Hell was the pain that orgies treat.
I remember that when there was God that I was another bard.
Today I know that I changed my grief from cluelessness to art in order to be dead.
I am threatening nothing: I am referring to killing my own vision of hope.
This Goddess said to her pain: I am your roast.
Contempt for women: I made life a rough place because I laughed at my mother's imperfections from a sexist pt. of view. She had little confidence (when I was still at home) apparently and did not dress with panache or as a voluptuary.
Capital is the art of paying justice to make pain fold. In other words, using money to make the problem go away.
Boss: I ran to Rusty and to Chelsea to make them be the ones who would be my life. I needed to preserve this way of love -- my own changes, personality, sensibility internal and external.
Abdicate your art: If you are making yourself the Goddess who makes you young.
Omen: Allah sought roman craze for lessons. What is God to those who make pain run to omens?
Answer: Pope.
Next time I will tell you what is good for my plastic reasons.
You must not be here if you are here to be a star.
I must not be here if I am here to be a moment (of fame/power).
Death gives a rose face.
Rat trick cloud whore
I HAVE TO SAY THINGS THAT MAKE SENSE: I CAN BE A WOMAN!
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Fear I might change
There was a road where people stop to have a draught of dreams.
This road is a woman's place if there is memory.
I know that a lot of beauty is messy. For instance, I in my dreams might say, "You are strong" to my family. The family I know is peace. I know that I created a way I might be so that there would be a lot of laughter.
You did like my trust. I liked to like your praise.
That was needed in order for there to be life.
I sought your love; I sought your dream.
Your love and your dream are yours, not mine.
I give you peace. I hope you will like a woman with her beauty.
Craft:
Gifts that are alive with beauty and freedom.
I gave a lot of myth. For instance, I am womanly; I am drowning; I am nerd.
Down inside, I need to say what is being. It is beauty.
Craft:
I wish to change through doing what I enjoy. I want to read the classics of many cultures, ancient and modern and relate them to the life I know as an individual in this society that denies the usefulness of learning. Out here there is gold. Out here there is peace. Out here there is need.
Love,
Julia
This road is a woman's place if there is memory.
I know that a lot of beauty is messy. For instance, I in my dreams might say, "You are strong" to my family. The family I know is peace. I know that I created a way I might be so that there would be a lot of laughter.
You did like my trust. I liked to like your praise.
That was needed in order for there to be life.
I sought your love; I sought your dream.
Your love and your dream are yours, not mine.
I give you peace. I hope you will like a woman with her beauty.
Craft:
Gifts that are alive with beauty and freedom.
I gave a lot of myth. For instance, I am womanly; I am drowning; I am nerd.
Down inside, I need to say what is being. It is beauty.
Craft:
I wish to change through doing what I enjoy. I want to read the classics of many cultures, ancient and modern and relate them to the life I know as an individual in this society that denies the usefulness of learning. Out here there is gold. Out here there is peace. Out here there is need.
Love,
Julia
Peace and Religion
Life and death; death and life.
No one believes that trash can be loving.
I have known to believe that darkness cries its own moments.
These moments include: tape (as in a mental tape or script), failings of loud bowls.
I have shrieked the need to be Her orgasm.
I am in fact a lot of effort to be rock (crack).
I am so insane in my identifying myself with what I desire.
This Goddess who knew a possible dream was loving and happy.
Yes I try to be a moment. I am not. I am here to fail a nabired (a flock of caves -- you see I use parts to personify or represent a whole -- people that may anatomically contain something which enters them).
Emperor Issues: I need to be safe. I am being to my own capital.
This analysis of people dealing creepiness is over.
Portion of famine. No gruel. No peace. Sensible.
I read this gnome as round. I rest here for a temporary bop.
Peace and Religion
Kindness requires love.
No one believes that trash can be loving.
I have known to believe that darkness cries its own moments.
These moments include: tape (as in a mental tape or script), failings of loud bowls.
I have shrieked the need to be Her orgasm.
I am in fact a lot of effort to be rock (crack).
I am so insane in my identifying myself with what I desire.
This Goddess who knew a possible dream was loving and happy.
Yes I try to be a moment. I am not. I am here to fail a nabired (a flock of caves -- you see I use parts to personify or represent a whole -- people that may anatomically contain something which enters them).
Emperor Issues: I need to be safe. I am being to my own capital.
This analysis of people dealing creepiness is over.
Portion of famine. No gruel. No peace. Sensible.
I read this gnome as round. I rest here for a temporary bop.
Peace and Religion
Kindness requires love.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
A Request to Richard
I humbly beseech ye, save thy servant from the mortal pains of this transient existence; bring succour that she may not suffer unduly the rigours of punishment for the misdeeds with which, as you know, she has filled the lives of her friends and family; and allow her to retire peacefully together with the spirits and guardians of all directions at the places of reconciliation and loving kindness so graciously provided to the travellers of these planes. Anoint thy sister, Me, that at thy pleasure the Ones whom receive graciously your devotion may direct and guide her in the ways of peace, love and humanity to which from this moment she wishes to accustom herself and practise with an unguarded and pleasing dedication to the welfare of all. So Mote It Be. Julia Murray.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
A Letter for Understanding and Communion
While I can scarcely claim to be a "good" writer in the sense of communicating clearly and simply with consideration for the reader meaning, feeling, event, etc., I believe that I do leave the reader with an impression that reveals my state of being along with occasionally an "entrance" into the nature of the subject matter and the universe that I and the reader in fact share.
Many times I fail to make clear that I do not feel strong; that I (often literally) am shambling around trying to find a definite place within myself to which I can commit energy, will, effort, affectionate (often an undeveloped quality) attention.
I really really just want you who read this to know that I am writing as if I were in my final hour. This is what I decided to do with this "final hour": write a letter.
That said, I was trying to believe that maybe there will be one way of freedom. I wanted that because I was wondering for a long time why it is that no one is interested in loving a pig. I have to love a pig because that is what I am. At least two other people who shall remain nameless have referred to me as a pig in my presence. What effect does having the self-concept of being a pig have on me? I feel that I do not like it. I feel that I cannot believe that anyone would want to like me. I really have no words for it. Somehow you will have to know that if you consider yourself a pig then it has deleterious effects on your relationships with real people.
To return to my question of why no one is interested in loving a pig, I can see that firstly I would give off an air, so to speak, of unapproachability because of slovenly habits. You can certainly admit I have those. Secondly a pig appears greedy and without sympathetic emotion. You know that pigs feed constantly from a trough whatever they are fed. This causes contempt in humans.
These facts led me to consider there being one way of freedom because then I'd feel that no one had freedom. I wished to deny others freedom. I didn't care because no one I knew thought that freedom was anything but getting your own way.
People who are not happy are also not interested in what the stupidity of life makes hostile. I did not have to be hostile. I might have, for instance, decided that no one was particularly satisfied, but then that would have interfered with my personal pursuit of satisfaction. Not that I thought that through but I certainly needed to believe that I could be whatever I wanted to be.
No one is free if I have all these feelings that I have. I know that I need to release this pain.
Okay, so there's happiness, there's pain, there's being a pig. I saw this as my own problem. Now I need to make sure that no one feels afraid that I am trying to be another Process. (I used to reduce everything to the process of production a la Marx).
This now takes a turn toward what it is that I want. I want hope, freedom and love.
I am a child of the Goddess and of a mother who was gentle in her ways much of the time.
Now, in my mind I am making this whole letter a matter of whether there is anything that I can do to be changed. And the only way I can see that happening is if I have love.
The problem is that I often do not feel love when it is there, and I often do not give myself love.
I really hope that you who are reading this will say happiness is what is peaceful. I suppose that is tangential.
I wanted to make the people with whom I co-existed in a kind of exploitative fashion for eight years at transie house my priests, my being the superior being. This does not include Rusty and Chelsea: I was in relation to them as a cruel predator of thought and feeling.
This is love: I said men are a goddess because I wanted to be loving to my boss: Jack.
Now I know where this is coming from. I am trying to make everyone know that my father dreamed that I was his reason to be. He could not conceive that his pain did not apply to everyone. He had pain about his failures and his mother dying young, and no doubt was angry at the universe for no reason that I will ever fathom except he needed his place in a world that is free.
Now I will say because of this fact, I love family as a way to be a moron, i.e., dreamy, free, studious, good, adolescent. I changed my own life without knowing that I had to be my answer.
This is getting into philosophical territory. I cannot be an answer to myself. I have already said there are no answers. So, what does this mean? I really think that I feel like creativity makes this world safe.
I can only be creative in this moment by knowing that the Goddess has a lot of love.
Her will is: (My will must be): girl, be free.
Plea is for patience. I am learning this is what is strong. I also must know hope. (Not because I want to must I, but because it's part of the life I chose.)
Maybe this letter is simply a way to begin understanding that someone ((Me:Julia)) is a hallowed rope of womanhood. That is: I capitalized on drugs.
Money and patience are not peaceful when made into shame and cruelty.
I guess this is all: shadow self/bright self. My bright self made me know my own freedom; my shadow self made freedom know me.
I love this dream.
I am what I am because there's streams that carry people's lives and I am facing the wrong way.
Does anyone still have a boat to merrily row?
Hallow, Home,
Tallow, Loam.
That's my being.
Many times I fail to make clear that I do not feel strong; that I (often literally) am shambling around trying to find a definite place within myself to which I can commit energy, will, effort, affectionate (often an undeveloped quality) attention.
I really really just want you who read this to know that I am writing as if I were in my final hour. This is what I decided to do with this "final hour": write a letter.
That said, I was trying to believe that maybe there will be one way of freedom. I wanted that because I was wondering for a long time why it is that no one is interested in loving a pig. I have to love a pig because that is what I am. At least two other people who shall remain nameless have referred to me as a pig in my presence. What effect does having the self-concept of being a pig have on me? I feel that I do not like it. I feel that I cannot believe that anyone would want to like me. I really have no words for it. Somehow you will have to know that if you consider yourself a pig then it has deleterious effects on your relationships with real people.
To return to my question of why no one is interested in loving a pig, I can see that firstly I would give off an air, so to speak, of unapproachability because of slovenly habits. You can certainly admit I have those. Secondly a pig appears greedy and without sympathetic emotion. You know that pigs feed constantly from a trough whatever they are fed. This causes contempt in humans.
These facts led me to consider there being one way of freedom because then I'd feel that no one had freedom. I wished to deny others freedom. I didn't care because no one I knew thought that freedom was anything but getting your own way.
People who are not happy are also not interested in what the stupidity of life makes hostile. I did not have to be hostile. I might have, for instance, decided that no one was particularly satisfied, but then that would have interfered with my personal pursuit of satisfaction. Not that I thought that through but I certainly needed to believe that I could be whatever I wanted to be.
No one is free if I have all these feelings that I have. I know that I need to release this pain.
Okay, so there's happiness, there's pain, there's being a pig. I saw this as my own problem. Now I need to make sure that no one feels afraid that I am trying to be another Process. (I used to reduce everything to the process of production a la Marx).
This now takes a turn toward what it is that I want. I want hope, freedom and love.
I am a child of the Goddess and of a mother who was gentle in her ways much of the time.
Now, in my mind I am making this whole letter a matter of whether there is anything that I can do to be changed. And the only way I can see that happening is if I have love.
The problem is that I often do not feel love when it is there, and I often do not give myself love.
I really hope that you who are reading this will say happiness is what is peaceful. I suppose that is tangential.
I wanted to make the people with whom I co-existed in a kind of exploitative fashion for eight years at transie house my priests, my being the superior being. This does not include Rusty and Chelsea: I was in relation to them as a cruel predator of thought and feeling.
This is love: I said men are a goddess because I wanted to be loving to my boss: Jack.
Now I know where this is coming from. I am trying to make everyone know that my father dreamed that I was his reason to be. He could not conceive that his pain did not apply to everyone. He had pain about his failures and his mother dying young, and no doubt was angry at the universe for no reason that I will ever fathom except he needed his place in a world that is free.
Now I will say because of this fact, I love family as a way to be a moron, i.e., dreamy, free, studious, good, adolescent. I changed my own life without knowing that I had to be my answer.
This is getting into philosophical territory. I cannot be an answer to myself. I have already said there are no answers. So, what does this mean? I really think that I feel like creativity makes this world safe.
I can only be creative in this moment by knowing that the Goddess has a lot of love.
Her will is: (My will must be): girl, be free.
Plea is for patience. I am learning this is what is strong. I also must know hope. (Not because I want to must I, but because it's part of the life I chose.)
Maybe this letter is simply a way to begin understanding that someone ((Me:Julia)) is a hallowed rope of womanhood. That is: I capitalized on drugs.
Money and patience are not peaceful when made into shame and cruelty.
I guess this is all: shadow self/bright self. My bright self made me know my own freedom; my shadow self made freedom know me.
I love this dream.
I am what I am because there's streams that carry people's lives and I am facing the wrong way.
Does anyone still have a boat to merrily row?
Hallow, Home,
Tallow, Loam.
That's my being.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Happiness Death Pain Rusty Rose
I have never thought that there was beauty that felt groovy like a base called omens.
Omens remember what poems are. I have so much foolish anger. I don't know why I think of feelings as safe. I have been crazy and that is so painful.
This is what I have been making hopeful: a lot of reasoning (rationalizing), peace (numbness), and cruelty(fear).
I was poor when I knew change. I was cold when I felt peace. This coldness is hate of my dreams, which are: love, laughter, and peace. I hate these because I am a woman who is: fearful of my own needs, which are: beauty, softness, hope, (what am I suppressing?) (what is life?) home (strength to grieve my life).
I never thought that I was good to people because I was not pain. I WAS happy when I was 4. Other kids were to me rough and dangerous and caused fear and embarrassment and a knowledge of contemptuousness in me. People seemed to me determined to prove their fearless desire to destroy barriers to their own pride. Now I am the person that I felt was cruel. I hate it. I need to make this place hopeful. You can not OWN bodies.
I love the way that home is the only way to be what is strong. I suppose I need protection. I would also like to give protection. These knowledges only make me want to give love to that strength which needed my beauty. Who was that? The one who was cheating my feelings of love by giving life to my failure. Who? That is my estrogen (girl, you are trying to be stupid). You are poem of hope. By "my failure" I am trying to say that I am below the place that I was when I thought I was free. This is hurting me because I am truthfully hopeful.
Please just tell me what it is that made your li(v)es safe? And mine hateful? I am not the only one with hope. I am not the only one who is changing.
I retract my assertion that I am life to anyone without being strong for my feelings. These are: I am chasing pain because it is the only way to be creepy to my friend. I am tired of this. I am not the only strong (not strong) failure that ever existed. I thought you were the person who would be safe. I am cruel because of my own hatred for blustering peace (netherworld dreams of failure are the only way to be safe if you want to make others die for their actions.) I am not interested in doing what was the only argument that was anger: my need to be a failed pagan.
You who are reading this must know that I was your failure. I failed you and myself because I was wrong about that woman who is that hopeful person with good in her life. She is a free person. I am sorry I thought otherwise. I was the only person who would be cold because of that cruelty of being mothered for my laughter. I knew what Goddesses are.
Let it be: I am girlie in a way that is peaceful.
You are safe.
This is nearly unreadable. I apologize. This is how I make myself alive. Perhaps ha! I will return to it later and make it understandable.
It hurts to be bored.
Omens remember what poems are. I have so much foolish anger. I don't know why I think of feelings as safe. I have been crazy and that is so painful.
This is what I have been making hopeful: a lot of reasoning (rationalizing), peace (numbness), and cruelty(fear).
I was poor when I knew change. I was cold when I felt peace. This coldness is hate of my dreams, which are: love, laughter, and peace. I hate these because I am a woman who is: fearful of my own needs, which are: beauty, softness, hope, (what am I suppressing?) (what is life?) home (strength to grieve my life).
I never thought that I was good to people because I was not pain. I WAS happy when I was 4. Other kids were to me rough and dangerous and caused fear and embarrassment and a knowledge of contemptuousness in me. People seemed to me determined to prove their fearless desire to destroy barriers to their own pride. Now I am the person that I felt was cruel. I hate it. I need to make this place hopeful. You can not OWN bodies.
I love the way that home is the only way to be what is strong. I suppose I need protection. I would also like to give protection. These knowledges only make me want to give love to that strength which needed my beauty. Who was that? The one who was cheating my feelings of love by giving life to my failure. Who? That is my estrogen (girl, you are trying to be stupid). You are poem of hope. By "my failure" I am trying to say that I am below the place that I was when I thought I was free. This is hurting me because I am truthfully hopeful.
Please just tell me what it is that made your li(v)es safe? And mine hateful? I am not the only one with hope. I am not the only one who is changing.
I retract my assertion that I am life to anyone without being strong for my feelings. These are: I am chasing pain because it is the only way to be creepy to my friend. I am tired of this. I am not the only strong (not strong) failure that ever existed. I thought you were the person who would be safe. I am cruel because of my own hatred for blustering peace (netherworld dreams of failure are the only way to be safe if you want to make others die for their actions.) I am not interested in doing what was the only argument that was anger: my need to be a failed pagan.
You who are reading this must know that I was your failure. I failed you and myself because I was wrong about that woman who is that hopeful person with good in her life. She is a free person. I am sorry I thought otherwise. I was the only person who would be cold because of that cruelty of being mothered for my laughter. I knew what Goddesses are.
Let it be: I am girlie in a way that is peaceful.
You are safe.
This is nearly unreadable. I apologize. This is how I make myself alive. Perhaps ha! I will return to it later and make it understandable.
It hurts to be bored.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Depression in Writing
Write some happy words:
Morph, Crust, Open
Wizard, Round, Party
Gambling, Moments, Claps
Aphrodite, Afterhours, Affiliated
Happy Three.
Obatala
Oshun
Osiris
It's sex that changes urgency to happiness.
I remember when I wondered what love was.
I need to be the person who cares that I have been looking for.
I have given this my home.
How world draws openness:
By grieving its answers.
This pain was raised to feel good.
I taught life it was needed to be happy.
I have loved reading. I have loved brass.
The tension is: What does the openness please?
I saw I in you.
I saw you in I.
Love is when there is dream book (not true) entitled: death gives [blank]
I want to change books. The grave is known. The drugs are cruel.
Laughter does itself with change, answer becomes fun.
I lived to take my argument (death) to plug it in its ra??
Drag it here. I'm a rap called r??e.
Tell me why.
I run to my life as a mess. I run to my life as a chapel of marsha.
I wanted that jargon to be effortless.
Lay my poem in the trees.
Illness just wants peace. Illness is the anger toward my princess.
I want a lover who believes in me to say, "Yes, you are beautiful," and live.
Ovary comb gore drawer change is making dreams live.
I will never know why I love my reasons for feeling home.
They are: grief, peace, trees, soft craft.
Floors dream like champions crave feelings.
I take feelings by making myself feel.
I feel glad of my reason:
What would it be like to let go?
Popping the cracking change with laughter.
thank you for making my self easy.
I am having fun torturing all this out of me.
Can I please stop?
Lesbian girls change race to reagan.
Orgasmic life is needed. I remember that rambling groan.
Words:'
Lore, Mother, Craving, Us, Move, Dream, Chase, Pope And Grieve.
I hereby abjure any love that is fear.
Morph, Crust, Open
Wizard, Round, Party
Gambling, Moments, Claps
Aphrodite, Afterhours, Affiliated
Happy Three.
Obatala
Oshun
Osiris
It's sex that changes urgency to happiness.
I remember when I wondered what love was.
I need to be the person who cares that I have been looking for.
I have given this my home.
How world draws openness:
By grieving its answers.
This pain was raised to feel good.
I taught life it was needed to be happy.
I have loved reading. I have loved brass.
The tension is: What does the openness please?
I saw I in you.
I saw you in I.
Love is when there is dream book (not true) entitled: death gives [blank]
I want to change books. The grave is known. The drugs are cruel.
Laughter does itself with change, answer becomes fun.
I lived to take my argument (death) to plug it in its ra??
Drag it here. I'm a rap called r??e.
Tell me why.
I run to my life as a mess. I run to my life as a chapel of marsha.
I wanted that jargon to be effortless.
Lay my poem in the trees.
Illness just wants peace. Illness is the anger toward my princess.
I want a lover who believes in me to say, "Yes, you are beautiful," and live.
Ovary comb gore drawer change is making dreams live.
I will never know why I love my reasons for feeling home.
They are: grief, peace, trees, soft craft.
Floors dream like champions crave feelings.
I take feelings by making myself feel.
I feel glad of my reason:
What would it be like to let go?
Popping the cracking change with laughter.
thank you for making my self easy.
I am having fun torturing all this out of me.
Can I please stop?
Lesbian girls change race to reagan.
Orgasmic life is needed. I remember that rambling groan.
Words:'
Lore, Mother, Craving, Us, Move, Dream, Chase, Pope And Grieve.
I hereby abjure any love that is fear.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)