Gevalt

As sham
Work

Senses shucks

Worth a
Life?



Level the martyrs
Not the people

I rave cause I rave

Coldly



Men darkness as a thinker of work
I am bored with art

Coldness seeks peace as a way to like
Straw.





I part myself race is nothing when there is
Land.

Better:  "laughter."

Goal is to work my life for life not drugs.

Acting alike with you is not my stopping look of hustle



Loife writes men as charged ape.





Delectable cruelty for another author




I was nothing making patient blindness caving in dreams

You must loosen your laughter call it style of marketing.

I know whaqt you want because I am drunk.

Leftism just wants a lover.  No one gives love to Stark Fake People

Sacked for a hope.



Clay.

Tide

Cisalpine Gaul

Sagging into the dark
I was momentarily
Ruling a land where

Coal and body give
Ashes of names.

These names work hard
As a flower makes life.

Oil men were famous
Death is nothing if no one

Had legs.


Dildo  jacqueries
Roil the thankless
Passions of rome

Dare war as a thought
Of home.

Darkness cures family
With memories

Glowing in the family
Was a thinker.

I see her dealing food
To language

And finding gold in
Plays vulture

A thud to sop and
Shave.

Work your money and
I will be dreaming of

Momentary Flasks

Tilt.

Oil

Life work I like stumbling poise
Bcuz oh is me.

I think rights read rights
Maybe I work at night.

Estrogen worked with rights

I need some part of patience.

After the costs belong to language
I have bought into money as peace.

I am open with a ranch writing of resting

Oil is my glaze; I am a reeking of napalm
And its changes.

The flaw of my world is baskets of men
Testing work.

Laughter belongs to rules.

Maybe I'm bringing the cold into a fantasy of
Oil.

Gold and Oil:  God gives masquerades a teacher.

Western monopolists deny orgasmic families
Taught passionate women a lake.

Masquerade and baloney read family as work.

Parkinson's papers read like caskets.

I breathe with operations in the rain.

Lectures on gasoline belong where peace
Thinks of babies and my family.


I have paid myself my life to belong where bars are stupid
And I am paper.


Laughter makes you me cold and ripped with mace wix.

I think of myself tasking, reading, changing loving peaceful grieving
Changing dealing reading worrying and flying.

Fly your rights with a leg of room with a leftist.

Golden blame belongs anger works itself works itself and dreams of urgency as a narcotic.

Mellow world is a pantry.  I gave myself strings.  I loitered.  I flowered.  I raised cancer when I paid my bank with me thinker raymond wastes arnold fake.





When I Punted on the Cherwell

I dumped Chelsea with a famous aeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllll












Memories

Gold

As knowing as possibility,
Worlds part with me
Because I tear my rights
Into family and trouble

I deny I am answering
Family with rest

Acting here is a knowing of
Poems.  I deny knowing
Poems.  I deny knowing
Life.

Home gives me rights.
I am knowing in my
Right to act with passion
To be a family and rest.

I masturbate -- men deny
Reasons.  I deny myself
Acting, law, god, sex, change,
Passion life and race.

Act as a martyr and make
Right into masquerade.

I feel working class parts.
Think of mathematics.

SO tedious

I am going to write a list of possible writings.  Bear with me.  Afterwards I will write in my word processor program and then perhaps here  Bear with me.

Nothing
Glow
Body
Answers
Change
Rights
Law
Money
Law
Law
Flies
Drugs

Men
God
Thought
I
Rudeness
Laughter
Peace


I'd let you vote on this but I haven't had a comment in more than two years.  Stay in touch, won't you???

Hmmm, I'll think about Law and hmm... Family.

God, I love Engels.
 Law and Family:  a speculation on family, passionately

Where would law be if no one saw themselves as loving?  Law is an instrument of restriction and limitation.  Love is an absolute presence of the universe in all which exists.

Perhaps law is definite in its scope and its means; perhaps love is the opposite.

Death and feeling belong to the humans whose lives they affect and to which they pertain.

Death and God resemble family in that no one complains when no one belongs.  No one belongs when no one has patience.  I want to free myself from my own hate of patience.  I hate patience in that I am rude and I do not believe that others with marginal freedoms are thoughtful or good.  This is a judgment I level in that no one cares about I as a rude and possibly cruel person.  I wish there were love in my freedom.

There:  my casual act is simply a cover for my rude act which is a cover for my pain which derives from being truthful to those who are drunk with laughter.

I do believe that I am done with my rudeness.

Okay.  Now that I have addressed the problem of my own life, I return to the nature of law and of family.

Family gives you presence in the world.  Family gives you home, else it is denatured or lacking (more later).  I believe that family involves so much peace and so much strength that it is a perfect or near perfect realm for the delineation of social expectations and norms.  Thus a society which values peace and strength both and finds them inseparable will inculcate certain values in its members through the family.  And we find in fact that that is what family does.

Family in this place and at this time are in contention.  Equality of persons especially those of African or indigenous backgrounds, gay people and trans people are at stake.  Much address of these issues by society is pain.

No one believes that family can begin with love.  Else why understand that God is poor?  God is poor only in that no one cares about life when no one is possible.

Perhaps I am reasoning in a twisted, though lived way, about the individual consequences, esp. for yours truly of a world in which yours truly is not considered possible.  What if it were the case instead that others were not possible and I was only too much so?

Leftism denies the anger that my life is a part of hope.  Being a part of hope requires that no one belong to racist cruel and foolish men.  But in some extent that is precisely what occurs when there is no alternative other than attempting to belong to communities which require pain and God to be slow and not flowery.  What I mean by that is that in my life I tried to belong to community(ies) of people of color.  I found myself wondering what it was that would make me thoughtful about my softness.  I did not know that anyone with my creativity (quote) would be truthful and lost in a value which is safety.  I suppose that the limits were those which anyone who was trying to protect themselves against a relative stranger would employ.

This brings up the interesting fact that so-called right-wing society does exactly the same with respect to those who would engage with it on its terms who began as nasty pained losses to foam, in other words, poems of coldness with no body.

I think I must stop here and deal with being a poem of coldness with no body.  I have to stop intellectualizing myself to such an extent, in other words.  Perhaps I will return to this subject.

Why am I bored -- because I don't want to die.

The words do not arrive.  They are where many go when nothing bothers them.  They are told to be loving and they do not feel love.

I settle here for this pain:  I am last festering of dross.  By dross I mean the world of a family who was near God because they knew love from their prison, which was was there body? 

I do not know the entire import of this writing.  It is my thoughts which (I believe) have centered around "body," that elusive accomplishment of the ball world.  I do not love my rape.  This rape proceeds from my cake which I have tried to make a value.  It is a cake which involves passion for my life.  I do not understand why I hate my thoughts.  They seem to go in a place which I cannot believe is for my strength.

It is my love for my life that has made me grow into a momentary life of beasts.  No one ever explained to me why they all want to be changes.  They don't, do they.


I have made a mistake of enormous proportions.  I have made mistakes over and over compounding themselves and each other.  I wish I had been the same person when I was a part of my freedom.

I suppose I feel freedom is disappearing from my life.  It is disturbing and scary to say the least because I have relied on my ability to do what I want with my reading and writing to give me some sort of future apart from clerical work or sex work.  It is not my understanding of myself which I can make into anger.  It is my fear of pain.

This knowing of life as a world in which I am fearful is nothing but thoughtless cruelty and angry loss.

The fact is I do not love my family in the way that they give me happiness.  They are at least the best that I have found for myself.  I am not the same as I was.  I cannot live up to that, and I need to stop beating myself up for it.  No matter what happens there will be good families who will act for themselves and there will be angry people who will wonder what possible reason there is for pain.

I don't understand why I am drinking of my closed laughter.  I have to become present in this world, not succumb to the hatred of people who neither care for my past nor my future but wish to lock me into a never changing present.  I do not know whaat people like about my arguments.  I think I need to stop arguing, according to Rusty and what I have also observed.  What difference does it make if no one gives themselves peace?  It must make a difference.  I cannot stand in the way of other people's lives.

I am so lost in foolish pain.  It never found me to be safe.  I am not safe.  I am not feelings.  I am not pain.  I am trying to give myself love.  It doesn't happen without my possibly rude being of my own patience. 

Patience and rudeness go together for me.  Only a very angry person will also be thoughtful enough about themselves that they will belong to their changes. 

Okay.  I do not belong to my changes. 
That helps to know that.

My changes belong partly to me, partly to the world, partly to no one.

Dear Goddess, since there is so little beauty that I belong to, (Or is it just too much?) I ask for a life that is (I am answered ) kind for myself and others. 

I believe in your strength.

Sisters

To call for correct comment
Wearies, and weighs words with woe.

A Wedding in the Provinces


In prior days
I struck at hope.

Justice was a whore
Bringing corruption.

It was the greatness
Of change I sought.

Resisting kindness,
I shamed myself.

I thought myself
Soft and hid

From the beckoning
Life I wanted.


Then two gave me
To otherwise see.

Taste of a night when thus
Doubt parted:

I alone lay awake
As finality knew me;

I reached out with
Rare shudderings as.

Truth shattered; and
Art inhabited me

(Else life is war,
Pain and loss).

I filled with a poesy
Beyond thought and habit

As lofty sanctity dressed me
In new foundations:

I traversed a New Bridge
Which revealed me anew:

A Sister-in-Three.

Etched in masquerades
I feel pain.