What to Do

A.  Go through six large paper bags of unpaid bills, receipts, medical documents, etc., sitting on the back porch

or

Read a Princeton historian's account of the rise of Genghis Khan.



B.  Eat and take my anti-depressant and anti-psychotic

or

write this.



C.  Clean the bathroom or take a shower

or

read The Hobbit




D.  Prepare myself mentally and emotionally to be here for my mother.




E.  Admit I'm not a poet

or

Grasp the elements of life and communication and myself and wield my pen in service of  the Goddess.




F.  Wonder why laughter doesn't make me strong

or

Believe in hope.




G.  Admit that I'm just as impossible and incoherent as I've ever been

or

Allow people to believe that change is life.




Thank you for giving me these choices!!!

Ingrisu

To the ambivalent:

You are feeling pain.  You hear the anger, you hear answers, you have openness to cruelty.

This is laying bowls here for your gifts.

I deal and I make you peaceful.

There is womanliness in happiness.  I found my own injury and I thought was out of my bent make.

I remember never listening to the answers that were that afraid to make you free.

These are apathy rides to its own boss.

I fail a lot.

I know where you grieve.

I believe you are safe.

Believe in love.

I will that you read this with focing rags in your life.

I hate myself for being my own foc without buses.

Andreia wilt thou be money?  Love and a friend with love.  Safe roses guaared a narc.

Unreadable

Ya Passed


Land of Rain

I was at his need.
So ill with rain, there is -- that -- answer of boss.
I give candor because of your trouble with me.

Forested impulses to home,
Ample epicenter of vision.
Pan arcs reeds to reply.


Land of Cane

You will dreams of authenticity --
Not to strangle happiness but to attract life.
Giving sons their family, bring trees to thrive.

Pleasant raven drafts,
Grim orphans left with peace.
Open place with mirth etched wry.

The Pseudo-Oxford Reality, With Additions and Revisions

I believe my own face, which tells me that I can not malign my friends.

I also know that I can't say for you how to understand the life of my own plastered dream.
It is true that when I asked life to be my own path to glory I was lost in dreams of trouble (the way which I cried for my own race [beef], in other words, the pain [that said I love you] for my words making life a contrariness, my family's relationship with me.)

I stand here (I am actually sitting here in my old bedroom in the town I grew up in) trying to be what I associate with creativity -- soft, peaceful and loved, haunted by my father and his need to be his own masculinity.

[My mother, reading this, asked me what I meant by "haunted."  I fluffed and said that I meant haunted by his influences.  She is very suspicious of anything I mention that might indicate psychosis.]

Listen:  Effort is not what I want.  I prefer athletes of the trees, those who are peaceful by angering their chicks.  [Chick may mean subordinate female or simply offspring.  Athletes may mean monkeys, birds, or as in a fantasia, tree-dwelling humans (or anything else which may spring to your mind)]

I clown around like this because I am what I am.  I opine upon the life I have led in order to reason with my creator:  the same creator as yours.

Perhaps when you like me it is because you gave  a way that was active and good, that was love as peace.

I believe man is the way that my own (I am here assailed as usual by words which press me to a place of decision) dreams (actors which are my friends) tried to reveal themselves as sensible.

Okay, when you dream is it the same as the happiness you know yourself to believe in?

B:

Entropy was the trope which I embraced for my life, it is true, Marina.  I did so because no one has the left-wing issues I had.  I thought drugs made you read happiness as anger. 

This uncommon association, or seemingly uncommon association, doesn't actually bring grief.  Grief allows eyelashes to believe in Elk.

I allow you to select what is good here.  I believe elk are life.  I do want a lock for my lack (I make mustard as caves).

I feel a (lots of rigidity building) (discomfort) (trepidation) (pressure) moment of anger.

Why feel love when love is made to give men money?

I am not here to be loved as a man.

I am not here to like wars.

I am trying to kill myself by being nothing.  I cannot live this way.  Help doesn't involve change without knowing that it is peace from Reverends and Dancers that I loved.

The Reverend Julia Brigid Murray is when I am a moment.

Okay.  I wish to make it laugh.

I called myself Reagan.

Lime is nauseated.

Emended with appearances.

Delusion and self-delusion in my life

Muck drinks strings as flags.
I wish that I wrote.

M

O

Neck
Will
Snarl

Inches

I leave yes my friend loaf

The Final Frontier

Biology

Sat down and found a rook
Lace boredom was my nook

Cras

The Cit
Neighbors

Acting was a real aptitude.

I know reality keeps open this anger.

I am doing locks.

They got me.

Crying to old music

Where is my heifer?

Atrocities -- in words:
I bought vogues.

Trapped where my own share is
Life,

I made good on the fears of my
Mark.

Entrance to nerd blame --

I walked under the elevator
And found manson.

I pulled the room up to drive.

(Mothers read with angels)




Etches

Looking with face
On your lace

I raise it
Fist.