Was there peace?

To utter words that follow upon other words while leaving other words is doing what is polite.

I was is

This is a word that I am saying.

Goddess narrows the ingog of the mess.

I ride the not arg(b)or

Loud is men and my  eek.

Doud.

I round the omen

Dish:

You were the step of the eek.

I was the step of the blessed.

This stops.




Accuracy:

Estrogen

Cold

Money

Dream

I remember that you could say that I was am one.

This "change" is a hostile pook.

I remember when that was dragging but not android.

I guiltily stopped in the way for it but I was art.

Art is not life.

I remember this god when he drank his pain.

You are your life.

I remember when there was another hope.

This was that and... that left a po[ck] money.

You gave me another st[a]p.

Elevation toward you makes and... tep[meck]

Estrogen is nothing with a farce.

I resemble but I do not have arguments.

I like assteroids.

I grieve arguments.

I love me.

Death is not a lot of rogue.

I weathered the men who were there.

I went to the tribe of orchids.

Pain waited to be n(one)

This was here when no one came here.

I did what I thought was interesting.

I made it life for a pack that was pinto.

You were here when there was my famous nut champion.

I drove your pain into the earth with pain.

I made you artist.

Awful nancy work.



Vision of mechanization is here for ateachers.


Lambert with work.

How I feel about art

But first, an exercise in me.

Poems that give one feelings of art give happiness.

You who make the mysteries that are peaceful, are ...

You do not know what I feel about this cruelty called ...

I dreamed of making love to ...

Why I deny my own maturity:

Stay where reality makes miss...

Hope.

I write what is lying.

I did give my breath to the offerings of whores.

This was when I was with my sister/mothers.

She knew that I called for her chastity.

I wanted a strong lift.

Crashed the freedom of love.

I really wanted to make people want poems -- of beauty and presence.

To live these poems, to make my life a poem was the same as feelings -- of art and acid.

August is the way where chastity is fear.

I know that there is some one who is peaceful.  She gives love.  I made her a friend to be my hour.

She is always here -- in my life, in my hopes, in my feelings.

For me, you were here (on this planet) to make my life my own.

I remember that when you gave me a dream that I was a fool.  Now I know that you were safe in your beauty.

This knowledge will make my art my rose.

[You may have noticed that I have PLENTY of private symbols/imagery in my writing.  This presents a problem for others who wish, for whatever reason, to read it.]

As long as you are free, make your life good.

[Good:  another strong life; strong:  devoted, beautiful, happy, magickal.]

I have made another art, called illness.  I wish to let it go.

I care that when there is peace, that you have change. 

I will never live where there is pain...

As you know, I need to stop where this dream is love.

My mother just woke up.

Thank you for being true.

Love,

Julia

Chap is laced.





I know I didn't write about art. 

Immanence, passion, love.

Crime, Pain, tempo.


Art gives change by being peaceful.

I live to change.

Therefore, I will be beautiful.

Artemis

Letter to a cat I knew

Dear Artemis,

With this brief epistle, I wish to let you know what has passed since those months we shared at 244 4th St., Jersey City, NJ 07302.

It has been over 16 years since I saw you eating flowers, since I put milk in your water, since I never bothered to clean your litter.  At the time, as you may remember, I was a fictional character.

You were a beautiful and intelligent cat.  I never had a complaint against you, nor dared I -- who would complain about any of cat kind?

Perhaps you would like to hear that I was able to maintain a degree of intact functioning, that I was able to reach for some sort of success.  I feel, sadly, that I can only claim a minimum result on either count. 

You were I believe there the first time I was hospitalized at Bellevue for a mental condition.  In retrospect I have no doubt that what I needed most was love.  I was under severe stress, as you know, because my desire to change surgically had particularly taken over my thinking, and I was undergoing a stressful self-examination whose end result, I felt, must lead to my accomplishing what I had set out to do (before we met) which was to become a female, following what seemed to me incontrovertible needs.

Kristianna and Shaida were both no doubt unhappy about my dysfunctions:  not eating, not working, being disruptive of their possessions (hallucinating, projecting, impinging on their routines, expectations and sensibilities).  But given the consequences of my decamping from the world of the noncommitted to the isolation of the rejected -- some 20 additional hospitalizations, a dose of ECT -- and so much else, I do not today think this was the best action to take.

Now, before I go about converting this into my usual letter to "everybody," let me remind you that I loved you, that I have hope, and that you are still strong in my memory.

Perhaps someday I will explain in detail WHY I managed to keep myself over an edge that I don't believe I had to approach.  Only part of the explanation is a fascination with danger.  I also did not trust myself to approach others in whom I had a true interest; I made terrible mistakes by doing drugs and alcohol without attention to the consequences; and I thought it was my job to free others by sharing in the troubles they underwent.  This is all old hat.  What I haven't admitted before was that this was all partly an adventure for a very privileged person who had choices. 

I really want to be very careful how I state this.  I am extremely glad and grateful to be alive.  I owe so much to so many. 

Remember how I wanted to become a pet as you were a pet to others?

As a very hopeful and strong person, I wish to give you all the respect you deserve for knowing so well that I made no peace with dreams.  Instead, I attacked them, denied them, routed them.  Perhaps when you understand that kindness and beauty are freedom -- as probably you already know -- then there will be a possibility for me to be loving as I felt I was when you were a cat and I was a human.

I denied myself a life as a lesbian; I denied myself a relationship with Andetrie out of bigotry; I failed to love home while being free.  You will only know these things if we still have that mental relationship that previously was in effect between us.  I send this knowledge to you with a wish that no one ever pretend that their misfortunes give them the right to act badly toward others.

I stroke the top of your head -- without hovering -- I remember the way that Shaida used to dance with you, and I send my best to those readers who wished me safe and happy.  Kristianna:  belief is a way to make hopes that are alive.

I was going to make this a book, but I'll post it instead to those who are kind, and if not kind, willing to soften their gimlet eyes with a thought for a flower-eating mistress cat and the world of 1995-96.

By A Champion

When there is a poem in teaching one dream only, and that dream is to be free, I will make this life peaceful.

The dream(s) that I had were love, good, strength and happiness.

The turn of my personality was toward orgy, cruelty, nutso arguments and anger.

If you are good at knowing why people do what they have within them, then perhaps you can help me reconcile these tendencies.

Remnants:

Pay to your art the freedom that you were alive to have.
Bring to yourself the knowledge that you can be alive without making others succumb from your weaknesses.

I remember when there was someone who did love me as I loved her.  She remembers that I had love because of the peace that was dreams.

I repeat the word dreams a lot:  I meant to write this as a lover's round of belief.  Today I must be happy.

Lavender is a friend.

President Obama cares about what he does

That's why I'm voting for him.


Knowing what is free, know what is love.

Retail Clerk

Chasing the customer
With her cash

I leap the lamps--
As my head goes bash.

Then, tapping her finger
On my sleeve

She says, "only to buy
Then I'll leave."

The smile on my face
Tickles me pink

She got the last one
That cracked in the sink.

Boise Nut

Laughter in the forest
Eases my grief.

Trees with cones and needles
Create earth under my body.

The butterfly net chases me
Into a ravine.

I believe worlds answer my
Peace.

I twirl and sing as the van
drives us away.