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.