Love is Entering Me

I find what I wrote below very alarming.

Shattered, fragmented, self-loathing.

I know there is more to me and to my life than that or I wouldn't be able to do what I do every day, which includes not just obsessive thought but taking care of myself physically and learning to know what it is I need to do to put fulfillment in life into practice.

I fear dealing with life. I've said that.

No one who cares about doing the best they can can do anything but worry seeing all the failure and misery there is in the world. Of course this is a direct route to exactly such failure and misery.

I'm tired of going on like this.

I feel that there is good, I just can't like helping people because they appear to me to be overly vulnerable, incompetent, hateful and sometimes responsible for their own suffering. That's the judgment I render. I'm sure it has something to do with my upbringing, etc., etc. It probably applies equally to my life.

Move on.

I would like to elucidate for myself the relationship between personal choice and social consequences. I believe that society is built to obscure and eliminate personal choice. If all you can do is what is acceptable, then there is no choice.

I love feeling like I understand, like I can act on some portion of reality and that it will move in some manner beneficial to all.

I live in a delusory world. I do know that given the fact that life is but a shadow, as so many have asserted, that I really wish to do nothing except attract love (of whatever kind) and return it (if possible). The way I intend to do this is to be as lovable as possible in appearance, manner, personality, etc. I think I'm going to mostly fail as I am both too intelligent and too obnoxious to attract love in this way. I think I'm going to continue to write about subjects which interest me, such as philosophy, literature, language, social mores, and find little or no audience for my thoughts. I think that pursuing such "shadow" activities will eventually put me in the way of meeting people with "common" interests such that I will find a lover(s).

I find this to be sad, because I think I belong in the spotlight, not in the hidden recesses of the blogosphere and of S.V., AZ.

Speaking (writing) plainly, I am trying to answer my doubts and worries by downplaying them. I am also trying to show that there is a fair amount of kindness that can still make this shuddering, shaken world a palatable place to live.

I am creative (in a way).


I hope you will visit me in spirit and give me succor in your own way as I will try to do in mine.

Please know that feelings of kindness always are there because there's mothers (without respect to gender) in this world.

It's always rewarding to put down words that stand in some relationship to the facts. This is reason enough to write. I'd teach you to do the same, but who needs a broken-down, unstable person like me? I do. Maybe some of you will find you do also. Be happy. You deserve it.

To me: Don't try so hard to teach yourself to live. Lastly, give glamor. It'll cheer you up and maybe others also.

Blessed Be,


c*mare

again with the anger

Eating anger for home shits creep
Goddess changes mother

As I know it, there's so much pain.

Buy tension
Buy life
Buy mothers

Friendship creates stupidity

Anger creates flow

Fuck the price

Atrocities include love, pain, strictness.

A mother who makes life home is teaching that foam creates hell.

Kristianna told me I'm foam.



I take that to mean the insubstantial scum rising to the top of the ocean.



Darkness parses change.

I know that I need to say what this feeling is doing to me.

I am a whore.



Pain is knowing what pain creates.

Underneath my pain?


Lies untold about my "cock".

Anxiety.

Cheapness.

A cry for life.

Large charge: brang charge love.

I'm client of nothing except dirt.

Dirt?

Money.

Make her live.

Can't.

My mother knows love but she doesn't like doing love as home.

She doesn't feel happy.


A pain is trying to do what I wanted.

I wanted to be a her that said me.

Because feelings include being afraid of chasing cock.

Anger is chasing money.

Stop it.

Stop knowing life as mess.

Maybe i can love without chasing home.

Maybe I can try to live and do what life gives: crack.

I hate crack.

flow:

Money chases change like I am a Persian dirty park.

I love change.

I help.

I try.

I make love be.

Sexy.

No one paid for life.

No one made stress.

No one felt bad.

I am "Julia Murray"

Treat me as a fuck.


Need.

Martha made darkness share home.

I know that mothers teach good.

I know that home loves happiness.




Dear Goddess,

Life is a way to love.
A hell is doing life as dirt.

A prostitute cried like pair of
node

Give and all is pardon




Take from me hale target change mind as
plot.

A roasted heifer

is

fool.


Each love likes part
Each mother is word

Gills make fools money,.
Dry money is comb.

I am moose.



Julia darkness called kiss.



Me need a way to hope.




Love me.



Extra.



Her is girl.



Her is money's tuck.



A goddess knows life to ply kisses.




I am part of good.




I wanted it.



I wanted this.



Maybe you can love love as life is a take.


I need to stop makinglife breath of heifer.


Life kills.

Life brings feelings.

Life brings love.

Another boss

Deaf is bride.

Another heifer





Be loving and do feelings



I good and sexy






Tell yourself mush is tested.

Hack poetry

Gold is dry
Moving target
Angels practice

A woman's charge
Posing as share
Grow a friend

Did charge choose
A knowledge starve
Organs like home



More tonight as
Patience climbs me
And does guess

Plenty aflow sighs
When rabbit charges
Calm is fair

Triple mother be
Soft and peaceful
Good is laughter



Astonish light soled
Payment carries power
Moldy notes fold.

Natural tastes come
Lovers cry happy
Fame dry cold

A homeless woman
Saw my love
Jesus made mess


Cruel blame feeds
Ample pain daughter
Camping out main

Flame made whore
Sucks pain up
Feel change hope

Killing is stopped
My anchor's slopped
A portion mopped.

I stood on a picket line in 1984

Quick! Be organized!

Slavery meant darkness is flow
Darkness changes charms for hole

A word to you, who likes time:
Crossing charms with fame makes mime

Assorted feeble mothers make home
Bear the charge: you must roam.

Change is crossed and life is won
Mothers can feel a painful nun.

Enter me with your desirous stick
I treat life to hope for trick

I give you love and I say, "Destiny."

Minor considerations

According to Emerson, that light of American transcendentalist philosophy, one who writes and reads should do those things while not devoting oneself to action of one kind or another, which I take to include work.

Just by paraphrasing him, I'm not being original according to his prescription.

So, where do I begin.

I believe that I would like to help other transsexuals become comfortable with their bodies.

I also believe I would like to do this informally.

I would also like to be some sort of scholar.

I would like to do this without getting a Ph.D.

I would like to suck dick for money and study the classics.

I would like to write a one-woman autobiographical play and perform as the star of my own life.

I would like to launch a reform of the mental health system through my internal knowledge of it.

I would like to be a sexy secretary or waitress.

I would like to have a life partner.

I would like to act out my bitchiness and get paid for it.

I would like to give up my disability and keep my health insurance; quit my medicine and stay on an even keel.

I would like to wish upon a star and have my dreams come true.

I cannot think of anyway to combine all these ideals into one doable, practicable life-plan.

I have to act according to my instincts. Right now that's treating my mother the way she is and not the way I want her to be, which is exactly how she treats me.

Don't forget Sylvia!

Don't forget being a tenacious fighter for social justice!

Don't forget drug addiction!

Don't forget your spirituality.

I know I hate psychology as I know its practice.

I know I hate arguing minute differences of opinion in academia to prove that one is an "original thinker."

I know I am very disorganized and difficult to work with.

Don't forget the environment!

I hate to hummble myself or not to humble myself.

I know what. I'll be a "hostess."

That's a good way of saying: strength does lead to pain.

Must deal with change, life, people.

The Goddess must have something to relate concerning these matters.

I think I'll tutor, proofread, type until I have money to study: sources of English literature in ancient classics.

Hahahahahahahahahaha.

Maybe I'll do a comic book.

What ho!

You have a good day too.

Deal with it

Do lesbians read Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman?

If so, what are their reactions?

I am a cocksucking cheese-eating dyke. Does that make me a lesbian? Do I have reactiions to Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman, and Ginsberg?

With certainty I glorify individualism. I got this from other people.

With certainty I glorify originality. I got this from other people.

Artaud was mentally ill. Therefore I am also.




As you know, being strong wants life to echo its glorious depth, breadth, contribution, love. Life, however, wants strength to echo it, as one of its strands/pieces/parts.

I really really prefer to know love as life being free.

I really like to have sex as a good and dark lover. Yesterday, while masturbating, I said, yes, daddy, fuck this pig!

Why did I give up my self-esteem?

It must have been because men find it impossible to relate to me as an equal.

This is fair because it took me over twenty years to relate to women as equals.

I'd like to suck but since I'm not, I'll tell you that I am being hopeful.

Really there's one friend I have. That's sluts.

Alright, I admit that you and I have seen very little of substance transpire within these writings.

Doctors of psychiatry are there to control you. So are doctors of philosophy. Well, not exactly control, but let you find your own level on your terms, which are never theirs, unless you are willing to step up and abandon skills of living among others as one with them. Infinities of disparagement await.


As you know, pop culture really makes life better.

As you know, costs of living appertain to one's preferences, not the judgments of others.

As you know, giving entails trying.







Me sarcastic.



When I'm in confinement, remember that you and I have made a little fun.

Girl, treat me flawlessly.

Utterly without merit

Why is it that when tables are turned, there's joy but not change?

Why is it that when change remains without knowledge of its own interests that it makes people create dry and foolish conceptions.

Ask yourself how to give and how to relate to strength when all that begins with friendship must be life. (Life and death are made as home). Surrounding the creatiion of beauty is the way of being caring.

I need to give strength because I needed to live as a cruel mess. I was good. I was strong. Now I'm strong as crack.



People need to help themselves. I need to be helpful. Therefore, I am a nincompoop.


As you continue to wonder why I constantly write in this vein, I will tell you that I am crazy.

I am also a fairly strong woman who needs love and just happens to like people when they are very poor and like me.

I am a hypocrite thereby.

Sex and drugs and rock and roll all make me feel dumb.

Sex and change and hate and feelings all try to make me foolish.

I need to drop anger; however, I am paid to seek money. (Gov't Disability)

Please understand that I must drop my love and folly and dedicate myself to holding to humans and to doing what I feel is best for me.


Stay happy.

Love yourself.

Good?