Poise is Drums: notes for a life storyrevision I

Openness was trite
Math was foolish

This need to teach was low

I wrote much for crack

Allah was feminine

I did too much roman trust (I made love to be a crook)

I was dreaming of my own feelings, which were a part that was emperial.

This girlfriend of fear wrought womanhood for neither love nor strength but for shame.

I (my) goal was elevating my life to be cruel so that I would be peaceful in my security at the expense of others.

Death was needed for its finality and its imperialist dreams.

I sought a way that was pain and fear so that I would become a rock of -- teach!-- change.

There is love and I know that I can make life beautiful in its creativity by asking for happiness (peace, love, strength, and change)

Ouch.  I am working like I'm a writer of family wishes and hopes.  Family is a word which pertains to those I loved and who loved me.  I know that not everyone will understand the beliefs in peace (life, safety, love) that I have had, but perhaps they will know that She is beautiful.

Continue reading this over time, and there will be more.

I feel like calling the above 1995.

Now it is 2013!

You see, what I could do is write a conventional narrative for one page and on the opposing page write passages full of the vocabulary and usages that have an inner source and resonance for me.  Nobody would read it.  It's okay.  I'm in charge of what I write until the brain police attach the requisite electrodes to keep me from writing what I want or alternatively writing anything at all.

Back to the notes ...

Empire:  Need to [margins: a lot of piggyness is part of needing good things like money and strong (free angry flow) (almonds) (glowing) (mustard)] believe in life for its (caving in on my freedom is a woman's need to be laugh/girlie/my roman image) teachers.  I am the one who knows that everyone has a possibility of being a (lot of rosiness here/cruel/murderous/cruel and peaceful) l(over(gruel interesting cruelty is boring as a way to sexualize itself as ... lamplight of roman death is crack))(estrogen) oner.

Clocks.  I was needed to like the production regime in which clocks/time/structure enveloped the subjects/inhabitants with anxiety/fear/expectation.  I now know that I did not and did not want to be a laborer.  By laborer I mean the opposite.  By the opposite I mean the polarity.  By the polarity I mean the relationship.  By the relationship I mean the freedom of being good to hope.  By hope I mean drastic anger toward everyone who was the only ... crack ... imperialist need for love. 

I certainly made someone try to help me.

As you know, when you are stupid because of money (and I mean the kind of money that is not from being free, but from being a legitimate poem of apparitions with need) there is more cruelty than there is freedom.

I dreamed that when I pursued my own goals (more at some other venue) I would become happy because of my own qualities of creativity and strength.  Little did I know how much those depended on the presence and good will of others in the triple I was a part of.  Now I am aware that my individuality is only the surface of an n-dimensional mess.

You who read this may in fact have already imagined and estimated the growth of these tendrils of description/examination that lead me back to my striking out in more ways than one on my own.

I gave people what I wanted to remember myself for:  a freewheeling yet often rigid because hyperfocused/obsessed template/example of individuality that was both a critique and a door to possibilities of expansion to the realms that inspired me, i.e., literature, philosophy and politics.  Little did I know or care to know, for it pained me, that others may have already absorbed and taken into account everything I offered, and that I needed as much or more from them in the way of making changes in myself that would allow myself to be tolerable as a human being in a tense and social environment that I made more tense and less social.

To be honest, I doubt that I will ever know the impact I had from the point of view of others.  Impact is a heterosexist goal anyway.  Perhaps if you ever read this over for what it is, you will find it to be (good enough) a lot of confused (say it, etc.) rhetoric concealing an emotional instability and an isolation that was in part a refusal to admit human commonality as present in me.

This urge to disrespect certainly was at the root of some fear.  The fear of being misapprehended by others also led me to not communicate the simple emotions I had of being out of place, of being afraid of my own dreams, of needing people with a lot of kindness and strength.  I suppose I wanted infinite understanding without offering it in return.  

And then there was trying to find someone to love.

Hahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!

I will begin this with an anecdote.  I paid myself with openness and with (aggression always present) interest in mentoring a fake (someone who would understand me for my grievances, my tastes, my needs, my infirmities).  With Sylvia I was myself, what others might perceive as a small, childish, needy fragment of a personality who needed comfort and protection to function.  As all may remember, I was the same person who gave myself (Julia) a lot of (clap) pressure to be a towering source of strength.

More soon.