Anger troubles me, troubles me, troubles me.
Implements of life surround me. I am bored but still do not see the point of organizing them.
Intonation escapes me.
Today I am listening to jazz and watching Hurricane Harvey hit Houston.
What do you do about tone-deafness and a clumsy brain. "Deft grace" as the words of a nonexistent reviewer are not forthcoming.
Wield life! Inhabit it! Live it!
How many explanation points must interpose themselves before pre-emption by a visceral reaching-out ends typing and begins flight?
While you're walking by me I'm thinking of your fat ankles. My therapist has fat ankles. How do I trust her?
Think about cheese.
Think about pookah (Chelsea).
Moronic roses glow with me.
You can't frame life; life is the frame.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
Friday, August 25, 2017
FOR WOMEN WHO HAVE THOUGHT THEY ARE GOD
To usurp God's place in the universe is dangerous but for me has been tempting whether or not God is thought to be a woman.
There are various correlative thoughts to this.
One is that isolation from those of my own kind, "transsexuals," and a kind of loner paganism can lead to blasphemy.
I believe God is everywhere so I too must be God.
So far I have only been committed once thanks to my delusion.
If the Goddess is within then where is God?
I want to banish cruelty but I am cruel, sometimes working at it, sometimes choosing acting badly for nothing.
Drugs appear to heighten the urge.
I listened to all peace (I thought I did anyway). Edge of blasphemy here. I have tried to embody the human race in my everyday actions.
I cannot share my life if I don't want to.
I'll wear beads not a dress.
To usurp God's place in the universe is dangerous but for me has been tempting whether or not God is thought to be a woman.
There are various correlative thoughts to this.
One is that isolation from those of my own kind, "transsexuals," and a kind of loner paganism can lead to blasphemy.
I believe God is everywhere so I too must be God.
So far I have only been committed once thanks to my delusion.
If the Goddess is within then where is God?
I want to banish cruelty but I am cruel, sometimes working at it, sometimes choosing acting badly for nothing.
Drugs appear to heighten the urge.
I listened to all peace (I thought I did anyway). Edge of blasphemy here. I have tried to embody the human race in my everyday actions.
I cannot share my life if I don't want to.
I'll wear beads not a dress.
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
I have not written here in six months.
I think about things too much. So much pain about thinking about fascism and my thinking. I failed to act upon the strengths which made strong calls for softness a lone.
These sentences cannot stand for the entirety of why there is reading.
I am reading Robert Creeley's collected poetry from 1975-2005. He writes many poems deceptively simply in a way that reminds me of my own poetry but which is full of structure in few words. He also writes about subjects which help me in my own life. I have marked some of those passages in the book . Please forgive me for not looking them up. The book is upstairs and it is too much work to reconstruct the precise emotional states that make up the common threads in our lives. There are also many differences, some quite puzzling. Then of course his gender affects his approach to women, love and death, at least so far in the life he was leading in his late 40s and early 50s.
I have read over two hundred pages of poetry in only a few days. This is the first time in a long time that I have read so much so quickly. Perhaps this will give you an idea how much his poetry appeals to me.
I am presently preparing to fly to Arizona to stay with my friend Carol in Sierra Vista. There is a possibility that I will buy my brother's half of our parents' house and that I will live there. Possibly I will be even more bored if I do this. Boredom can kill I want to tell the bourgeoisie who have organized our society around work and nothing else. When I was at Oxford we used to sit around for hours just talking. The same at Transie House. Unfortunately when there is no substance to life other than being on the margins, there is a great temptation to get high, which is dangerous physically and emotionally. And with meth there is a way of life in which meth is the substance metaphorically and literally of life and thieving for the money is part of that. I do not want to wind up in jail. Apparently I do not hate the police enough to find an embrace from that culture.
I find what I have written above is, as usual, insufficient. There is so much angst about this.
I feel bad.
'tis a very cruel pain which inhabits me. So much anger about my art. My art is a mental art. I wish to practice, instead, magic.
I have so much cynicism. There is no room for skepticism and intelligence in the world of the public mental health client. I am not supposed to have a brain.
Tracy, my meth buddy, told me to go up.
I am hopeful for a way to use what is left of my mind. So much of what I don't understand involves organizing materials for work. I resent the fact that my organizational skills are not adequate for the slave drivers, I mean bosses.
I wish to be thankful for the few good friends I have. Even they don't share my ambition, except maybe fr Rusty, whose career has ended in an active retirement. I feel I would only embarrass myself by going to a college teacher and giving my life story. There is so much dubious in it. WHY are you addicted to drugs? WHY did you think getting high with black people would counteract racism?
My whole story boils down to dissolution and my various dissatisfactions. How can I try to earn respect from people who would never have made the same choices? Everything points to just living life, which is the whole problem to begin with.
Seize the day!
I think about things too much. So much pain about thinking about fascism and my thinking. I failed to act upon the strengths which made strong calls for softness a lone.
These sentences cannot stand for the entirety of why there is reading.
I am reading Robert Creeley's collected poetry from 1975-2005. He writes many poems deceptively simply in a way that reminds me of my own poetry but which is full of structure in few words. He also writes about subjects which help me in my own life. I have marked some of those passages in the book . Please forgive me for not looking them up. The book is upstairs and it is too much work to reconstruct the precise emotional states that make up the common threads in our lives. There are also many differences, some quite puzzling. Then of course his gender affects his approach to women, love and death, at least so far in the life he was leading in his late 40s and early 50s.
I have read over two hundred pages of poetry in only a few days. This is the first time in a long time that I have read so much so quickly. Perhaps this will give you an idea how much his poetry appeals to me.
I am presently preparing to fly to Arizona to stay with my friend Carol in Sierra Vista. There is a possibility that I will buy my brother's half of our parents' house and that I will live there. Possibly I will be even more bored if I do this. Boredom can kill I want to tell the bourgeoisie who have organized our society around work and nothing else. When I was at Oxford we used to sit around for hours just talking. The same at Transie House. Unfortunately when there is no substance to life other than being on the margins, there is a great temptation to get high, which is dangerous physically and emotionally. And with meth there is a way of life in which meth is the substance metaphorically and literally of life and thieving for the money is part of that. I do not want to wind up in jail. Apparently I do not hate the police enough to find an embrace from that culture.
I find what I have written above is, as usual, insufficient. There is so much angst about this.
I feel bad.
'tis a very cruel pain which inhabits me. So much anger about my art. My art is a mental art. I wish to practice, instead, magic.
I have so much cynicism. There is no room for skepticism and intelligence in the world of the public mental health client. I am not supposed to have a brain.
Tracy, my meth buddy, told me to go up.
I am hopeful for a way to use what is left of my mind. So much of what I don't understand involves organizing materials for work. I resent the fact that my organizational skills are not adequate for the slave drivers, I mean bosses.
I wish to be thankful for the few good friends I have. Even they don't share my ambition, except maybe fr Rusty, whose career has ended in an active retirement. I feel I would only embarrass myself by going to a college teacher and giving my life story. There is so much dubious in it. WHY are you addicted to drugs? WHY did you think getting high with black people would counteract racism?
My whole story boils down to dissolution and my various dissatisfactions. How can I try to earn respect from people who would never have made the same choices? Everything points to just living life, which is the whole problem to begin with.
Seize the day!
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Sunday, December 4, 2016
My dream affair with George Clooney in broken up bits
George Clooney is a very nice looking man with a friendly penis. I first me t him in my dream with my mother. The dream is fading fast. I took him from a beautiful actress. Things happened, such as jumping down floors in airports of the past, gone.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Must Write
It wills
I artistically
People
Okay? It is will I am trying to value effortlessly.
I am drying men with family and plows.
No one glides all every planet and lands in their face.
God stops men to men lying in their plows.
I want places to create a friend who will treat me with free hands and trees with great friendly plastic combs.
Dad is here willing a man to give him possible round blond goddesses.
He (Dad) calls this a bad gotcha (this means that I saw his star and I loved the friendly player I made from pompey.
Dad murders clowns with trouble and with flowers. I know I give you a freedom you were sorry that I wanted. I know I am cruel when I saw law as a freedom of money.
Dear monied ones, it is true that money requires freedom to act in order for all to be free. It is also true that my concepts of love involve a way to teach ham. This knowledge is a law to my cunt. It is also a law to family.
The family bothers me. Surely it is much happier to guide your love with peace than with fame.
I have become lonely in my saw.
Cold vision sees a narcotic pond darkening ponds with naughts and drums.
Skewing to the left, I see pansy costs baying a passion for soft london.
Clowsns bother me because I know I am sorry to make love a drug for money or for pump.
Sylvia is bothering me in my soft tonsil; she is loving cause it is ponds that are lying.
Will and hostility cold bands around the igloo I loved.
November 5, 20106
I artistically
People
Okay? It is will I am trying to value effortlessly.
I am drying men with family and plows.
No one glides all every planet and lands in their face.
God stops men to men lying in their plows.
I want places to create a friend who will treat me with free hands and trees with great friendly plastic combs.
Dad is here willing a man to give him possible round blond goddesses.
He (Dad) calls this a bad gotcha (this means that I saw his star and I loved the friendly player I made from pompey.
Dad murders clowns with trouble and with flowers. I know I give you a freedom you were sorry that I wanted. I know I am cruel when I saw law as a freedom of money.
Dear monied ones, it is true that money requires freedom to act in order for all to be free. It is also true that my concepts of love involve a way to teach ham. This knowledge is a law to my cunt. It is also a law to family.
The family bothers me. Surely it is much happier to guide your love with peace than with fame.
I have become lonely in my saw.
Cold vision sees a narcotic pond darkening ponds with naughts and drums.
Skewing to the left, I see pansy costs baying a passion for soft london.
Clowsns bother me because I know I am sorry to make love a drug for money or for pump.
Sylvia is bothering me in my soft tonsil; she is loving cause it is ponds that are lying.
Will and hostility cold bands around the igloo I loved.
November 5, 20106
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Plans
I write this for my own amusement.
I will follow the order the various items arise in my mind.
First
Here we have the perennial "write poetry" and "clean room"
Commentary
From one point of view I am writing plans to avoid both. I have barely read any poetry in the last several months and written even less. I do not count the majority of the jumbled artifacts of my pre-conscious that I on occasion have committed to this blog.
Speaking of jumbled artifacts, my room is an atrocity. There is no door to it and it is upstairs and it is a mess with no furniture such as a desk or a computer (which are in the alcove in my brother's living room) so I have no reason to do anything active there except try to spend time avoiding my brother's presence by hours of attempted sleep. Recently I have not even tried to read in bed, though a few days ago I read three pages of Browning's Sordello.
I really need to clean my room because I am purportedly moving out in the next few days and my brother, like my father before him, finds it a thorn in his side. My brother devotes 90% of his energy to order, which to me has no purpose except in furtherance of living; perhaps when I am on my own in a studio where I cannot get away from my mess I will be forced to change. Anyone who knows me is bored with this fact of my life.
Related to the First
Read books.
Commentary
I have several hundred books of often magnificent quality, many of them half read, most of which I have not picked up in months or years. It is an ungainly collection which I once fully intended to finish in the course of picking up a master's degree in English literature. Now I do not have a clue where to begin or whether to finish. I am presently in the midst of several books but the only one that keeps reliably drawing me back is John Dos Passos' U.S.A. trilogy, of which I have almost finished the middle volume, 1919.
Second
Every day hygiene and cleaning.
Within this we find such imperatives as showering, brushing my teeth and doing the dishes.
Commentary
How can I describe the vile combination of mental illness, resentment and comfort with disorder that leads me to consistently put off for un seemly amounts of time these basic task?
Third
Routine paperwork and bills.
Commentary
I also fall down on this. All I do not fall down on is CNN watching, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee.
Fourth
Impending matters
We find here such items as moving to a new apartment (very distantly linked to "finding a permanent home") and traveling to New York to visit Jamie and (very possibly) get high . No, that cannot be done.
Fifth
Relationships, Religion and emotional confusion.
Commentary.
Here I have set those matters which seem both broad, and related to my intimate needs in a way which very often serves as the underpinning of inactivity (aside from familial ancient business). Under relationships there are friends and family, particularly the post mortem results of my staying with my mother for seven years. I also have no friends within 1,500 miles, which is a gigantic handicap in finding my bearings and being motivated on a daily level. Religion is a mental and emotional force which finds me unable to practice my beliefs. Chelsea a and Jamie are my somewhat residual contacts for both relationships and religion and I spend a good ten to thirty minutes a day in telephonic touch so that I do not wholly lose hope. I seriously wish I was still in a community of like-minded practitioners of IRREVERENT rebellion instead of this serious-minded confusion .
Sixth
Work, money and career.
Commentary
All practically speaking nearly irrelevant to my every day life in a way which leads any conventional political or economic activity just dust.
Seventh
Macroanalysis
Commentary
The thesis that I am sick of bourgeois values informing every pressure upon me. It's enough to make me wish to be a revolutionary and CUT THE CRAP!
I will follow the order the various items arise in my mind.
First
Here we have the perennial "write poetry" and "clean room"
Commentary
From one point of view I am writing plans to avoid both. I have barely read any poetry in the last several months and written even less. I do not count the majority of the jumbled artifacts of my pre-conscious that I on occasion have committed to this blog.
Speaking of jumbled artifacts, my room is an atrocity. There is no door to it and it is upstairs and it is a mess with no furniture such as a desk or a computer (which are in the alcove in my brother's living room) so I have no reason to do anything active there except try to spend time avoiding my brother's presence by hours of attempted sleep. Recently I have not even tried to read in bed, though a few days ago I read three pages of Browning's Sordello.
I really need to clean my room because I am purportedly moving out in the next few days and my brother, like my father before him, finds it a thorn in his side. My brother devotes 90% of his energy to order, which to me has no purpose except in furtherance of living; perhaps when I am on my own in a studio where I cannot get away from my mess I will be forced to change. Anyone who knows me is bored with this fact of my life.
Related to the First
Read books.
Commentary
I have several hundred books of often magnificent quality, many of them half read, most of which I have not picked up in months or years. It is an ungainly collection which I once fully intended to finish in the course of picking up a master's degree in English literature. Now I do not have a clue where to begin or whether to finish. I am presently in the midst of several books but the only one that keeps reliably drawing me back is John Dos Passos' U.S.A. trilogy, of which I have almost finished the middle volume, 1919.
Second
Every day hygiene and cleaning.
Within this we find such imperatives as showering, brushing my teeth and doing the dishes.
Commentary
How can I describe the vile combination of mental illness, resentment and comfort with disorder that leads me to consistently put off for un seemly amounts of time these basic task?
Third
Routine paperwork and bills.
Commentary
I also fall down on this. All I do not fall down on is CNN watching, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee.
Fourth
Impending matters
We find here such items as moving to a new apartment (very distantly linked to "finding a permanent home") and traveling to New York to visit Jamie and (very possibly) get high . No, that cannot be done.
Fifth
Relationships, Religion and emotional confusion.
Commentary.
Here I have set those matters which seem both broad, and related to my intimate needs in a way which very often serves as the underpinning of inactivity (aside from familial ancient business). Under relationships there are friends and family, particularly the post mortem results of my staying with my mother for seven years. I also have no friends within 1,500 miles, which is a gigantic handicap in finding my bearings and being motivated on a daily level. Religion is a mental and emotional force which finds me unable to practice my beliefs. Chelsea a and Jamie are my somewhat residual contacts for both relationships and religion and I spend a good ten to thirty minutes a day in telephonic touch so that I do not wholly lose hope. I seriously wish I was still in a community of like-minded practitioners of IRREVERENT rebellion instead of this serious-minded confusion .
Sixth
Work, money and career.
Commentary
All practically speaking nearly irrelevant to my every day life in a way which leads any conventional political or economic activity just dust.
Seventh
Macroanalysis
Commentary
The thesis that I am sick of bourgeois values informing every pressure upon me. It's enough to make me wish to be a revolutionary and CUT THE CRAP!
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