It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.

Art is not safe.  Dreams are not beautiful.

If these statements are at least partly true, then, pushing their truth to ultimate limits as far as my understanding of "reality" goes,  I must be avoiding safety and beauty rather than embracing them.

I despise knowing freedom because there is no art in feeding openness (or is there?).

Analytical moments like this make me cruel to my mother in that they bring a sense of superiority.

That is repulsive.

Law and knowledge belong to a way of material existence that involves pain for those who are entrances to being.

These include all who bring people to self-understanding through receptiveness to their individuality.

I now feel I am bullshitting.

Subtext:  Guilt from being a woman instead of making life safe.  I know that it only works when there's "umpires."

That's a misconception and a self-serving lie.

I'm not that good at love.




Terrorism and inequality go hand in hand.


I borrowed a lot of money from people and now I have to pay it back by taking my life in my own hands, which I have to do anyway, and being a shack (raven -- justice -- life).

That goddess which believes in her own cruelty is the one that is rude.

I hate this openness.

Mammy.




Seriousness -- another way of making love the reason for hope.

How do you show the relatedness of all is in fact serious?  By making life its own home.

I am what I am.  I must read; I must read; I must live, meaning be good at listening.

I tell you that there is no anger in my openness, only dreams (of change, being that which strengthens peace).

Earlier today I hated peace.  Now I have come full circle again.  There is someone I delighted in, and that was my body. 

[I understand from reading this over that there is precious little of interest in it because there is no or little apparent unity, whether artistic or rational, that I provide.  I wish to bring this unity.  So, here it is:  Peace, art, understanding and rationality are all human ways of living out hope.  They are all related and interdependent.  I know for myself that part of life is to like the ones who care.  I belong with the ones who are imperialists in their troubles.  This is what is tragic to me.  And tragedy is a unity.]

I did not respect others' being.  That is where I am.  If I live I give you answers.

Answer:  history of math, the capitalist orgy of love.

Love under will equal transformation.

Charge with robes.