The Pseudo-Oxford Reality, With Additions and Revisions

I believe my own face, which tells me that I can not malign my friends.

I also know that I can't say for you how to understand the life of my own plastered dream.
It is true that when I asked life to be my own path to glory I was lost in dreams of trouble (the way which I cried for my own race [beef], in other words, the pain [that said I love you] for my words making life a contrariness, my family's relationship with me.)

I stand here (I am actually sitting here in my old bedroom in the town I grew up in) trying to be what I associate with creativity -- soft, peaceful and loved, haunted by my father and his need to be his own masculinity.

[My mother, reading this, asked me what I meant by "haunted."  I fluffed and said that I meant haunted by his influences.  She is very suspicious of anything I mention that might indicate psychosis.]

Listen:  Effort is not what I want.  I prefer athletes of the trees, those who are peaceful by angering their chicks.  [Chick may mean subordinate female or simply offspring.  Athletes may mean monkeys, birds, or as in a fantasia, tree-dwelling humans (or anything else which may spring to your mind)]

I clown around like this because I am what I am.  I opine upon the life I have led in order to reason with my creator:  the same creator as yours.

Perhaps when you like me it is because you gave  a way that was active and good, that was love as peace.

I believe man is the way that my own (I am here assailed as usual by words which press me to a place of decision) dreams (actors which are my friends) tried to reveal themselves as sensible.

Okay, when you dream is it the same as the happiness you know yourself to believe in?

B:

Entropy was the trope which I embraced for my life, it is true, Marina.  I did so because no one has the left-wing issues I had.  I thought drugs made you read happiness as anger. 

This uncommon association, or seemingly uncommon association, doesn't actually bring grief.  Grief allows eyelashes to believe in Elk.

I allow you to select what is good here.  I believe elk are life.  I do want a lock for my lack (I make mustard as caves).

I feel a (lots of rigidity building) (discomfort) (trepidation) (pressure) moment of anger.

Why feel love when love is made to give men money?

I am not here to be loved as a man.

I am not here to like wars.

I am trying to kill myself by being nothing.  I cannot live this way.  Help doesn't involve change without knowing that it is peace from Reverends and Dancers that I loved.

The Reverend Julia Brigid Murray is when I am a moment.

Okay.  I wish to make it laugh.

I called myself Reagan.

Lime is nauseated.

Emended with appearances.