe

Oregon and Alaska

Fighting for the left,
We proceed West.

The left fights for
Moments.

I read my paper.

Jazzy

FAke liberalism.

Buttered racism.

Nancy racist laws of bunk roman laughter.

Gad was a raw cancer.
\
Honey, I'm ra     ar lancdr 

Deep fear.

eifa;dkjfaoeija
r
A P land


Castle wis radca
R

Laughter with no ethea r

Landera a

I hate mea rar

Laws of ma

Lws of ma

Lases Racia rA

Laws

(They are ralar)

Calll a rA Cala


Hansen

Raljeoija
jrjQA"

Shit.

I am bombing a raq because I am nothing to that  hole.

That is the illness.

My body is my own.

XXX XXX XXX

I am not his puppet, his plaything, his extension.

I do not write this to disgust or destroy; I wish only to let anyone, even myself, know that no one is going to push me off this patience or this stance in yoga, karate or even Scarsborough Rules fight.

I am not the creative rice moose.a  I am not the angry faggot.  I am not my own robe/rope.  I am only my own thoughtful and chastity angry gorked brook.


Test me with your large needs.  I am away with a ra ntl.


If I could ctaft better I would do so.

Assid is another knowledge.  Art is a part o9f  a fake -- even a fake.

The anthropology of the contract.

I googled this --- nothing.

Anyone else need a career opportunity?

Last life

When I try to control through fear and intimidation under the guise of anger and need, there is no good that can result.

Perhaps I will make something better by allowing this family to be home.  I must welcome who is remaining to the joyous lives they deserve.

There is nothing that can possibly excuse what I have thought -- bringing harm to those closest to me.

And now I must arrive at the end of this moment. 

Go away, anger, cease to torment me and my dear ones.

Ethics, spirituality and peace for me depend on my ability to become better.

Bless all our lives.


Answer to the question, "When do I love?" is, family is what you feel when you give being to the Goddess in her laughter.  She is the bubbling over of beauty.

[Free Chelsea Manning]

A little clean

As my own life is answering patience with loss, I am worried that there is answering openness and there is being stable.  I have been cruel but I do not think I am a no one.  I know one.

This is not the only deal that is about change.

I am part of stopping that which is roads to (loop).

You can listen.  You are what you need to be.  I love you.  And I am safe and creative as much as I am without change.

Okay,  That's Sartre.

Act V

I am more than stick
and I am more than tired

I am terribly past being
a martyr

I am baloney

Capital was my rout.


I cared desperately for
my own loud drama.

Sampled the golden plow.

As far as I know...

As far as I know...    Mathematics gives you a lost rope/roe [typo -- the last].

As far as I know ... Mathematics is a mess.


As far as I know .,.. I am baloney.


As far as I know ... I taught myself this passion [for being me][a rock][a bowl][a dream]

As far as I know ... This is the patience I am bane/banned/cast for.

As far as I know ... That which is a tape is rude.

As far as I know ...  I am bored.

As far as I know...  That's the passion I created when I thought of this "openness."

Today, Tomorrow, Yesterday

Yearning for the ground She has brought from the aftermath of freedom, I give you cheese.

My Family

In my family ... my mother has forgotten that my father used to beat me.

In my family ...  I want to hurt my mother and don't know why.

In my family ...  There is no answer to this pain.

In my family ...  there is no writing about my family.

In my family ...  No one is a poor person.

In my family ...  I am baloney.

Poem

Horrendously engineered words.

I positively creatived
Dark ark of book.

As a loud nut, I am a mess.

I don't like art because it is
Decent in its stopping with a ram.

I was a nut job because of my
Orgasms.

I paid rams to give me a loud
Drink.

Cop.

Is.

Shit.

Brilliantly happy.

Land is a fine and solid fact of our lives that of course has all the dimensions of beauty, practicality and spirituality that so many seek.

When there is a lot of loss, and also a lot of wonder, I know that I can believe that my own strangeness becomes massively apparent and a true impediment to change and hope.

I have thought for years that when anyone licks their own body that it has a creative art that I wish I could practice without any kind of anger.  I don't believe that time is the same thing for everyone.

Now that you are fairly well anointed in the cruelties of being safe -- I say to myself and to anyone else drawn to this kind of negativity -- I hope you will abandon pain for a lot of possibilities.

Now I have become a mess.

Yours,

Mandolin/Orchis

Thanks for reading!

I backed my mother's crime

I think when I read this answer I will take this and be a mess.

A mind that doesn't create belief in its own strengths does not have anything which will belong to positive love.

I have no reason to make love its own star.  I only wish that I could say that I was good.  I thought to myself that I was good when I created this reason peacefully.  NOw I belong to aftermaths.

As I grieve this assessment let me say reasonably that I cannot feel good about this dogged rabid cruel family, by which I mean this aftermath of my pain.

My pain grows from nothing which I can live for.  It is only a feeling of being changed in order to make this dream a strong movement.

I hate making myself a man for its crazy tense flag.

As I can't work, am unable to say this is a song of creativity and am cruel, I have no ability for making a dream of love.

I wish I had somebody to teach reasonably that I cannot have love and say art is a role for my chastity.  Chastity is not what I think of when I am here to be loving.  I only want to be thought of as a mess.

Probably you wonder at these tedious circularities.  Why do I not simply break out and see what I have for the gifts they are and believe that all which is made is also good to be available for its own answer?

I relieve girls by being a man.  They are not the same as I intended.  I am not the same as I believe I may have felt was a man.  I do not say I care, but I do feel that I was intended as a dream of good.

Good certainly gives itself a knowledge of peace.  I believe that I needed to have my own rites/rights.

I do not believe that every I/one gives itself answers.  I only know that I cannot stand working for anyone who can't give me a rack.

It is truly destructive and amazing that I have arrived at this terrible circumstance where I cannot simply wish for a way to be peaceful.  I do not feel hopeful that I can stay at a being-crazy-openness and stay viable as a person.

I am not good at knowing what I want.  I do not feel strongly about my relationship to my efforts to be a gay cloud of mice stirring itself with a man's laughter.

I have made a problem for my creativity by being foolish.

I feel bad that I called myself a man.  I am stupidly thinking that I have to be rude:  Anger and laughter are cruel as they belong where family is my masquerade.

No one need be stable if they are loud.  I am also a loud draw for my own capital.

I know that if I work for myself I will be a laughter that doesn't belong to my life.

I cannot love a raft of bashing love.

I love ashes of a star.

No one can do this and believe in peace.

I only want you who wish for my life to be hopeful to be loud and angry.

I am probably not good for my positively loving family.

Do not feel stupid just because someone makes you feel like you are a woman.

Thank You

I love you --

Dawn

Why aks.

Aks is a Chaucerian usage ("ask).

I need a name.

Dear friends and others

Fact:  I am moping.

Mandolin Goldfinger.


Aks what I feel.

A Salute

Fry Boulevard

In Sierra Vista, the cars wend past
The old Junior High.

Over the mountains a blimp
tracks drug runners and border crossers.

(The making of security is the business of
drones.)

Here and there the homeless have arrived:
mostly men clothed in khaki or green.

I don't know how to believe in
this place where

Retirees from the Midwest and military
consort among themselves with great friendliness

And I palliate my distress
with cantering flames.

emaciated drinks

I empower myself to live.
I dispense

Authority

In order to

Keep Answers wild.

Enthalpy greets me with its
Moment of western
Tea


You with the mind of a rapt lover,
I give you matches.

Like Rusty, I've changed.

exercise, recommend, slaked, bargello

I thought I would title this one with the words that I misspelled in the Spelling Bee. 

....................................................

Open your castle:
Greet your anger.

I read my thanks
As the laughing

Of my flaws.

I am skilled at
Needing my own

Empire.

I define this as:
Love, rights, ashes.

Skeleton moments go before
The crime I believed.

I may die from my acts.


Momentarily skilled with reason, I give that right to my conscience.



..................................................


Ibidem



And slowly the world is safe.


......................................................


Altars work with being.
Law reads soap

Loom

Maps

Man was the rascal with the poem.
I gave myself anger.

This need for reasonable writing belongs to post-ops.

I know I say what is foolish.

 Family rides its girlfriend to my hope.
I remember that art -- lying to my friends
About my own teaching.

I manipulated my genitals, deciding my future.

I can't write what is wrong.

You know that I am gold to my accent.

Altitude gases itself with my family.

I rode a land raven where I was song.

Delete this from your rant.




I wish that I had the Goddess with my reasoning.
I wish that no one would be bent.

I gave a lot of leftism because of the right stink.

Guilt is from making art into hope.

I believe that I lose.





Ashes weird

Edifying words from a presumptuous ex-estrogen taker.


Death
Man
Reason

Triple words going in circles indicate a need to alter my course.



Illness
Running
Death

Dean
Race
Came

I settled for my own pain.





Unfasten it.
Empires of race
Deny feelings.

I am the dream that I cried at.

I rode where my own hopes were grounded in a farce.

Pain sky laughter.




Okay, I will be what I am.  I am what I am.  Entrance was my safety.  I gave it a post-op cloud.

Fierce trial results in my own orchard.


I am not even arriving at writing; rather, I am attending to lower masquerades.

Okay, that's the car.  I hear it.  I enter it.  I start the engine.  I leave for icicled assemblies.

Mockery of darkness brings a trial of enterprise.

Language and nothingness

A moose grieved for reasons that are cruel:  There was a lot of nothingness and dreams.

I bought my own laughter.

This was my grief.

I didn't say much because I'm a nothingness with a famous crackhead.

She was a very safe way to become home, which is facts.

Facts give you money.

Now I have become one with a language:  bombs don't make love, bombs make cavities.

I am what was known as a nasty shaft.

And now there is more.

Left.

Illness plus tests lead to rations.

Rosenut

There is no reason for me to write, nor are there any words or set of words which are springing to mind, clamoring for me to type them for your benefit, pleasure or sheer boredom.

I think there is nothing which makes life freer than the knowledge that everybody who loves you has a life that they have to believe in -- and this is because there is nothing that makes anyone stronger than they are. 

Just to pretend that I am what I am, I wonder whether I can say I am trying like a crook, a bitch and a hooker to stop being a rude stupid nutjob.

As you can tell, I have failed in the very setting out of the task which I have presented here.

I dream that one day a person who loves me will say:  "You CAN have hope," that I will make my own hopes free (make them alive, peaceful and right).

So, when you examine my life, you may arrive at the conclusion that no one will ever become my own masquerade (of rights and love).  Rights are about protecting love.

I wish you would tell me that there was another freedom besides being my own creator.  Doubt and agony/anxiety have not ceased to hold their sway.  I can only imagine/envision a time when I am not loving (or perhaps when I am loving) and that you have begun to allow my grief to fade.

I have nothing to say to my mother and my mother has nothing to say to me.

When I lost why.

I lost why.
Today I made a world of running for life.

I can get that with a poem:

You write a poem;
You read a rank:  ink.

Guess which one deserves avoidance?

am baloney.

I believe with my cackle.

Endearing roses are past.

A Little Bit of Happiness

Time's Wherries

Last of the grain
Passes the threshold:

Stony shore yields to
Tossing sea.

A pause in the wind
Captures my breath.

Amid the sightless cliffs
Winds a path to night's maker.
.

Narf!

Hat off to my own body:

I have my life (here, home and law are separate)

Making rights without God is not what I thought I wanted.

I was needing a sense of reason for being rude.

Rude:  construe as that which allows love to make itself reasonable.

(That being nothing.)




Intelligibility being both question and answer, I feed my body for
Open laws.

These will make you want running around to be laughter.

I can hope for lakes and for dreams of peace.
I can read what is there:  Openness was the reason for my rank.

A large laboratory for all.
That is the heavy dream of a lab mouse.
Narf!