Notes

I really enjoy that new show "Missing." A strong middle aged woman bests her opponents with raw force all the while being in the most glamorous parts of Europe.

Certainly I can identify with some of her attributes.

I have friends who care about me. That has become clear. However, I have not been completely open with all of them about some of the things I have done up until two months ago. I want to assure them that I have not done those things for two months. Further I am committed to taking care of myself because this is the only life I have.

Perhaps there is a way to understand life that does not involve either utter self-abnegation or self-exaltation.

Language of delight.

Dimensions

Americanski?

So little good in this long struggle to say yes to life.

I rode to the limit of belief, rending my freedom to strive for still-arduous bars.

In that place, the crow believes in positive belongings.

I remain deranged as a person with little melody in her cry to save almond
ogres from love.

Because I am po-lite, I will dry my sticks in the flaming of grain, caves and aurochs.

The charge of chameleon salmon is dry to the green trees and the tender flesh.

Seek a POSSIBLE mantra.

A lover

Distress political police
Failing
Apples that cause woman

Ambling

Poem

A Meeting.

Rabelaisian Montagnards.

Dickens as priest.

You who glide with being,
Sail for your affirmation
Of Peace.

You who do what I do,
Feel what I feel,
Live what I live,

Home sucks as a place for a party.



Dense as a whore, I love without needing grief.

Dead as a poem, I run toward a postilion with all
My owls affirming goals.

You have brought this poet alive.

I have loved this knowledge and now I give you
Sartre's anger:

Wow, Now, I please money for a hustle.

You never caused me to have a tip.

With this need, I ask for this girl to meet her plenum
(Dimmed vocabulary)

With a feeling of a possible mostly painful crash
Into Embers.

Towels
Clay
Men

Read
Change
Feel
Add
Graduate.

Wise

Me a coffee.

Men with offerings.

Offer Men.

Poems run for belief.

I father a hooker.

She dreams like a woman.

I can't like this poem.

It's simple to know that she faced her own blind teeth.

I cried because she was a flag.

I tried to go for empresses.

This knowledge only cries -- leave.

You wanted this treatment (Western freedom asks police for flowers)

Good Day

Cravings

San Pedro River Valley

Today I glance at my environs, where
The ether and amber of new uprisings have melted together.
(I have settled myself into a grey and brown expanse
Where King Arthur's sword avails not against smooth and liquid laughter.)

The fate of my safety depends upon a collapse into the sleeveless dreams of belief.

That marriage with the bottled earth took place
With resentment and searing pain, twinned in all time.
I believe I am blind to the surface of their awful haste.

Dead seraphim, guilt-ridden, grasping at enchantment in the
Faces of babies -- worldless and memorialized -- have fostered
Screaming jets whose many-colored angers draw me to
Places of panicked shivers.

I must essay the river's crossing, slipping on unnerving stones.
Nothing began this journey but awful hope.

Cousins, Friends, Faces

With all the possibilities that

Mutably crack me up

Softness across the way.

Rise to your feeling.

Disguises I wear are
falling away. I am a fearful bourgeois

No interest in others taking my place or becoming comfortable
at my expense.

Summary:

I have to drown myself in the average

Amniotic

Pain.

Create a softness.

Daring to live?

Someone tell me how to live.

I don't like you.

You're my safety.

I don't like this call to be a mother.

This life says to me, : Cock.

Don't live this horrible martyrdom.

As this goes onward, I will believe,

Muck.

La Manana

Luckily I have been able to have love.

Thank you for being the joy and caring that I was not able to believe could be there for me.

Every day is a day to be fabulous, grateful and happy.

Let me know when You want to share the bounty of my delight.

Love,

Julia