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.