Inspiration

I have brought forth coldness and hate.  I have made fear a cruel nest.

These fears were from the dream of creating many dreams.  I knew what it was to make the strong a light for its own peace.

These words indicate and disguise actions and moments and events that I need to be aware of.  I do not know whether to make you aware of them.

I am sure of the need to be one with my own freedom.  I do not know the reason that there is failure in peace.

Strength and beauty are loving with peace, and justice is alive.

Believe me that I am aware of contradictions that run through what I write.  A contradiction -- that which is "against saying," to attempt a literal translation is that I am alone but I try to be reasonable in my dreams.  These dreams are that there is happiness for anyone with peace.

There is a tension here also.  I do not know why I am good or strong or peaceful.  Perhaps I am not.


I have brought out these statements so that I can live without the race of my tastes (which are to be famous and kind).  There is no race to these tastes.  Perhaps there is no race anywhere.  Darkness is not race.  I cannot speak for anyone else.  It is irresponsible to write in this way about such an emotive subject in language that is not itself emotive, that does not draw upon all of humanity -- at least my own.  I do not know how to approach this other than in my life's own changes, perhaps in image and metaphor.  I am not a loud artist such as one with belief in life.

That has to change before I can write about this topic.

Thank you for knowing my theories of writing.  I must let go of worrying about this mess, and direct myself toward believing in hope.

Inside there is a moment that dreams of rest for words.

Open laughter:

Peace was the lover of its own veils.

I have breasted the issue of love; I am a woman of hopes and I need to let it be as a open life.

The words say I am where there is life.

Life says I am where there is art.

Art says I am where listening is taste.

Hope was a lie when I had towels.

Bright and dark
Dream and spark

Love was great
To be fate

I have loss
Illness toss.

Jekyll Hyde
Softness Glide

I go

Though there is little to know, I am weary of my own tests, change and fears.  I live to give this peace its own hope.  Pleasure with me is my taste for patience.

Marsha P. Johnson was a nice woman.