do not despair: shariah blackheath
a. asked if i might write something for his eco website on veganism for health.
i said how about something on staying vegan when the instinct is for a permanent breathitarian hunger strike.
just read the rolling stone article on julian assange.
england is a place where my reserves have dwindled.
i came here high on the idea of england, as if it were a place, or a culture.
i feel weary now of the chemical air on the tube, the harsh militant folk who run into your shoulders.
i feel tired by the way "MADAM" is shouted like an insult.
today i had bread, cous cous, and humus and orange juice.
writing the special few about starving for the human rights or the international law.
my instinct to be here, is intellectual.
that i then get verbal abuse from some california lawyer.
it reminds me of why i dont like america, or american law especially.
it fosters a very rude pushy attitude.
theirs is industrialized profit skimming off the backs of the working poor.
i was one such.
feel moved by the man who sold his boat to come visit wikileaks.
even the taxi story so much a testimony to the human spirit.
julian discussed being called both a mossad agent and an anti-semite.
the wicked support of his london klan still galls me. as one claimed to owe me money, whilst also owing me an apology for roping me into some childish pranks.
its all blood under the bridge.
losing my friend and safety four days ago was such a shock.
more on the tribal antics of men, in the acquisition of women.
picking up chicks in the ghetto---the occupy ghetto, the occupy london
advisable?
preying on the economically vulnerable?
not exactly erotic.
the hunger carves away at my feeling of identity.
i don't feel myself, but one with the phantom of the poverty and atrocity, one with the suffering and the determination of occupy.
i wish i was there.
but to repair my health, for the trial.
work out logistics for the entree of wikileaks central writer.
our housing expectations having collapsed. feel suddenly sorry i am costing her fortunes.
the differences in my generation versus the older generations.
there was no shotgun, and i was not stoned.
but overall the scene was this: poor law scholar supporting wikileaks and occupy needs shelter.
then the little tidbits about would i dust or do the garden or enjoy ironing his shirts.
no wonder virginia woolf killed herself.
when then, the first syllable of horrid cruelty to women comes, complete with the declaration of affection, then i can see, that the long wait will prove the metal.
as what english aristocracy thinks of itself: unicorns and fairies are no cybersecurity.
the demands of being house-less or home-less in favor of the slow drip through on the missionary circuit. and there finding, which kind of fanatics have which kind of hire, and then, i hoped to make my way through the obsession.
i hoped it would end.
but the meaning of it was too true, too resolute, too moral, and too just.
massacre of children and the abuses of war cannot be suppressed in the internet age.
if i said straight to his face: julian assange, i have dealt with all kinds of harassment and abuse and overtures and occupy just so i can make it to this trial in the UK, because i really support what you did, intellect to intellect.
in the meantime, gather cardboard to fortify the tent. choke on the fumes of the city of london.
write jim lafferty of the national lawyers guild in los angeles.
as i had briefed him on the wikileaks scene last may in LA---then i wonder if he will understand more now---
or if i am meant to lay down and die.
the loss of my friend comes as sadness.
huge intellectual boost, yet
there were technical generational gaps---huge caps---and i do not smoke or eat fish-----so then.
also, if i were harboring a destitute political refugee i wouldn't put such a burden of implicit harassment via so much prancing around in the nude.
what would the MP friends think?
it was something i suffered because no one in my life values my existence and intelligence.
i suffered it to enjoy the value of his conversation---his intelligence.
so now---cast again---with all the cruelty and sudden-ness
one thing i always thought---is that i trust him more---because he doesnt trust me---to give me his name.
was he mi5. doubt it.
i am in pain over the significance of my work for him, bringing him gifts and gifts from my mindless skipping----none of which i can enjoy.
i do not understand male greed.
i wrote mother : "at least there is no shotgun" but then moreover "at least i was not stoned."
it seemed true capitalism: kick her out and confiscate her goods.
the luxuries i am missing are this:
towel
tissues
powder
shampoo
soap
necklaces
pillows (seven)
tea kettle
tea
oil
soup broth
spices
edith wharton biography
the gifts to him were:
indian bell strands
new zealand totem sculpture
wooden sculpted candle holder
rare coins
a huge mirror
a nice large green suitcase
a red robe
many carved purses and necklace
dishes
incense
chopsticks set
bread and milk and bread and milk and bread and bread
most everything i brought to occupy london
donations for the occupy london poor of zac goldsmith's england. MP zac goldsmith supports julian assange.
i lived there 20 november to 19 january, spending many nights out at occupy and arriving late.
so the arrangement provided me with a place to base going to extradition debates at parliament 24 november and 5 december as well as court 5 december and 18 january for occupied justice.
from there i did much work.
accomplished:
interviews with the irish defense lawyer
a poem
films of occupy the musical and the great wall of wikileaks censored
i am not sure if it had anything to do with antisemitism in britain. there is that to consider. i took it for petty jealousy and 1940's social code.
that and i have no money.
i said how about something on staying vegan when the instinct is for a permanent breathitarian hunger strike.
just read the rolling stone article on julian assange.
england is a place where my reserves have dwindled.
i came here high on the idea of england, as if it were a place, or a culture.
i feel weary now of the chemical air on the tube, the harsh militant folk who run into your shoulders.
i feel tired by the way "MADAM" is shouted like an insult.
today i had bread, cous cous, and humus and orange juice.
writing the special few about starving for the human rights or the international law.
my instinct to be here, is intellectual.
that i then get verbal abuse from some california lawyer.
it reminds me of why i dont like america, or american law especially.
it fosters a very rude pushy attitude.
theirs is industrialized profit skimming off the backs of the working poor.
i was one such.
feel moved by the man who sold his boat to come visit wikileaks.
even the taxi story so much a testimony to the human spirit.
julian discussed being called both a mossad agent and an anti-semite.
the wicked support of his london klan still galls me. as one claimed to owe me money, whilst also owing me an apology for roping me into some childish pranks.
its all blood under the bridge.
losing my friend and safety four days ago was such a shock.
more on the tribal antics of men, in the acquisition of women.
picking up chicks in the ghetto---the occupy ghetto, the occupy london
advisable?
preying on the economically vulnerable?
not exactly erotic.
the hunger carves away at my feeling of identity.
i don't feel myself, but one with the phantom of the poverty and atrocity, one with the suffering and the determination of occupy.
i wish i was there.
but to repair my health, for the trial.
work out logistics for the entree of wikileaks central writer.
our housing expectations having collapsed. feel suddenly sorry i am costing her fortunes.
the differences in my generation versus the older generations.
there was no shotgun, and i was not stoned.
but overall the scene was this: poor law scholar supporting wikileaks and occupy needs shelter.
then the little tidbits about would i dust or do the garden or enjoy ironing his shirts.
no wonder virginia woolf killed herself.
when then, the first syllable of horrid cruelty to women comes, complete with the declaration of affection, then i can see, that the long wait will prove the metal.
as what english aristocracy thinks of itself: unicorns and fairies are no cybersecurity.
the demands of being house-less or home-less in favor of the slow drip through on the missionary circuit. and there finding, which kind of fanatics have which kind of hire, and then, i hoped to make my way through the obsession.
i hoped it would end.
but the meaning of it was too true, too resolute, too moral, and too just.
massacre of children and the abuses of war cannot be suppressed in the internet age.
if i said straight to his face: julian assange, i have dealt with all kinds of harassment and abuse and overtures and occupy just so i can make it to this trial in the UK, because i really support what you did, intellect to intellect.
in the meantime, gather cardboard to fortify the tent. choke on the fumes of the city of london.
write jim lafferty of the national lawyers guild in los angeles.
as i had briefed him on the wikileaks scene last may in LA---then i wonder if he will understand more now---
or if i am meant to lay down and die.
the loss of my friend comes as sadness.
huge intellectual boost, yet
there were technical generational gaps---huge caps---and i do not smoke or eat fish-----so then.
also, if i were harboring a destitute political refugee i wouldn't put such a burden of implicit harassment via so much prancing around in the nude.
what would the MP friends think?
it was something i suffered because no one in my life values my existence and intelligence.
i suffered it to enjoy the value of his conversation---his intelligence.
so now---cast again---with all the cruelty and sudden-ness
one thing i always thought---is that i trust him more---because he doesnt trust me---to give me his name.
was he mi5. doubt it.
i am in pain over the significance of my work for him, bringing him gifts and gifts from my mindless skipping----none of which i can enjoy.
i do not understand male greed.
i wrote mother : "at least there is no shotgun" but then moreover "at least i was not stoned."
it seemed true capitalism: kick her out and confiscate her goods.
the luxuries i am missing are this:
towel
tissues
powder
shampoo
soap
necklaces
pillows (seven)
tea kettle
tea
oil
soup broth
spices
edith wharton biography
the gifts to him were:
indian bell strands
new zealand totem sculpture
wooden sculpted candle holder
rare coins
a huge mirror
a nice large green suitcase
a red robe
many carved purses and necklace
dishes
incense
chopsticks set
bread and milk and bread and milk and bread and bread
most everything i brought to occupy london
donations for the occupy london poor of zac goldsmith's england. MP zac goldsmith supports julian assange.
i lived there 20 november to 19 january, spending many nights out at occupy and arriving late.
so the arrangement provided me with a place to base going to extradition debates at parliament 24 november and 5 december as well as court 5 december and 18 january for occupied justice.
from there i did much work.
accomplished:
interviews with the irish defense lawyer
a poem
films of occupy the musical and the great wall of wikileaks censored
i am not sure if it had anything to do with antisemitism in britain. there is that to consider. i took it for petty jealousy and 1940's social code.
that and i have no money.
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