[Edit.]
the first post of my journal. I deleted the original one just now -28 December 2010 - because, as every first post was a mixture of pegs. Yes, worse than what I wrote later. However I wanted to keep the post to remind me in the future-you never know, with my galloping amnesia-the journal that I created in July, not August. That's it.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Raylene Richards Wikipedia
open parenthesis without
.
For a moment I was tempted to say "my name is Julia," but would not be enough. Julia is not just my name, what they are. It 'really me.
In addition, since the eight months ago I started to think about writing this thing, now is the very first time that instinctively jot down the words I am and I'm not . Today, yes, I came by instinct, without second thoughts.
I am Julia, and now that I think is my entire life who claims to hate the name, and I began to think that life is a bitch I say.
I swear that I was being too confident, but you know there is not at all true. All my life I will
mind, I even lied to myself, but I had not really understood anything.
Giulia I like exactly the extent that I like myself. That is, in a way incomprehensible. The sound of the word Giulia gives me physical pleasure, and that the Tuscan languor even more, I'm sick, I soften, wins my defenses.
Not to mention my other name. Someone who understands everything about me, in fact, someone who understands everything even though in vain, call me Jules, the masculine in French. He was born to Jules and Jim, but it was a moment think of it as mine and mine alone. Jules is even more soft and eloquent Tuscan lick, and I have even more.
I'm Giulia and Jules are more often, and sometimes I remember Jules on who was at the beginning and I think if I had still some who call me on a daily basis so my days would be less sad. Be that as
Giulia Jules as I have done many questionable things, that I decided not to be ashamed for allowing me to survive.
I loved too much, and I hated it too, and now perhaps less of the person I love is this that GJ, unwilling to give up, who wants to learn to love yourself to be accepting to love others. I think not being able to hate or love less violently so, and it is my conviction.
GJ is not a male or a female and loves both males and females. In the list of things che si dovrebbe sapere di me, a volerle sapere, ci dovrebbe essere questo, anzitutto. Non è particolarmente importante per me ma di solito è particolarmente importante per gli altri.
Altri forse direbbero l'età, o che sono orfani di padre, o, descrivendosi, che hanno le tette piccole o l'uccello grosso. Se ci sono cose, tra queste, che mi appartengono, io invece le ritengo poco rilevanti.
Per essere Giulia, sono fin troppo forte e resistente, e adattabile a difficoltà, fatiche, e situazioni pesanti in cui districarsi.
Per essere Jules, sono fin troppo animalesca e carnale, ho i sentimenti inspiegabilmente fragili, quasi come i capillari di braccia e gambe.
My sex lives and buds both in the head in the fuck I'm missing: and for this, from time to time, you identify with the pleasure of other men or other women. Actually I do not care enough about where exactly identified.
Among the questionable things I did in fact there is a certain sexual arrogance, selfishness, which I was judging but always evil in others. I would deny my love and exaltation, for me, altruism. But I only know to what extent it was selfishness.
In general, I never find a balance between two opposites. I can not find a good balance between opposites in general. I end up blaming me for excessive self-centeredness or remorse a morbid and unmotivated altruism.
We are opposites, and the excesses that are a source of anxiety for others. They have to do with the words sex, naked, modesty, and very excess. For me, the only shame is that of others, only that my sex, nude, one of the two. I'll try to explain.
And always about sex, so you can close the topic.
Creator Jules called me sex maniac.
I do not miss any of this, I said. What I do I is not compassion, and compromise.
I did, there was a false altruism apply for too many years, which bade me not to tell anyone, not saying a word about me, until I die, until I almost saw the death, until , I ended up not wanting it, the death, until I went ahead and passed me, death, and finally I decided that I did not want to hear more, of death, I wanted and I had to wake up and take the steps to reverse course, to face death, to invent a life. Before that
china descendant, however, I had done nothing but impose myself to others, with the result that in the end I did not want me very close either.
Anything else to know about me is natural from the name, do not know why I do not know how to explain it, this time not.
Giulia Giulia is if it can tap, if others can breathe.
Giulia is calm it may feel as they breathe and move like skin and eyes.
Giulia is basically physics, a physical undisputed and impossible to separate from the rest.
I waited for the laws of this physical passion, devotion, stupidity and lethargy, until I discovered what was their limit and ended up where they are applied. I have taken away with pride. Then there are session in a new form. This requires me
physical contact with others. To immerse myself in their hands. I am a victim of the hands, and I love my love with the others. I try to imagine what people feel when they move their hands. And it is devastating.
Physicality is not because it is undisputed flashy or intrusive. I am not at all. But the physical contact / emotional is a part of me just like eye color, it is clear, is a stretch immediately recognizable. But
.
more I advance, I fear that most will end up telling only pieces me.
not exactly my intention.
I wish I could draw, rather, what they really think of myself. And it's hard. The Julia
the problem, the real one, is not able to focus on the central node. Like when I am asked "what kind of things you write?" And I'm left speechless, because I simply write what comes into my head, without any definite idea or a theme established.
So I do not know what my theme.
I'm Giulia and I can not hurt to the bone but I really do issue forth all the pain.
It does not take much.
As Julia, are a tangle of fears.
as Jules, the loving father who accompanies her to overcome them.
I'm afraid I do not see. I'm afraid that the best part of me that is indecent I can not show everyone.
I'm afraid the trivializing and those who think they already know me after five minutes I are eyeing.
irritates me who I take for granted.
Jules always tells me that is the price you pay when you are a bit 'different, not enough to have the label of different, but enough to feel uncomfortable with those who do not identify what lies in diversity.
I think I'll never know who they are, and that is part of the game.
I reflect on the fact that I have only now begun one thousand stories with the words 'I am Julia,' and they all have different endings.
I am Julia and I would a little 'fuck the route of not wanting to be full so often, because in the end are not really different, it's just not the same.
.
For a moment I was tempted to say "my name is Julia," but would not be enough. Julia is not just my name, what they are. It 'really me.
In addition, since the eight months ago I started to think about writing this thing, now is the very first time that instinctively jot down the words I am and I'm not . Today, yes, I came by instinct, without second thoughts.
I am Julia, and now that I think is my entire life who claims to hate the name, and I began to think that life is a bitch I say.
I swear that I was being too confident, but you know there is not at all true. All my life I will
mind, I even lied to myself, but I had not really understood anything.
Giulia I like exactly the extent that I like myself. That is, in a way incomprehensible. The sound of the word Giulia gives me physical pleasure, and that the Tuscan languor even more, I'm sick, I soften, wins my defenses.
Not to mention my other name. Someone who understands everything about me, in fact, someone who understands everything even though in vain, call me Jules, the masculine in French. He was born to Jules and Jim, but it was a moment think of it as mine and mine alone. Jules is even more soft and eloquent Tuscan lick, and I have even more.
I'm Giulia and Jules are more often, and sometimes I remember Jules on who was at the beginning and I think if I had still some who call me on a daily basis so my days would be less sad. Be that as
Giulia Jules as I have done many questionable things, that I decided not to be ashamed for allowing me to survive.
I loved too much, and I hated it too, and now perhaps less of the person I love is this that GJ, unwilling to give up, who wants to learn to love yourself to be accepting to love others. I think not being able to hate or love less violently so, and it is my conviction.
GJ is not a male or a female and loves both males and females. In the list of things che si dovrebbe sapere di me, a volerle sapere, ci dovrebbe essere questo, anzitutto. Non è particolarmente importante per me ma di solito è particolarmente importante per gli altri.
Altri forse direbbero l'età, o che sono orfani di padre, o, descrivendosi, che hanno le tette piccole o l'uccello grosso. Se ci sono cose, tra queste, che mi appartengono, io invece le ritengo poco rilevanti.
Per essere Giulia, sono fin troppo forte e resistente, e adattabile a difficoltà, fatiche, e situazioni pesanti in cui districarsi.
Per essere Jules, sono fin troppo animalesca e carnale, ho i sentimenti inspiegabilmente fragili, quasi come i capillari di braccia e gambe.
My sex lives and buds both in the head in the fuck I'm missing: and for this, from time to time, you identify with the pleasure of other men or other women. Actually I do not care enough about where exactly identified.
Among the questionable things I did in fact there is a certain sexual arrogance, selfishness, which I was judging but always evil in others. I would deny my love and exaltation, for me, altruism. But I only know to what extent it was selfishness.
In general, I never find a balance between two opposites. I can not find a good balance between opposites in general. I end up blaming me for excessive self-centeredness or remorse a morbid and unmotivated altruism.
We are opposites, and the excesses that are a source of anxiety for others. They have to do with the words sex, naked, modesty, and very excess. For me, the only shame is that of others, only that my sex, nude, one of the two. I'll try to explain.
The loop of a head looking at body, and a body looking into the mental darkness, I wrote years ago before collapsing into the abyss.
was the description of a sleepless night spent wasting time with pictures to spend infinite time.
What is the bare, one wonders.
For me, anything, for me there naked. More than anything, there a vast amount of voyeurs who will never understand what goes through my head. This for most of the time. My naked is useless.
There is a considerable dose of exhibitionism with which I deal. There was very often a need to look at the rest of my eyes, those perpetually horny man whose female frenzy probably no other man will ever be able to wear out. I
the hermaphrodite of the soul, or rather the head, because it is part of the head that sex. I create a bridge in that thick that occurs in my chest, between the inside and outside, between man and woman, and child and adult.
And always about sex, so you can close the topic.
Creator Jules called me sex maniac.
sex maniac I am. And 'the sex maniac in me that causes me shudder. It is not bigoted legacy of any sort, or a symptom of repression.
I have pleasure in experiencing my every perversion, I feel no remorse in doing so, I do not hide, do not deny in the future and will always defend the naturalness of my essence and instinct I feel in me govern, unchallenged. Using the tag perversion but there's nothing that I think that, actually. Using a convention (the word is.) There is nothing in this itchy. It 'an instinct unchallenged, and not the contrary. There is no trace of view, in my rejection of this part of me, just sometimes, I would be more. Something else. Different. I agree, but with a lucid awareness of what I would change. Without the dramas of unrealizable desires. I
I do not miss any of this, I said. What I do I is not compassion, and compromise.
It hurts me and it irritates me that my nature while enjoying the sensual, healthy, the brain places it in an area that does not want to leave the field permanently, does not want to cancel. Yet that field turns out to be distinctive to me contemptible. Can I finish my nature to accept even when it goes against my own expectations? May need to be subjected to two opposing desires, to be built with difficulty, is to leave them be, not caring what I could do more to try again? Strive for a goal, try to imagine a purpose, try to be a purpose.
's when I deny you have a purpose, that our sex.
I talk too much about sex. Or I speak very little and through every thought as the warp and weft with a horizontal vertical. I think too much in terms of sex, all day events, all the people you come into contact.
irritates me not shake this thought almost never during the day, it pisses me off automatically. It annoys me
never read a break free of allusions to sex, positive or negative. It 's a healthy addiction that I would, but I'm afraid not. E 'sound because part of me, it is not if removed to another area.
Seeking a gesture, a gesture natural
to be sure that this body is my
seeking a gesture, a gesture natural
like our whole self.
's me, simply.
is not the non-acceptance. They are made in this way, composed of parts and other pathological and deviant sound, and I also very much like the second. Usually, I am confident that someone better than me keep them at bay in a more efficient way of how I try to do to make it a part of his nature, but not the only one.
I did, there was a false altruism apply for too many years, which bade me not to tell anyone, not saying a word about me, until I die, until I almost saw the death, until , I ended up not wanting it, the death, until I went ahead and passed me, death, and finally I decided that I did not want to hear more, of death, I wanted and I had to wake up and take the steps to reverse course, to face death, to invent a life. Before that
china descendant, however, I had done nothing but impose myself to others, with the result that in the end I did not want me very close either.
Anything else to know about me is natural from the name, do not know why I do not know how to explain it, this time not.
Giulia Giulia is if it can tap, if others can breathe.
Giulia is calm it may feel as they breathe and move like skin and eyes.
Giulia is basically physics, a physical undisputed and impossible to separate from the rest.
I waited for the laws of this physical passion, devotion, stupidity and lethargy, until I discovered what was their limit and ended up where they are applied. I have taken away with pride. Then there are session in a new form. This requires me
physical contact with others. To immerse myself in their hands. I am a victim of the hands, and I love my love with the others. I try to imagine what people feel when they move their hands. And it is devastating.
Physicality is not because it is undisputed flashy or intrusive. I am not at all. But the physical contact / emotional is a part of me just like eye color, it is clear, is a stretch immediately recognizable. But
.
more I advance, I fear that most will end up telling only pieces me.
not exactly my intention.
I wish I could draw, rather, what they really think of myself. And it's hard. The Julia
that are sometimes speaks of a process without peace, on a road you want ungrammatical who want to look through the eyes of a fifty off the mouth of a thirty year old. And it is this voice that gives you, you would like to give a purpose, yes, would, without the constraint of the answers aloud.
There is nothing to understand.
There's just something to be declared at customs, something strong, something weak, something that belonging to or better recognize us as owners.
My voice is biased because like you often hear a loud voice, a silent voice would take for the smell of rotten which is known to be due to the sickening sound which I would escape.
And yet I did not say much, I did not say anything.
In fact, I do not know everything. I do not know why I do not speak to me personally. I hate those stories where the narrator is as a third person, it is presumptuous. But I can understand better.
There is nothing to understand.
There's just something to be declared at customs, something strong, something weak, something that belonging to or better recognize us as owners.
My voice is biased because like you often hear a loud voice, a silent voice would take for the smell of rotten which is known to be due to the sickening sound which I would escape.
And yet I did not say much, I did not say anything.
In fact, I do not know everything. I do not know why I do not speak to me personally. I hate those stories where the narrator is as a third person, it is presumptuous. But I can understand better.
Even so, the first person if I think there is, no one can have taken the presumption of certainty, the only challenge the word IO.
Not even I can do it. I can only give examples in which I am involved, and take them as a paradigm for something I have not yet identified.
I am something with a stronger sex, but not definitely established. My male ego has an ending, and only you can dress it with thoughts and emotions better omissions. So little man, too, sometimes all, sometimes enough to labor in the reconstruction. My ending gives a fuck if some of the miracles of indeterminacy, and takes advantage. As I write stretched out his hands in the bag, this bag could also be very nomadic women if it was not used as an envelope of spending bottomed laundry. And that recovery from the bottom
masculine scent that I had so desired, which is cleverly sipped from my park feminine self-sacrifice. The fingers will swallow a few drops, which will make the rounds of my day: I do not need much to calm anxiety which would recall to duty for many reasons.
the problem, the real one, is not able to focus on the central node. Like when I am asked "what kind of things you write?" And I'm left speechless, because I simply write what comes into my head, without any definite idea or a theme established.
So I do not know what my theme.
I'm Giulia and I can not hurt to the bone but I really do issue forth all the pain.
It does not take much.
As Julia, are a tangle of fears.
as Jules, the loving father who accompanies her to overcome them.
I'm afraid I do not see. I'm afraid that the best part of me that is indecent I can not show everyone.
I'm afraid the trivializing and those who think they already know me after five minutes I are eyeing.
irritates me who I take for granted.
Jules always tells me that is the price you pay when you are a bit 'different, not enough to have the label of different, but enough to feel uncomfortable with those who do not identify what lies in diversity.
I think I'll never know who they are, and that is part of the game.
I reflect on the fact that I have only now begun one thousand stories with the words 'I am Julia,' and they all have different endings.
I am Julia and I would a little 'fuck the route of not wanting to be full so often, because in the end are not really different, it's just not the same.
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