The quick and the red

HATE GOES BEFORE

I brought a war,
Made up its banners;

Sipped drinks
Beneath the sun.

The Goddess knows
I fought her will:

And now I must
Be strong.

Her patient hand
Within myself,

Will wring me
but soon.

My life of sickness
Ends by quickness.

And I go a loon.

Crashing God not the way to fold the gray

ART FLEES TO SEAS

I write this poem,
With beauty's stitch,

That in passion,
Sailors hitch.

Focus, Losing Focus, Fear of Losing Focus

The One Witch I Remember

Safety, Freedom, Power and Family: Notes.


Hassles and ...

Love

Queer moments in which honesty and beauty become feelings.

I thought of art as the appearance in life of safety.  This odd formulation derives from the fear that anything which resembles peace is also cruel.  I suppose -- here we go -- that IN MY FAMILY advocates of peace, such as the hippies, the progressive middle class, etc., did not particularly respect priorities that involve change, but rather respect the continuance of dominance by subterfuge, by self-nomination, by laughter at the expense of us.

So, what is this "us"?  I wish I had the peace of knowing that anyone alive also knew that reasonable treatment of feelings that make love peaceful also brings good, being what is home.

The comforts of home require those who free themselves to love those with safety.

I suppose that there is an implicit threat that if the safe do not love back, that their safety will disappear.

Now it is obvious to me that when I thought of myself as sharing good things such as hopes for peace, I was making thought a fear of anger.

Why in the world would I fear the anger of the secure?  I do not like knowing that anybody who has power can eliminate my ability to provide for my own safety, happiness and well-being at will.

There seems to be a complete upside-downness to this way of the world.

I feel that those who care about power also like strength.  I have been very ambivalent about even my own strength.  I have felt that meritoriousness belongs to me on the basis of my ability to carry out tasks that contribute to the functions of an enterprise.

Strength and hatred of strength are presently a ground of much conflict, at least from what I observe and think and feel.

Law and change are in relationship.  Different groups of people alter their allegiances to each according to their needs.  Is this ethical or justifiable?

Antics that result in pain for me or for others have brought me to distrust my own impulses, which have led to these antics.

Shall I name these impulses for you?  I try to know for myself what the constituents of community are, and contribute to their creation and maintenance.  Is this my job?  Can anyone achieve such a task?  I don't know.  Other impulses:  causes of life/origins of the sacred.  These are certainly identical in their beginnings.

I think that when others don't like my way of making strong assertions, it is because these assertions appear not to allow for the interests of others.  I partially take exception.  Though I have not yet learned to speak for myself only, I believe that similarities among individual relations to powerful institutions exist, by virtue of the choices of those who have created those institutions.  For example, jails, mental institutions and workplaces are ALL places which purportedly inculcate conformity and obedience to higher-ups.

This is getting boring.

Suffice it to say that when there is an artistic impulse or an impulse in the direction of protecting or fulfilling the needs of another, that I hope that friendship and accordance will provide a basis for fulfilling such impulses.

Impulse A:  Am reading laughter as if I were a lost life/personality/woman.

Impulse B:  Can I start with memory?

Impulse C:   Threats to peace often originate with cruelty.

Impulse D:  I was foolish and cruel because I projected onto the knowledge that I learned in school such attributes as fame and coldness.  I suppose that often those are the motivations of people with so-called greatness.

Impulse E:  I love people for their beliefs in laughter.

Impulse F:  Pain is from reading that love does not make reason happiness.

Impulse G:  Lesson is to be home and be strong.

Okeedoke.

Losing my sense of Humor (don't read to enjoy)

Ha.

Life no one didn't dream of.
I resembled when small a cruel rogue.
Oh, that's now.

I know when you cry, you are taking love.
No, that's when I laugh at you.

These lines are poems.
I remember the life that I created.
I ran toward pain.

Life isn't money but that's beside the point.
I can live for money for racism.
Then make myself poor to be literature.

I can live for God to be Julia.
Then make myself a baby arsonist
Like my rogue pig cruel flower.

I have chased this pain for no one but
The failure that made me a jest.

That failure was drugged, baloney, lack of will.

You who prefer me to like my own creation, which is
My love for strong happy loving believing people
Also must glean this patience that needs laughter.

Mother was here for her life.
I need to live and give her hope.

I know what you can't remember about womanhood
For the hopeful.

It is death that works itself as bored.

I know that's my easy rant of bothering
Laughter with God.

Pain is the answer for no one.

Illness begins with home.  I am
Where pain was the only grave.

I am where laughter comes from
Sin.

The sin is for life to be love and mommy.

Guilt is the Goddess of love.

Guilt is the knowledge of my own warrior
For belief.

Actresses need empresses to make them
Be men.

I golden baloney for the Goddess.

She knows it is bought for her laughter.

I throw myself to her lake.
I was that moss on the stone.

Now I am the wistful slap to my
Champion.

Demonstrations make you wish for
Dreaming and belief.

I am darkness and not roman land.

Will you let me be hopeful?

I know many times that I thought of
Myself for the mantra that was a poem.

Razing Goddesses was the anger
That money created home.

Elevator music will now lead to
Rank.

Ha.

Join with the lame, the believers, the takers,
The millers, the women, the simple cream.

And make this pain a sin for cruelty.

When is this going to be reasonable?
I am a feeling for rich creeps.

Like Emerson, Thoreau, Melville, Whitman,

Who fought against owning people
By wanting to own people.




Men don't call me lover.
Women don't call me safe.

I am dreaming that I lost my sense of humor
When I thought of crack as poor.

It is baloney to know rain to bring documents.

I will not confuse myself with a lump.
I will not confuse myself with a dream.

I am peaceful and I am cunt.

Issues of being reasonable are:
Illness this gives need ill belief in asterisks.

My place in history:
I bought my dream to be Julia

For a flag.

Haha.

Say No More. (Nudge Nudge Wink Wink)

Haha
Haha

The Unexpected

Not now
Not now

Now!

Forgot something?

This model of what happens when I have an aha moment was in response to a neural analysis of the same which I partly read in Poets & Writers magazine.

Aha!

There is nothing unexpected but what possesses grounding and substance independently of the writer and, probably, the reader.

Possession is a relationship between entities which relationship may or may not be contained/containing or parasitic or symbiotic or engendering/engendering.

For instance, and as an example of a more general procrastination, I might write that almond-eating daisies shoot out of the mouth of a cannon for the reason that New Year's requires champagne and shallots.  Now where is the originality or at least singularity of this sentence arise?  Could it possibly be the result of a LOT of self-training in living by the associative faculties?  Could it be that I possess particular faculties whose origin is in the granting of a blessing/curse via the medium of Chelsea/Rusty/others by the Goddess -- may I ever rest in her bosom? [NOPE] Could it be that devotion is part of the equation? [NOT, APPARENTLY, MINE]

Now, the sentence, you may note, though vivid in certain respects, is not really poetic.  I would have to insert "lineation," exercise "condensation," focus on relations between particular and general and totally rework the sentence in some such way as what I may or may not be able to write below:

Almond eating daisies
Shoot from the mouth

Of a cannon:

New Year' requires champagne
and shallots.

Now this is a piss-poor versification of the prose I wrote.  Even I recognize that.  Let me keep trying.

Any New Year's Eve,
Cannon-shot daisies
Eat almonds

To bring
Champagne
and shallots.




I don't know why anyone would write that.


Unity of construction, intent and language is probably beyond me here, yet I keep trying.


Cannon-shot daisies
Eat almonds

For the reason that
New Year's

May have champagne
And shallots.




Drag daisies from the cannon's mouth:
The almonds they eat

Bring New Year's
Champagne and shallots.



A la sameness:

Bright daisies shoot from cannon,
Eating almonds

For New Year's
Champagne with shallots.



Further:

Elements of mortal fire
Shoot daisies mouthing almonds

For the benefit of
New Year's champagne and shallots.



So, what have I discovered:  that uniqueness is not the same as originality or sense.

Aha!

Morning requires a beveled glass;
Evening supplies a cashiered ass.



Is there literature inside a
post-op?

Ah, still sticking to anatomic class.




Aspiration sucks perspiration's lucks.

It's okay.  bragging with roman clouds is foolish.

Hai-ku
Greece flew.



I work enough for this list.  Gotta excel the parameters, or cry.



Answers are vigorous.
Writing is rigorous.

Eminences

Am bugging budgies

I said a rock is money.

I said baloney.

I said read.

Laughter growls the needs of its urgency.




Four was the lousiest player.


I cannot make the Goddess weird.

I am a vampire of larches.

Be what is needed by your people.

What is needed by my people is rent.

I was poor; now I am a black egg.

That will be my omen.

Awl for inches.

This is my sanka.





Dreams:

I red with nothing at the nothing for my mother's roman dream of love and whores.
Der

ALock

Family is love.

Give yourself a munching.







Plenty of womanhood is alive.






NOTE:  An edit.

Injuries that make rice are people who are free.

I know that I was lashing my knowledge to a rock.

Please effort is home.

I remain beak.

Flowers important, when drama reaches a bird-ie.

Lake clamber hash ring



Round and round she goes...

Where she knows is laces'  woes.


A Fagin.





AN ADDITION:

Illness bosses were one.
I bitch for the
[choosing a word]
ik that argument was ipressed.

Languor war abel laf
I lai-f near your reasons
As a loss dreams of a mother's
lo-re/mond/f/goddess/massive openness of roast being.



Daffodil

Ride up the hill with your belief in dill
Go down the dale as mother's mail.

Easy to like a benevolent pipe;
Girl, you work like another one's sail.

Hacking and cracking, I see in the fist
A flaming staff that plays on a tryst.




You narrowly matter

I clame the tall hill; she answers with flowers

I read the blind frill; he gazes my hours.

That pond where there's wroth darkens the world
I still work the dengeon that woman is knurled.

Lastly may you wear your flames here
I dream of direction, peaceful and queer.




While wholeness aches oak

I left behind a reasonable change
I know for her I am odd and strange.

You leopard that left out the
Traveller's old story

Im a fabulous resting
wintry bold quarry.



Books that I knowwhich  are simply grand.

I read some words that laughed for the sand.
Digression and expression sometimes are panned.

Here I give this hopeful appeal:

Don't make me be your last meal.




Moment is here to give you the steer:
I laughed at night and now I'm clear.

Lenses

Families, as a word picked in thin air, bring a post-op ...

I wrote the previous post and I think some of it is garbage.  I tend to write early in the morning, when I have no sense of well being, and analysis and verbiage seem to take on their own momentum in my need to seem intelligent/intellectual and all-knowing.  I can't say it's not true in any respect.  I can however say that the situation/facts are not so extreme that I was ONLY a solipsism rotating in her own self-made universe making lousy decisions  that reflected nothing of a considered reality.

I'm sure you'll say this is backtracking.  But I don't want to run the risk of making myself somekind of inhuman monolith just to make a point:  that no one self is the source of divinity/existence.  I suppose that I could run this down to the ground like I do everything else, but I won't.  There is a multiplicity to life.  I have known for myself, contradicting everything I have written, that there is an all powerful Goddess who has created this multiplicity, not to hide behind it, but to exhibit life, perhaps as her will alone.

I am not about to reconcile all I have written here.  I'll try again tomorrow.

Abracadabra,

Ms. Hightower