Gevalt

As sham
Work

Senses shucks

Worth a
Life?



Level the martyrs
Not the people

I rave cause I rave

Coldly



Men darkness as a thinker of work
I am bored with art

Coldness seeks peace as a way to like
Straw.





I part myself race is nothing when there is
Land.

Better:  "laughter."

Goal is to work my life for life not drugs.

Acting alike with you is not my stopping look of hustle



Loife writes men as charged ape.





Delectable cruelty for another author




I was nothing making patient blindness caving in dreams

You must loosen your laughter call it style of marketing.

I know whaqt you want because I am drunk.

Leftism just wants a lover.  No one gives love to Stark Fake People

Sacked for a hope.



Clay.

Tide

Cisalpine Gaul

Sagging into the dark
I was momentarily
Ruling a land where

Coal and body give
Ashes of names.

These names work hard
As a flower makes life.

Oil men were famous
Death is nothing if no one

Had legs.


Dildo  jacqueries
Roil the thankless
Passions of rome

Dare war as a thought
Of home.

Darkness cures family
With memories

Glowing in the family
Was a thinker.

I see her dealing food
To language

And finding gold in
Plays vulture

A thud to sop and
Shave.

Work your money and
I will be dreaming of

Momentary Flasks

Tilt.

Oil

Life work I like stumbling poise
Bcuz oh is me.

I think rights read rights
Maybe I work at night.

Estrogen worked with rights

I need some part of patience.

After the costs belong to language
I have bought into money as peace.

I am open with a ranch writing of resting

Oil is my glaze; I am a reeking of napalm
And its changes.

The flaw of my world is baskets of men
Testing work.

Laughter belongs to rules.

Maybe I'm bringing the cold into a fantasy of
Oil.

Gold and Oil:  God gives masquerades a teacher.

Western monopolists deny orgasmic families
Taught passionate women a lake.

Masquerade and baloney read family as work.

Parkinson's papers read like caskets.

I breathe with operations in the rain.

Lectures on gasoline belong where peace
Thinks of babies and my family.


I have paid myself my life to belong where bars are stupid
And I am paper.


Laughter makes you me cold and ripped with mace wix.

I think of myself tasking, reading, changing loving peaceful grieving
Changing dealing reading worrying and flying.

Fly your rights with a leg of room with a leftist.

Golden blame belongs anger works itself works itself and dreams of urgency as a narcotic.

Mellow world is a pantry.  I gave myself strings.  I loitered.  I flowered.  I raised cancer when I paid my bank with me thinker raymond wastes arnold fake.





When I Punted on the Cherwell

I dumped Chelsea with a famous aeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllll












Memories

Gold

As knowing as possibility,
Worlds part with me
Because I tear my rights
Into family and trouble

I deny I am answering
Family with rest

Acting here is a knowing of
Poems.  I deny knowing
Poems.  I deny knowing
Life.

Home gives me rights.
I am knowing in my
Right to act with passion
To be a family and rest.

I masturbate -- men deny
Reasons.  I deny myself
Acting, law, god, sex, change,
Passion life and race.

Act as a martyr and make
Right into masquerade.

I feel working class parts.
Think of mathematics.

SO tedious

I am going to write a list of possible writings.  Bear with me.  Afterwards I will write in my word processor program and then perhaps here  Bear with me.

Nothing
Glow
Body
Answers
Change
Rights
Law
Money
Law
Law
Flies
Drugs

Men
God
Thought
I
Rudeness
Laughter
Peace


I'd let you vote on this but I haven't had a comment in more than two years.  Stay in touch, won't you???

Hmmm, I'll think about Law and hmm... Family.

God, I love Engels.
 Law and Family:  a speculation on family, passionately

Where would law be if no one saw themselves as loving?  Law is an instrument of restriction and limitation.  Love is an absolute presence of the universe in all which exists.

Perhaps law is definite in its scope and its means; perhaps love is the opposite.

Death and feeling belong to the humans whose lives they affect and to which they pertain.

Death and God resemble family in that no one complains when no one belongs.  No one belongs when no one has patience.  I want to free myself from my own hate of patience.  I hate patience in that I am rude and I do not believe that others with marginal freedoms are thoughtful or good.  This is a judgment I level in that no one cares about I as a rude and possibly cruel person.  I wish there were love in my freedom.

There:  my casual act is simply a cover for my rude act which is a cover for my pain which derives from being truthful to those who are drunk with laughter.

I do believe that I am done with my rudeness.

Okay.  Now that I have addressed the problem of my own life, I return to the nature of law and of family.

Family gives you presence in the world.  Family gives you home, else it is denatured or lacking (more later).  I believe that family involves so much peace and so much strength that it is a perfect or near perfect realm for the delineation of social expectations and norms.  Thus a society which values peace and strength both and finds them inseparable will inculcate certain values in its members through the family.  And we find in fact that that is what family does.

Family in this place and at this time are in contention.  Equality of persons especially those of African or indigenous backgrounds, gay people and trans people are at stake.  Much address of these issues by society is pain.

No one believes that family can begin with love.  Else why understand that God is poor?  God is poor only in that no one cares about life when no one is possible.

Perhaps I am reasoning in a twisted, though lived way, about the individual consequences, esp. for yours truly of a world in which yours truly is not considered possible.  What if it were the case instead that others were not possible and I was only too much so?

Leftism denies the anger that my life is a part of hope.  Being a part of hope requires that no one belong to racist cruel and foolish men.  But in some extent that is precisely what occurs when there is no alternative other than attempting to belong to communities which require pain and God to be slow and not flowery.  What I mean by that is that in my life I tried to belong to community(ies) of people of color.  I found myself wondering what it was that would make me thoughtful about my softness.  I did not know that anyone with my creativity (quote) would be truthful and lost in a value which is safety.  I suppose that the limits were those which anyone who was trying to protect themselves against a relative stranger would employ.

This brings up the interesting fact that so-called right-wing society does exactly the same with respect to those who would engage with it on its terms who began as nasty pained losses to foam, in other words, poems of coldness with no body.

I think I must stop here and deal with being a poem of coldness with no body.  I have to stop intellectualizing myself to such an extent, in other words.  Perhaps I will return to this subject.

Why am I bored -- because I don't want to die.

The words do not arrive.  They are where many go when nothing bothers them.  They are told to be loving and they do not feel love.

I settle here for this pain:  I am last festering of dross.  By dross I mean the world of a family who was near God because they knew love from their prison, which was was there body? 

I do not know the entire import of this writing.  It is my thoughts which (I believe) have centered around "body," that elusive accomplishment of the ball world.  I do not love my rape.  This rape proceeds from my cake which I have tried to make a value.  It is a cake which involves passion for my life.  I do not understand why I hate my thoughts.  They seem to go in a place which I cannot believe is for my strength.

It is my love for my life that has made me grow into a momentary life of beasts.  No one ever explained to me why they all want to be changes.  They don't, do they.


I have made a mistake of enormous proportions.  I have made mistakes over and over compounding themselves and each other.  I wish I had been the same person when I was a part of my freedom.

I suppose I feel freedom is disappearing from my life.  It is disturbing and scary to say the least because I have relied on my ability to do what I want with my reading and writing to give me some sort of future apart from clerical work or sex work.  It is not my understanding of myself which I can make into anger.  It is my fear of pain.

This knowing of life as a world in which I am fearful is nothing but thoughtless cruelty and angry loss.

The fact is I do not love my family in the way that they give me happiness.  They are at least the best that I have found for myself.  I am not the same as I was.  I cannot live up to that, and I need to stop beating myself up for it.  No matter what happens there will be good families who will act for themselves and there will be angry people who will wonder what possible reason there is for pain.

I don't understand why I am drinking of my closed laughter.  I have to become present in this world, not succumb to the hatred of people who neither care for my past nor my future but wish to lock me into a never changing present.  I do not know whaat people like about my arguments.  I think I need to stop arguing, according to Rusty and what I have also observed.  What difference does it make if no one gives themselves peace?  It must make a difference.  I cannot stand in the way of other people's lives.

I am so lost in foolish pain.  It never found me to be safe.  I am not safe.  I am not feelings.  I am not pain.  I am trying to give myself love.  It doesn't happen without my possibly rude being of my own patience. 

Patience and rudeness go together for me.  Only a very angry person will also be thoughtful enough about themselves that they will belong to their changes. 

Okay.  I do not belong to my changes. 
That helps to know that.

My changes belong partly to me, partly to the world, partly to no one.

Dear Goddess, since there is so little beauty that I belong to, (Or is it just too much?) I ask for a life that is (I am answered ) kind for myself and others. 

I believe in your strength.

Sisters

To call for correct comment
Wearies, and weighs words with woe.

A Wedding in the Provinces


In prior days
I struck at hope.

Justice was a whore
Bringing corruption.

It was the greatness
Of change I sought.

Resisting kindness,
I shamed myself.

I thought myself
Soft and hid

From the beckoning
Life I wanted.


Then two gave me
To otherwise see.

Taste of a night when thus
Doubt parted:

I alone lay awake
As finality knew me;

I reached out with
Rare shudderings as.

Truth shattered; and
Art inhabited me

(Else life is war,
Pain and loss).

I filled with a poesy
Beyond thought and habit

As lofty sanctity dressed me
In new foundations:

I traversed a New Bridge
Which revealed me anew:

A Sister-in-Three.

Etched in masquerades
I feel pain.

Martin Luther King Day/My Parents' Anniversary

Affirmation of rudeness is rude.

I like working when it is for something better than a nut.  I hate goddamn fools.  I am a nut.

Dissolve to rudeness.

No one ever thought God did my bird.  I think God is nutty.  I think God is nutty.  I think God is nutty.

No one is nothing.  I know what God drives me to: grafting money from a stupid crooked nut known as paganism.  It is not true that nuttiness is from God.  Nuttiness is from the pagans.  I am a nut.

Oh.  This is a nut.

Destiny.  I am a powerful drunk.  No one is bored.  I am bored.  I am nothing.
 
I like my own grave.  It is so loving to be nothing.  I know that when you find your thoughts you will say they are love.  I say I am part of my own life.  There is flower in my large brain.

Cops are nuts.  I hate cops.  They are crooked.  They do not like freedom.  I hate cops.  Cops are rude.

Nothing is better than God.  God is a fruit.   I am a fancy braggart.

Nothing is good.  Nothing is good.  Nothing is love.  I am drunk on my crooked drunken pain.

There is pain in love.  There is pain in nothing.  There is pain in life.  I am angry because Julia Murray got her family flowers and they are leaving me.

Nothing but money is a rudeness.  I am Goddess to life in that I cannot live for orgasm.  Orgasm is the Goddess.  I am a Goddess in that I am a nut.  The Goddess loves her Goddess.  I am not her.  She is Goddess.  I am her Friend.  She is her Goddess.  I seek her Family in her love.  Where have I found this family?  In my card, be.

Blessed Be,

I am a case of orgasm.

Downward Spiral

Where may love stop making crack into fame?
Where is freedom thinking?

What love is there is orbits?

I safely creep myself and I work to be loving and drumming is love.

I safely read life and find that I am poopy.

Orgasm and worlds of family bring cold sloth.

I know when I love raw beasts is when they are ranked as trees.

I have sought the beauty in worlds of pain and found loss.

Elevators are needed to seek flowers.

I leveled myself into an abyss.  I do not enjoy it.  Perhaps it has something to do with it closing in on me.

Oh, and I am a rook.

Safety and drugs are rooked.

color blindness

Ahla anger life is dreaming of family goods laughter is life I give you love sartre sartre sartre
Man is life love is life goddess lives life is people I sartre no.

I seek the world I seek the past I seek the body I seek the life

Woman goes to my anger, my love, my freedom.

Ashes to art

No one with love goddess art love goddess stink is peace.  Nothing drives being without possibility of my own rude hopes.

I deal reason; I deal life.


Oh well.



Death is not my mother; I refuse to hate my mother because of her freedom.

Dreams

Laughter, hope, good, sex, change, life, dreams, feelings, love, home, thought, gath, gath, gath, moments of thought, love, strength, freedom, thought, peace, change, art, family, sa, sape, sore, patience, art, trees, drugs, patience, art, dreams, good, thought, peace, art, peace, love, freedom, life.

Moments:

I wish for a life in which I am part of the lovers of my goodness.

This is a lover I know -- I am her life.

Love, peace, peace, good, home, roosters, goddesses of ma, man, drugs pain no pain, shit, is poor.

Macy Maybe Maybe Maybe Maybe love is peaceful; Maybe I am peaceful when I am thought and not trouble.

I wish I am hopeful:  trouble is flowers and change.

I am troubled cause I am shocked by people's loud rapists.  Not my changes but their race.

This life is my life.

Oh.

Art loud trees feelings love people change good sex naaru loss.
I give you land.
Act not rather family world cheese take is need
I have omens.  I have passion.  I have softness.

Dreams:
Maybe loud is chanting being with peace.

Poem softly

To search for correct comment
wearies me and weighs my words with woe.

A Wedding to Passion

Oh taste of the night when shame departed me
And love overwhelmed my troubles:  

Realize the dream of your creator's love.


In the year One of my becoming I lived with ones
Who sought my love and gave me peace.

In their Long Island apartment I daily adhered less to
The moments of rude pain that trapped me in fear.

A winter or spring night and I alone was awake:
A finality had made itself strong.


I, who had cherished my mother; I who had yet struck at the
Underpinnings of hope; I who had thought justice a whore

Rather than a whore justice; I who had murdered stars,
Thinking them cold ancestors of my pain;

Sought peace, sought life, sought recompense for a lost
Shore where orphans lay cold in the troubles of their Art.
 
My shudders, alive to their own rarities, proceeded
From yet vastly loving trials.

Anger at loss troubled me:  I found trouble also in the Creatrix's
Charge:  Love begins with Art.  Else life is war, pain and loss. 

Enchanting causes offered hope as I clung to the expectations
Of my parents and hid from the dignities of the beckoning Goddess.

As hours passed I could not resist beauty and possibility:
I filled with a sapphire poesy beyond thought and habit.

I embraced soft lofty Sanctity and dressed myself in
New foundations, traversing the beautiful New bridge.

Worlds of passion and freedom thus encircled my
Coming-to-be a sister in three.  Dear mother love me.

I am your daughter.

O chance love cold in pain, draw away from her rose.

A Concrete Turn II

To search for correct comment wearies me
And weighs my words with woe.

I lay in my friends' apartment, waiting.

Shudders, alive to their own rarities, proceeded
From yet vastly loving trials which belonged to the stars.

I clung to the expectations and hopes of my parents and
I hid from the dignities of the beckoning Goddess.

I could not resist beauty and possibility:
I filled with a sapphire poesy beyond thought and habit.

I embraced soft lofty Sanctity and dressed myself in
New foundations, traversing the beautiful New bridge.

Worlds of passion and freedom thus encircled my
Coming-to-be a sister in three.

A Concrete Turn

A painful searching for the correct comment
Wearies me and weighs my words with woe.

I lay in Long Island: waiting where my lofty shuddering was
Alive to its own rarities: in vastly loving trials that

Belonged to my stars in renaissance of long lost
Moments whose restoration I fought,  

Clinging also to familial supports by which I hid from
Dignities pendent in the majesties of Her craft;

When in that night -- a night of place and time yet of
Beautiful possibilities rendering woe into causes

I sought to love as the creative night of my dreams--
I rode sapphire patient poesy to the notions of kindness

Beyond home; past thought, taste, habit, convention; and
Within magick's peace.  Having been, I so felt, doomed,

I thought to call Home to bid farewell to the past life of
Bounded affections emplaced in the frame of parents'

Expectations and hopes:  and then embracing the
Fullness of my own rights and the Sanctity of soft lofty peace,

I dressed my foundations in those of a beauteous new bridge.
Worlds of passion, stars of freedom, circled the shifting freedoms

Of my coming-to-be a sister in three.

But I then, tho perhaps later, came to wield an aggressive spirit,
Stripped of compassion, against new targets that I identified

The enemy of my new presence.  I was a woman, erect,
Energetic of a clear existence, without a binding mist of

Obligation and inhibition. My friends and sisters sought me
some morning where I was in the top bunk and

Perhaps ironically genuflected to my power, wherewith
I searched as well for destruction as peace.

May the understanding comprehend as well as storms of passion
A concrete turn to an opening of life.

The song of the trombone (blatting)

An exercise

Low capital doesn't make me thoughtless:
I am answering a top.

Momentarily sorrowing, I can darkly believe
This is a shape.

I see the figuring of it in the air.
Seeing is a dream that borrows thought
From my pants.

Many of the thoughts that make laughter
Artistic are the ones which I love.

I read a lot of books.




Man

Slower than I dream, I am trouble for
A lake.

The lake gives me patience and I have
Possibility in its dense life.

In the poem that reads of hell
I lose my taste for land.

Rows of pain on life's dusty word
Lessen the golden passion I have.

Momentarily a flower cautions me
Against people:

They are looking tense.





The Moment

What does it matter?
I don't care about change:
I want to believe.

Love is the law;
Love under will.

Yes there is laughter
In possibility.

Flowers are beautiful;
I am astrologically

Arrow-lofter
Hoof-walker

Hope is beautiful.

I aspire as

Poem-crafter
Star-charger.

Change is the tree;
Change is the life.

My body is my own.
My life I have sown.

"Be Poetic, I say"

I answered the need to listen with a
Moment of Answer.

The Answer is a round loud cruel
Round loud cruel loud round cruel
I am a world of rascal.

Oh in this world I am a loud round
cruel round loud cruel rascal.

In this kind of writing no one needs
To say there is my stranger.

I am strange in one pace:  Not ever
Do I say -- Myself is a loss.

I am bored with no one to act nicely.

I cannot say I am round or loud or
Cold.

Or Angst or Boned or Drunk or Shit
Or Cold or Boned or Drunk or Shit
Or Pained or Lost or Cruel or Nothing.

I seek what is alive in the deal.

I seek what is my own.  Tree. 

Oh is there a naked road with no
Answer?  I don't write because I
Am Lewd.

Many of my laughs are life.

I am a world of rude loud crooked
Nasty men.

I am a world of men.

I am a lost orc, worse than a maybe.

I am a lewd drunk cruel actress.

I drew the pain from bosses and made it
Loud and drunk and stupid and lewd.

I sicken the drunk and the lewd.

Maybe where passion and narcissism laugh
I am lone and drunk and stupid and bland.

I seek your pony.  I seek your dream.

Elevated girlfriend wists the mansion and
Writes a large masquerade.

O well, is there a loud cruel pain with
A leg for blazing breezy's peaking rape?

Nothing is my strong mesh with a needful
Rude laughter.

Pope of God, be you part of love?  I am
Right with a stinking flower of my aping ashes.

NOthing got me dead.

I meant to be Happy

Maybe wondering whether life is kind is like
   Sitting in a tiger's cage and hoping that he is a vegetarian.

Maybe wondering whether people are free is like
   Thinking about masturbation when it hurts.

Maybe life as a woman is the same as needing love.

I got the dream of my strengths:  I sought strong lives because
   I am a loss to a possibility of hope; I sought peace because
   Change makes you orgasmic.

LOL.


That tiger is getting closer and his teeth are sharper than a vegetable peeler
   Needs to be.

Pest

Oar a loss to a land?
Eye a boss to a grand?

Leftists and Girlfriends
Etched in messiness.

Offerings of work
Let go of masquerades.

I'm a bitch and I know it.
Deal with me.

Ask for a whore.



Inapposite Words and Phrases

Orgasmic readings of dreaming allah
Write Dean the stars...

Ephesus Paul art dream reason nut
Home is life reasoning art

I sexually dream of peace
Because I am orgasmic in my glowering
Orgasms.

Entropy also lives with itself
As a lump of coal makes happiness stink.




Rude but Serviceable

I lecture the many bosses with a knife
That asks their passion:  What is a woman's
Hope?

I give myself a lover.  Possibly I am bored with
Life.  I understand this is a concept that is this.

No thing is worse than a life that gives much reason for acting.



Many are Circled With a Pot

Oh the answer continues to listen for rite thoughts.

I thought I was a knife.  I thought God was a Case of Bimbos.

My world deserves love.  I am part of a constant life of rates.

These go where they are free.  These are peaceful and these are painful.

I am bored with a rated loud guest of roundness:  She never knew
That God was reasonable and starred as a thread in the moment.

Scars of worlds no longer ecstatic are nothing if not good to make fast.

Nothing is golden without a tree; nothing is love without a saw.
I give you blazing dreamers that no one gives laughter as.




Rather than Death

I believe life got me as a woman.
I believe I am a nerd to myself.

I believe I give myself womanliness.
I believe there nothing to wisedom
Without openness:  life is a pinch of thanks.

Oh there is peace in the valley with Laughter
In her bosom.

Stink

The clattering of plates in the sink
Makes me want to write a paper.

I read without much life.

Empires are trouble to the race.

I sicken myself when I have anything to give.

The dry land works with its friends to materialize
As life.

Scars of my own trouble with art are here.

I ask myself what it is that I have that I need to
Write.

Mayonnaise on the spoon dries in the afternoon.
A world of kitchens and bathrooms and a hallway

Comprises all that works, thus all that is allowed.

To seek God in a flower is to be the same as a
Memory:  This empire swings with a knocking

And  a Mother with her own troubles.

I sing of no one's Goddess (my mistake is being
a nerd without frills).

I have loved and I have written a load. 

A chasm of chiliastic braisings.

Explain My Outside When I Get to The Light

Church is what I freaked out at.

Buying the God with love.  Dreaming of
Rights for those who were beautiful lives.

I caved the right with a big answer.

I drove dreams of right.  I drove dreams of rice.

Oh, to live safely.  Oh, to give peace.

I say to you, the Southern Baptists have found
an answer to like, oh, sexy.

No one will be there for my ocean.

Oy Way.  Man is nose.  A large baloney with a
Right Glowering Goddess.

Estrogen and honesty:

I work my birds with a pink look.

It is my sorrow to act like a chunk of roses.

I had no idea dying was so Boring.

Family gives me trees with a patient love.
I am laughing because I didn't work this life.

Oh, this girl got me.

I thought it was nice to like a life that was strong.

It is my life I understand.  It is my creativity I
love.

Oh, I am poor and a whore.

Estrogen and baloney are loose as a moose grieving
feces.

I do not give my friends changes; I am rather worse than
Drugs.

Oh, I'm bored because I am stupid with a hope that masculinity
Is a way to understand thought, not a way to kill.

This way of believing in my thoughts is also rude and loving
With rites and with peace.

Oh, this is another feeling that dreams are worldly, that
God is nothing so I am hopeful.

Oh, to be a good person who seeks love from her friends instead of
From acting stupid.

I am a world if I care about live.  I am a drug addict If I am flowering
This client with a answer.

Hope and Nothingness derive pain and stink from a shark.

Reading a moment of messiness, of art, of floweriness is nothing and I am
Orgasmic of a mossy orchid.