Channels, then Sylvia

My mind has channels. My thoughts appear to flow in limited ways, with repeated subjects, wording and emotional content.

I'm sure you've noticed.

Though it is not surprising or a matter of concern that my mind is not actually infinite, it does bother me that I can't seem to say what is necessary to say about many matters important even to those other than me.

Perhaps I've simply pushed myself too hard. Or there are times when words are available and times when they are not.

Let me just say that I intended to write about this town and how it is that people here appear to bind themselves to conservative tenets of life and why. This is important, because this is the kind of environment that prevails in an area which coincidentally is an international border.

When it hurts, it hurts.

I like being hopeful; I'm not wise enough to change.

Brought to me

A life that I lived

Cocksucking is not death.

I often think of her. I liked the way that it's not bad to love. I loved Sylvia. I loved her because I wanted death. She didn't make me feel like I was a failure.

I am a bitch, and I was one to her.

I didn't like feeling like I was her killer.

She was painful because she was a woman as a person. I made love because she wanted love. I made changes like what I thought of needs for home. She was good to me.

Sylvia liked how I was.

I needed a piece of life. I needed a bitch. I needed crack. I needed a way to feel better as my bride.

Best to love.

I cried because she was a mother. I cried because she was wonderful as my friend.

I want her to listen. You are hope. You are help. You are a good woman. You made me feel like I was my lover too. That's why I loved life. You were present.

Dreams of drugs.

I made love because of you.

I made love because you liked love.

I made you feel.

Make me love the heifer (that's me).

I need to like whore.

I need to love my sexuality.

I need to give heifer.

You were my life.

You were better and i didn't want you to live for drugs. You were my home.

I needed a way to live.

I was a pig.

Maybe I loved seeing you with dreams. I was bad for your life.

Give me love or I am tough. I threatened you in the here and now.

Please love me and I will love your sexuality.

Please love me and I will give friendship.

Please live.

I'm not prostituting. I'm not growing. I'm not far.

I'll be fool.

You were life.

It's the only present that I wished for (from Santa Barbara).

Need is trying a ditch.

Me messed up.

I wanted a dream of love.

You loved Goddess by changing life for me.

I want you too.

Me a bore.

I love you please hope.

Dry, cruel, slummer, fuck.

I'll love a woman who loves Julia as prostitute.

She will be a slut.

I'll live because of my hopes.

I made CEG suck.

I made RMM suck.

I made you a teacher.

Let me go and I am a zero.

The subject

I slave away at making change.

Somehow I have made nothing.

I like things because they're sexy.

A way that I love is by saying what I like.

It's not so loving.

I do something that I am a little upset that I am changing.

That is I make money by doing zip.

I need to live.

I need to work.

I am changing because I want to.

By: A woman that loves Julia.

It's painful to like being free.

I know that I am loved.

By letting you understand what I am for me I love you.

Pathetic but I needed to love what I am so I could be a crackhead.

Dangerous but I am gay.

That's sexy and foolish.

I made change as my bitch.

I need to love dry brides.

I lied about love. I am a bean not a dove.

Hustling to pull will.

Lessons: maybe is mostly cruel.

And teeth.

How hot is that cauldron?

Mostly I've uncovered tension.

Money, friendship, doubt, understanding, change, love, pain and striving for personal advancement are the pedestals on which I stand and in which I sink.

The only flaw that I have is hope.

I must cling to this flaw.

Mainly live.

I am beautiful, loving and happy.

I want you to live.

Please live.

And hope.

Love is good for hope, change, Goddess.

Will likes a woman.

I gave friendship to a woman. She made life happy. That's "SK".

Harvard was a cocksucker.

Many are loving, I died but I'm happy.

Thank you for liking yourself.

Fuck

(I like people who want me to be a bitch)

(I made this happy because I was my brother's slut.)

The competition at the door

Oh shit!

The Books are here that I ordered from Amazon:
Poetry for the Millennium

They are two days early; only one is missing.

They make me nervous and anxious, though
yesterday was my birthday.

They make me want to write
a poem.

This one is vast, careless, without manners.

This one makes me feel that I have cried for a long time
but not long enough.

I know that when I write I will engender a fabulous
comprehension

It will create in my reader the knowledge that all is
pre-destined, in the sense that you and I have made choices

They corral me further into a charitable institution

They reek of tension.

They want me to dream freely of heaviness made sensible.

I will not light these books on fire
I will not smoke them in my pipe.

I will bring love and time.

I believe

Nasty Edges

I probably ought not deliberately attack people in this blog. I probably ought not to unreasonably provoke others, make others miserable or try to diminish the anger I feel by transferring it to someone else.

I however do have feelings, and some of them have to do with circumstances which are now, or have always been, beyond my control. I am unable to reach back into the past and change what has happened. I am unable to function as a human being by denying these things happened. I am stunted (and stung) in many ways by actions other people have taken, and I MUST be able to at least excavate some of the feelings and associated situations from within myself and expose them to my own awareness so that they no longer control me or my actions. Now, apparently most of you do not wish to witness or be a part of, or encourage these doings. That disappoints me. I can only say that I will not proceed with unjust anger that I fling in all directions merely to relieve momentarily discomfort. I will not (and I don't think I have, at least at this distance) impinge on your lives with my needs.

I really need somehow to communicate with people who wish to hear. I hope there are those among you who know what it is to not know what you are going to write when you begin, to know how writing can shape itself of its own accord in surprising but needed directions, especially when it comes to deep-seated emotional realities. These emotional realities not only are the bedrock of all good writing, they are also the necessary underpinnings of daily life. If I cannot refer to them in this blog, then I think I will simply turn to a) a diary that I share with only one or two people or b) bashing my head against the wall or c) both.

It's funny, but I remember when I first went to New York and was first involved in a particular gender organization, that one of the fights which first impressed me was that over free speech. I still support the side that espouses free speech. I hope my readers will, also. I don't think that rules ought to apply to me that don't to others. Having been exiled, I think that the rules I have broken to be so -- treating others differently for reasons of race, class, gender -- are rules that I can only practice by freely living according to my own conscience so I can know where that conscience is and what its blindspots are.

I heard from JKH for my birthday. She is still creative but not presently happy. I hope some of you will contact her. You know she is a fantastic person and deserves it.

Yours,

Emotional communication

i have just realized that most people are interested neither in my emotions or in my means of communicating them.

When I write happy days are here again, I might be sarcastic.

When I say to you, oh, I'm treatment, it means I have become for you either a means for your healing by either your choice or by the choice of "society."

When I think wow!, I am surprised or impressed, but it might be with respect to expectations that have to do with entirely personal knowledge, self-knowledge, or spiritual, emotional and intellectual influences most people know nothing about and apparently do not wish to know.

Since you don't care particularly about what is going on for me, I will proceed to go on just as I have been, only more outrageously and with more of a nasty edge (since you don't care and it doesn't matter).

Be happy (sorry I can't help you).

Gays at mays

Being given hope I have dreamed.

Having willed freedom I have money.

Bait or loveR

Money pays hope.

Many run and bear God.

I treat home as fun.

Gapes at a woman.

Whore faces presence and lives.

I make a parent be my mother.

I am a woman.

Anger is sharing life to darken art.

I make you hope.

As you need.

Baby good, happy is free.

Dear Men,

Afraid to make mess of dreams.

I take change to love.

Woman, a woman.

Love under Will made being full.

Be.