Th se wh cl ng t w rthl ss id ls f rf t th gr c th t c ld b th rs. B t , w th s ng f th nksg v ng, w ll s cr fic t y . Wh t h v v w d w ll m k g d. Salvation comes from the Lord.

Hello. This is the concept of public and private.

You are the maid?

Yes. You are the sister?

Yes. How did you know?

Bumping into china plated walls

Calling: Te echo de menos. Vuelva a casa.

Unfastening seat belts

Less Crowding in the world

VUELVA.

My, my, my. My, my, my.

The heat offered up from your body

Last night's sex stains the

Silvery bubble of shaking hands

Being alone in a rolling

Box, rectangular as metal constraints

Only, do not tell Lane.
Oh?
She wouldn't like it.

I'M HAVING A CONFLICT!

Here, I made this

You can see, You Can See

Bumbling laughs

Betwixt declaring me bad

Knowing and unknowing it

Shallow water gives a thrill

Caverns are filled and good and not good

ESTAS DE ACUERDO CONMIGO.

Maybe I should go.

To Virginia?

No. I mean, am I interrupting you?

No. I was just--cleaning.

But if the watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet to warn the people and the sword comes and takes the life of one of them, that man will be taken away because of his sin, but I will hold the watchman accountable for his blood. -Eze. 33:6

Passage for the simple

Read it as if you were looking at a new piece of art. Read it as if you were filled with loving bias.

"Because of the Lord's great love we are

not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion;

therefore I will wait for him.'

The Lord is good to those whose hope is

in him,

to the one who seeks him;

it is good to wait quietly

for the salvation of the lord.

It is good for a man to bear the yoke

while he is young.

Let him sit alone in silence,

for the Lord has laid it on him.

Let him bury his face in the dust --

there may yet be hope.

Let him offer his cheek to one who would

strike him,

and let him be filled with disgrace.

For men are not cast off

by the Lord forever.

Though he brings grief, he will show

compassion,

so great is his unfailing love.

For he does not willingly bring affliction

or grief to the children of men.

To crush underfoot

all prisoners in the land,

to deny a man his rights

before the Most High,

to deprive a man of justice --

would not the Lord see such things?

Who can speak and have it happen

if the Lord has not decreed it?

Is it not from the mouth of the Most High

that both calamities and good things come?

Why should any living man complain

when punished for his sins?

Let us examine our ways and test them,

and let us return to the Lord."

To the dearest of dear friends:

In many ways, these images are identical.

Don't tell me my reason for living is incorrect. I would never even think to tell you the same. And remember, it's easy to say you're open-minded and tolerant, and in the same breath prove yourself wrong. Don't think of yourself as hateful? Don't promote hate. Do your own thing, don't spend your precious time trying to nullify everyone else's things.

At home being alone.

I feel at home being by myself right now. I feel completely satisfied knowing that I'm going to be worried about something tomorrow, when I'm by myself - maybe with other people. But at least I'll be fine with being by myself. It bugs me when I see people that can't be by themselves. That can't be by themselves without getting down about something, without doing something destructive, without spending the time in their lives in a forcedly adverse way. Nah, not really. It bugs me when I see people that can't be by themselves without making issues for themselves. Without creating a scenario for them to wallow in. Those people that fumble around stunted obstacles. Don't let those obstacles get real for you. They might get so real that they become embedded into your character. They could affect your relationships. Be careful, because relationships are what make life worth living.

I feel just fine. I feel pretty, mighty fine.

Time, And Life, And Their Importances.

Time, And Life, And Their Importances.

I want to write sexual poetry at 5:30 in the morning.

I want to bull rush the motor cars in the near vicinity.

I want to slap the unkind in the faces, and wake up the kind.

I want to read through endless words that may or may not be meaningful.

I want to add colors to all four of my walls.

I want to make permanence about the temporary facets connected to me.

I want to label every piece of matter with a beautiful word.

I want to smash the clocks in my mother's house and hug people tight.

I want to develop every mediocrity that's ever been announced to me.

I want to scream until I can't breathe above the water.

I want to paint a coat of glaze over every orifice of perverts' bodies.

I want to erase all sense of worry that I've ever felt creeping into the nooks of my mind and my concepts of life.

JOT.

If I just listened more carefully,

I'd learn the rhythms of her heels

As she rolls her shoulders back

And sneers all the way,

Down the lobby.

If I reached a little farther,

I would find more of the beads

That she left in her purse

The beads from her

Old friends.

I have the worst habits,

And she has them,

But we're not the same - no, we're not even close and her beads are much bigger than mine.

Mine are easier to lose,

To forget.

Poetry enjoys taking itself seriously.

Huh. Why not?

I don't ever want to read another piece of writing that is not my own again. And somehow, I feel like I can make that sound a degree or two less incredibly self-absorbed. And I'm sure the scant amount of people that actually check this stuff out might be able to understand that. I hate feeling like I've been molded by all the literature, all the recent mezcla that's tapped into my subconscious, and everyone I talk to or read from on a daily basis. It's so strange that the way we piece together our words, the way we "shape ourselves" stylistically is based around our favorite parts of the world outside of our intellect. And in a way, it's all very much contained within our own intellect - I guess we just perceive it that way. As if it was really our own.

I've been doing mildly rebellious things lately. And when I look at the things, they're really silly from the Joe perspective. It's just this fun little secretive thing I've been doing to entertain myself in one light. Mostly.

But you know I don't really want to make a list of them here, and the fact that I don't want to tell people about all these silly things just proves that I've been brainwashed into thinking I have to be a stick to honor my God. That's just it. I've been trying so hard to free myself of all nonsense, and trying to stick to the Bible more and more, and stick to the Holy Spirit like glue. Inside I know I crave the Word, and I crave the freedom to be with God on my own and not holding the hand of the church on my left, and the hand of my past experiences on my right. When I say church - don't get me wrong, I'm not referring to the real deal, Christ's GF or anything, just you know..the people. As much as it's so necessary to have relationships with the people, we shouldn't paste the words of our peers into an extended version of the Bible.

Communion Cups

Thank you God.

For the ocean.

Thank you God.

For the family.

Thank you God.

For the vehicle.

Thank you God.

For the ability to forgive.

Thank you God.

For helping me learn how to forget.

When I was a kid, about 8, before my mother got remarried, I was convinced the only reason my stepfather was placed on the earth was to make me jealous about sharing my mother. I figured it would be over after a certain amount of time, and it would be my mom and I again -- happy.

When I was a kid, about 8, and I can't stop thinking about this, my mom's boyfriend got mad at me for not wanting to bring my jack-0-lantern inside to the trash. It was rotting, but I was upset because he wanted to get rid of my work of art. I went outside, pouting and disappointed, and the door was locked when I tried to get back in. I knocked for a long time. No answer. I started to get scared - really scared. I was crying, and scared, and I was panicking.

I'm not sure if I was scared because I had no way of getting back inside on my own, because I was 8 and I never thought I'd have the problem of getting inside my own house, or because I felt like my mom and I would never be as close to each other again. I felt like my life was being intruded upon. It couldn't be natural - whatever was happening to my eight-year-old self. I mean, thinking about it, nobody - no adult, had ever acted maliciously towards me until that very moment. I still don't understand what makes people mean enough to do hateful things like that to people they love. But they're still doing it. I wonder what they think about. I wonder how they feel about it.

Thank you God.

For giving me a mom that unlocked that door, and for giving me a mom that wants to protect me from every evil.