The barriers of time, I don’t think you ride them very well. We come up against them all the time. They’re in our shoes. They hurt a lot. You can’t see this for the daylight, the great big prison playroom we are in. It’s got walls to it intrinsically built into each one. That’s where our cameras go. That’s how we feel this test.
Your loved one’s on the other side of the room bakin’ pies. In symbolic meaning that’s a round of thought comin’ your way. You’re separated by time’s barriers. You can’t get at each other in the physical sense. Great big surprises come your way when you do, cramped experience that puts relationship to the test. You hold them there sweetly, and then you may never see them again.
You don’t know what’s up, what’s goin’ on. I’ve left my poem alone in a fire so heartfelt in love’s embrace. I can’t get at the tires, or maybe death’s got your door, and your dog’s died, the great big sloppy-lickin’ dog of your life, and no ma’am I haven’t just lost a dog. I’ve lost a reality so big it took up half my room. She was always there lickin’ paws next to my life. Losing her took my front teeth— my daughter you know.
She’s melting time’s barriers tryin’ to see me. I don’t think you know the cough of this universe. It’s horrifying. I see her damn near every day tryin’ to reach through vision to get me near to her. Death’s reality would spook you if you knew it’s there. I’ve muscle on this, but I’m pigeon-toed. I can’t just hold my girl like she’s right up against me. I hold her paw in some astronaut’s gleaming Interstellar there at the back of the house. The confines of death, they break us apart.
The muscle of time, do you know it’s there? It separates you from everything— one little lonely being at a time. Times barriers put us in a single physical space where we can’t figure each other out. We laugh out loud, then cry.
You’re a pickup truck that can’t pick anybody up. You hold yourself the station of the universe, but you can’t move a goddamn thing if others block you. They are themselves the center station too. The great paradox of life makes you powerless to act where you would give your right eye to act but cannot, in those places most meaningful to you you have no power over. You sit in time scaling your life, a sheer wall of belief and hard fact, never any top in sight. What are you doin’?
It puts us to the test. Time’s warriors bake and sell us at the flea market, but this is not why you’re here, and you last longer than Heaven, a safe haven at the back of the house to get our strength back but that can trap us too. We are so much bigger than death that blinds us all while we’re still alive. Hold your child close. Can you protect him from anything bigger than your arms of control? Fiend death my friend, he sucks. What’s the answer to all this? What are we doing?
The answer lies on a page in a WordPress blog? Definitely, if you know how truth presents itself. It’s not haughty and it don’t wear spears. It might even be embarrassing, hittin’ in society’s low spot. It would be uglier than the norm, the vehicle of truth, but it would shore you up with sincerity if you test it. It would be one among a mass that your truth sense recognize, because it is beyond belief in name and form. It’s not part of the system that ensnares you.
Come to my party? There’s no snaking you there. You just have to realize what’s been true all along, but that you have never seen because it’s so represent itself, and you only see the representation, the figure in time, or the one who has wings to be your figure of God behind it you thought about a lot but never really met. The scientist would just see a meaningless void.
Can’t you see I got your skies on? I’m not pollutin’ the skies. I’m not anything wrong. Well how about that? I hold my boy in love’s embrace, and we figured out time. That’s the challenger for your social skies. I’m not doin’ business. I’m a love angle on time to make us greater in it. That’s the vehicle in the room. Can you dig it?
The limits of time, they are both normal and strange. You can’t be in two places at once a sudden trapdoor to a greater life. You are either who you are upstairs or the little I down there livin’ life. I’ve seen this juxtaposition, where I got out of time. It was a railroad. Greater times are comin’.
Now I just comb my hair and wash my face and shoot my gun? No I land this in your lap reachin’ through a poem to you. It’s fresh meat now, but where will I be when I am dead, and you’re readin’ these words? Look around the room. Am I there a thought stroke?
That’s life, you know the big one. Strict society belt won’t even let you think this to yourself. I’m bein’ looked in on by me with a question: how much longer you runnin’ half the house? You will have a future integral with who you are on high. My God this is big, and we meet time’s barriers down the because in the room. I’m comin’ after you foldin’ time, a lesson in reality completely out of the script. You’re gettin’ that script.
I’ve come all the way from the ground up. I’m not an existential crisis. I know who I am. I’ve been shot that’s all, ghosted by most everyone, put out to pasture. What do you do with that, and you identify with the world, hold it close your livin’ self? You have gone out of time and been the big who we are, enough to see it, enough to be it to know it’s there.
I’ve seen outside the symbolism, outside the roles we play. Even if you call it a computer simulation, figuring the unknown with the known, whatever you call it, I’ve been in compassionate reality, the bigger reality beyond this one. I’ve seen the real thing. No one counts this as a thing to be known where animals food our feeding faces as our reality, no depth to it, no meaning, nothing behind, except Gods to worship and obey or enlightenment’s sweepstakes that bring you empty shell.
Can’t you see beyond time? What’s bigger than the universe? Is that just empty skies? What’s bigger than playpens? I’m a figure on that. So like the show to give you the universal accepted scapegoat as the one to show. I can’t get my name in public. I can’t even write it down anywhere near heard. Is that just because I’m lying?
Can I show you my flag? It’s not rainbow screwed. It’s your heartbeat and mine symbolizin’ time. It’s where everybody goes to school. It’s the time of day in this poem. It’s where we all meet at the end of the classroom. I’m sorry it’s me, but hello I’m yours.
The terror is only a being in time. The face of evil, It can’t get at that larger you in transcendence’s sphere. It has no power there. It can only rattle your cage. Anything it does to you it’s not doing to you but to the actor in that cage. This is the meaning of no harm can come to you.
It’s beyond time time's relevant, time's keeper, truth's formula, but it can act within time and space with impunity, with absolute, unhindered power. It is bigger than evil. It has eyes on you, not to save your life but to bring you home. It does not stare you down. It doesn’t even guide you with any advice. It’s up there. You’re down here, but it’s comin’ to meet yah. It’s comin’ to be who you are down here. This is the plan of Earth, what her victory skies.
You are a crossroads to that. We are at Earth’s great turning point to land ourselves there. I am a seed bearer that is all. I come to tell you what’s comin’, and if my voice don’t get out someone else will. This is the mystery time hides, why it put you in a straight jacket, why it won’t leave you alone. Can you understand me? Do you see what I’m doin’? I’m meetin’ you with your maker who is you. I’m solvin’ the mystery of time. I’m giving you wings to grow. Take my hand please, these worded verses, and make it all worthwhile.
Protracted, a polar bear’s smile. It’s gonna take a long time to reach Supermind. It’s not there at our feet. It’s not your garden grow. It’s not at the hoof of your horse. It has to be as common as a cold for you to see it. The more people up there for a moment’s gleam, it holds you up there breakout sweepstakes.
This area’s comin’ into our view portal now the hesitancy in time. It’s comin’ your way in poems Emily Dickinson’s undiscovered continent she looks out on from her pier. Rumi’s love poem says you can only see the sun by the sun. Did we see him there? Now this poet speaks in plain as day. I’ve reminded you of Supermind in Savitri’s care. I’m just the outcast that says it.
Now hold me close. You don’t have to do nothin’, just read the poem the miles that you work today, the poem that you reach today. It’s such a piano to look at the subway and see supernal skies. Stand the subway of time. Is that tomorra mornin’?
Emergency level truth’s barriers, time’s walls. There’s a lot goin’ on. Right at the turning point. Except for the money I wanna tell you somethin’. Your morality drinks beer. You’re not the captain of the ship people. You’re who we go to to take our stories off. Right here for you on your mark, get set… The restrict we have, we put it on things. We use safety to protect ourselves from safety. Actually a lot right here. We’re movin’ on. What’s your plan, bring us all to safety? That one சாவி, I’m inside a poem.
Have brain damage, that’s not really politics. It’s a funeral. Who would see The Last Tree Trunk on Earth? Critics say it’s a good movie. It’s spills bad. It was filmed inside Iran in secret trees. It’s got a wallop to it. You see freedom up close thrown out in the street and beaten on. You see it shot with knives. This is a real camera folks, and girls just want to have their scarves not choke them to death. Is anybody watching this? Can anybody care?
The Seed of the Sacred Fig was put in the wrong house. Brilliant you hear the arguments at the table theocracy speaks, but it’s shot in red and white, and we practice human nature with a murdering gun. We do not show human nature. A father and daughter are not that red apart, suddenly, unexpectedly, so the plot can aim its gun. Would a family go mad, horribly so, for a strength to resist evil that none of them felt they had? An entire lifetime together with daddy milk and a mother devoted to everyone, it lands on the freeway I will hunt you down and kill you love said.
How tall these movies are in our backyard. They bring humanity under the gun. Has human nature been robbed of its sense? It’s blow out of proportion so it can impress audiences and score award points. We see human nature sick and dying in movie after movie, and we can’t get over the villain. He is so perfect in his craft, miraculously a monster just doing the impossible. We love to hate him, and if it’s a her all the more.
They’ve confused us with what’s real. Human people don’t act like that, and these movies have us all alarmed, riding out our hate in tickets sold. What’s the point of all this mess? Make more bucks, and let’s take these artistic challenges and make them rob people wear. My God that’s a talented movie just on our disease.
Alejandro in Problemista almost makes the villain human, but then he wrote the apology. We’d have to go to Sing Sing for a good movie in emotional fare, so Shakespeare on Earth. Let’s not get too gay in National Anthem and spoil the show. We have purpose in our lives this movie knows not of. You wear a good Holocaust in A Real Pain, tryin’ to show it right, on the level of human eyes a human drama. What am I doin’? Showin’ you my movie list. I watch a lot of movies. I’m really into them. This is the way we spend human nature, in identifying roles. We get involved with a part. We identify with a character, a plot. It wears our lives in symbolic meaning. We get at the stuff.
We invest ourselves there oh so strongly. We’re raped with a bad ending. A good movie can make us feel good about ourselves and improve our lives. It can heal. It can do bad things. It can tear up our lives for a moment of all meaning. It is so very powerful, cinema. It goes directly to the starting point, where our lives came from and why. Alejandro is good at this. Amazing creativity those scenes where he’s talkin’ to someone, and it shows the whereabouts, the representative part.
Drum roll please. We are creative edges of time. We stand and sing our lives an entertainment for deep meaning. So many roles wear our lives. Can you get at the audience? Being after being, shrouded in unimaginable mystery, have a total immersion gamble with our lives. Of course we like movies. We are there.
A Rumpelstiltskin comes along and plays the keyboard, and we’re on bended ground unable to figure out destiny, but we can get back to ourselves. Audience after audience prevents us, the cliffhanger of our lives their entertainment point, but they value our lives in our bid for freedom and to discover who we are. It’s their thrill. They clap when the angels sing.
Are you crazy yet? You’re just gettin’ started. There is so much behind the scenes in the dragnet of who you are. I cannot show this to you, the person you are on high, the actor that has donned this long line of all these lives. I can only keep tryin’ in poem after poem and my symbolic life, but it’s a farce you know. I’ve really let yah down, right where you needed me, and there’s no way to make that up. When you see it’s a game, though a meaningful one, know like you know the body you wear, because you have seen it with your own eyes, that you are an actor in a cage, a player playin’ time, the first thing you do is fuck up. It’s the proud of human nature. It’s so stupid.
It prevents me from showing you who I am and who you are, unimaginably big, but that’s life, a goddamn movie that just throws you for a loop, and you can never get it right until you stop the pretendin’ and come together on yourself what you need beyond time. You’re not the audience I’m speakin’ to when I say I’m puttin’ on those shoes. Feel the thrill? A poet measure this poet smiles.
How do you chew on that poem? We grow in stadiums. A Watcher watches our lives. It’s dream big. It’s not who we are the audience in prerecorded time. This is not the first time creation mount. Great DVDs we live for their viewing pleasure. We are that Watcher you see, not the audience pang, and we can’t get over him. It’s too stadium big. It transcends time and space, but above our roofs it’s there, the hidden keeper of our lives, who we return to, the one who started it all in our little universe.
You don’t believe me I know, but you’d like to. The hidden meaning of our lives are compassionate witnesses beyond number and form. Everywhere they look they are there the meaning behind creation on this bended globe, in this starstruck universe, and they change us with a look the bearing on time. They are the Watchers behind time watchin’ the movie us them very selves in time. Can you feel them?
Your true self, they bring you home. Months of capacity open those gates, if you’re ready for them again, and you’ve been there before for a brief moment a time or two in all your many lives where afterlife grows. It's a certainty you remember. It’s a certainty you hold in your skies that you farm into your very ground I’ve planted this poem with, a vehicle of my own return one sudden afternoon before the death of me. You come up with yourself in the ultimate game of life, the ultimate paradox of life. That’s a round of applause. You hear the whole stadium sing your great escape, your victorious mile I put better in progress.
Alejandro, he did it. I’ve seen what movies list as our great surprise. Too mundane to take it where we meet beyond the universe, they give it gas and go. Are you hearin’ this?
Donald Trump official portrait, 2025 (public domain)
Do me a favor, blind yourself to where you don’t see. There was an executive order here that pit man against man, shot men and arranged to murder more. Can we look at the oligarchy?
I’ve seen you in rivers of hate you just think you put on for show. Make a wide trench and make that the border with Mexico and fill it with orders and snakes, great big alligators. Did you say this to your aids? The orders are to shoot people. That’s illegal Mr. President. Then shoot them in the legs.
I don’t think anybody understood that. A mean joke you say. It was the reality he thought about, never mind the children that crossed too, the grandpas and women with babies, any ole human being that wants a better life, and you said he was joking. Let’s put the death penalty all along this land, press people to use it. We’re gonna make them pay a blood lust so dear you love the president for it. I’d reach for the psychopath in the room and don’t give him arms to kill people.
Can you see the character of a man that wants to kill? That’s the president, and you think he’s joking. Let’s appease Hitler, shall we? He hasn’t become the meanest man alive, what we realized after the fact.
Now ole Trump’s got an agenda. It’s not to make America safe. We put our egos where our mouth is. America first means Trump first.
You don’t know the national politics that makes your ego identify with its nation like it’s you. It’s a constituent landmass. The ego is made up of such as these, your gender your identity or a race and a peoplehood, sexuality if yours is the odd man out, and the gas it all of religion. I can name more.
Let’s put the most powerful nation on Earth Trump first, never mind the responsibility of being your brother’s keeper. Higher ideals no longer apply. We are selfish and revel in it. Fuck the world you dirty bastards, is that what this all means?
Is that how a kid sees it? How many would share their toys? I don’t think you’re lookin’ at the younger generation and what this means to their grow up. Can I kill people momma if they make me mad?
Sit with yourself a moment. If Trump could kill his enemies would he? We’re talking about the character of a man that lets hate rule his room. Seething with ill will, he justifies a nation. It don’t come out right.
Can we cross this again? History has put these men in power over and over. You’re flattered. He has the character you wear, mean-mouthed, hate this person and that individual. Send them all back to China! Okay you put the mass in power, it’s not gonna be a good human being rules yah. I think even the Bible makes deacons exceptional. Now tell me again the Bible makes place for him.
I don’t think you’re lookin’ at dictators that steal the hearts and minds of the mass and just please your undeveloped, brass nature. Every nation lives like this, and that’s why we call it populist today.
Oh what pride the Nazis wore in their cruelty, in their disregard for human life and diversity, and they all wore the nationalism pin and wanted you to behave like them. Can we take a step backwards? Can we just almost commit suicide with the power we’ve given one man?
You don’t see it, do yah? Look into his eyes. There’s a killer there. I don’t know what history will unfold, but this man can’t be right in the history books of tomorrow. Revel in him now, praise his name; you’re on dangerous ground. He’s got the end of the world in his eyes. Can you see it?
No, he won’t stage that. It’s just what he’s made of, the world leader of selfishness and this is mine. He won’t bring the apocalypse, nothing close, but we will be so embarrassed as Americans when his power comes to a close. MAGA hell, he brought shame.
There is something ninja. He can walk around clothed in a smiling president and assassinate so many people’s lives with deportation, the death penalty, and bring it on climate change. Wow, there is something. He’s not my most selfish person in the world. He’s not my most selfish. To Earth had this lion king thing, except maybe I’ll get on the other side. One caught right here: definitely not a good person.
You’re not gonna find anyone to build your snowman for yah that froze all cooperation missed their forgiveness key. Can you see that children? He just broke in my house and stole all my transgender people. They must evoke the 5th Amendment or die. You’re gonna stay there and hope we have policy changes on Earth. I’m pregnant. Oh my God the 14th Amendment’s in there, right at the moment of conception. I tell yah an embryo’s not a person yet, even if they have the right to be. You can’t see what you’re doin’, takin’ the Constitution as the folly in the room, what tells lies.
I’m sure you don’t like talkin’ to me, but I’m the medicine. It’s not that human I’m talking about. You got too much action, storm as big as he is. I think you and I see a woman stand in our shoes. Take themselves very differently. That’s not a pedophile. That’s a lover of children that does not molest children.
Don’t be so wrapped up in pronouns or who’s speakin’ the poem. You savvy a woman speak? In his vital. You don’t know the breakdown of the human being. It’s not a mind and body problem. A vital being fits in there just as pretty as you please, mitigating between the two. If we knew this we’d understand gender discrepancies, and we’d never discount the body. I have a mental male, vital female, and physical male. What do you got? Do you see where it all adds up? Don’t get mad at it and cut if off.
Do you see the human being? We didn’t go to the same place. We went to the four winds, and it was diversity made us equal. Did yah hear me Trump? Let’s put white Americans on top by making sure they stay on top and get rid of every program that don’t put them there. I’m callin’ the shots— systemic racism.
I’ve gotta get off this island and give the right blues for my speak, and who do I address now? The oneness body of the United States. It’s bigger than the world. It includes every man, woman, and child in the world. Can you see that oneness big? Not in an amalgamated mass. We give each person their personhood and allow them to be Americans or whatever. They’re just not more important than Nicaraguans as human as they are, but we know they can’t all be Americans. We just differentiate with love not hate, or at least goodwill. Do you know the difference?
Inside a nation we see the world. The nation’s not greater than it. You’re just not lookin’ at the world right. You’re lookin’ at it in terms of you, like your ego’s your nation, and you can’t even get that right. No oneness circle there, is there?
Are you the center of the world or what? It’s so complicated in here. I’m standin’ right in the center of the world don’t you see? And that’s the fault of everyone. A common language like them best, the same culture, and we are so wrapped around skin color, racial features. Hello you there and me, fellow white people, or maybe it's black people, or all Native Americans.
Or maybe religion gets your dick? We all come from the same hole, and it’s a blessed hole, is it not? We are oneness speakers, how we identify with our beloved group. They’re in the center of the world with us. Are we just gonna drop oneness in the sand?
If you can identify with a nation you can identify with the world. We are all there don’t you see, in the oneness yard, even Trump, but not his hate, no one’s hate. A poem has made a bill of it, showin’ the world his, like it’s what he does the executive office with. There it is. Give him the shoes of a savior? You’ve got to be kidding me.
If we get into the deep roots of the poem, there’s an imbecile here, and it’s not Trump. I can see him so clearly because I’ve failed mine in great dark rooms. Shut up my speaker said; you are so pleasing to your humanity now. I’ve gotta tell yah I don’t have room to talk, but can we still meet at poem’s end I’ve shown you some truth? It doesn’t make freeways, but it lights up a path, you know? And we’ve got to get hate out of the room. That’s the item we wear. Do you hear me Trump? A self-reflective nightmare, I voted for this one.
Gardening deep in transition’s ways a like broadcast. Its own title shows its inadequacies. I don’t know how many people voted for Trump, but I’ve offended half the nation. Half the nation, I haven’t pleased them in liberties. I’ve just damaged their pride. I’ve lost my way they say. I can’t get Trump right.
There’s a man there that loves his nation and doesn’t want the government to interfere in people’s lives, unless you’re a part of the groups he mentions he thinks have slammed the nation or committed heinous crimes. He’s a figure standin’ up to tall water and not afraid to speak his mouth. He loves kin and family. He champions Israel. This is a good thing in a world that needs Israel, and he sees the war with China to make them back down and be careful with him. He’s not a filibuster that excites for war. He’s tempered there, and he may bring the cost of livin’ down.
Part of me would vote for him too if I didn’t have my eyes open on human nature, studying you. He’s mean he’s cruel, and we don’t need that. We need to be kind to one another and learn how to get along. Isn’t that what you teach your children in Sunday School?
I think you’ve lost your moorings from the true reason Christ came. It wasn’t to judge the quick and the dead. Now you’ve entered him into politics like Trump represents him, like you want to take over politics, not likin’ gender fluidity and gays teachin’ children and another host of stuff, but can you just stop a minute and study right and wrong, the fundamentals of it, be good to one another, not just your group or clan?
Do you really want a theocracy? I know that will destroy our nation. I’m talkin’ to power. It would take another three thousand years to get it back the way we wanted it, people themselves have a nature like Christ, and they get along. Can you hear my foot school? We don’t need against the law. We need love one another and be good to each other. Isn’t that the law written on our hearts?
Goodness rises from within when we open to the best in us, the highest. We need the liberty to do that, because it’s trial and error with each of us. It’s not a religion we are trying to cement on this planet. It’s help your brother and love. It’s be kind to your sister and hold her up. I know you want everybody Christians, but where would that lead us truthfully, honestly? It won’t lead us there. You’ve put Trump in that place as God’s helper. Okay is he there? What attracted you to Christ to begin with? Is that Trump?
Would you put Trump in God’s shoes that’s the way God acts in the world? Is that what you want your children to emulate? Does Trump’s behavior satisfy some raw nerve, or is it really the highest in man? We need high right now not low from our president. Do you hear me now?
What’s the biggest love you ever had? The receipt is in the bag, and you’re probably torn apart by it. Good how you doin’? That’s the ode of life, our first knowledge of it. You can’t get over its size. It jumps out and bites you all the time.
There’s somethin’ here. Your love has nothin’ to do with it. It’s a list of hard. You can never reach it. Look at the dog. That’s payment of love let me tell you. The point of this somethin': Donny get your head out of your ass. Get so close makin’ it look like people look, hear their voices, hide their fears, and they are the lovers of your life.
You want me to tell yah this dangerous love? You look awful. Do it, love you in the perfection of love’s care, and you’re this simple little organism that must awake to itself as the horseman, that you are the starship, you are the unicorn, that shatters time and all barriers to arrive back at the house the One, who wears time as his robe and space as his molecule.
Ever the mystery of God finds God, and God himself is a station of the One, created before time began. He bids you a self-discovery bigger than himself but that can fit into an atom and a plant or any ring around the rosie, but only the human being can make it real to itself. The dog just loves its master.
Now I am clothed in time, but I have worn this identity in an unimaginable sphere, and that brief moment has determined all my life. I have to deal with God’s love putting me on those tracks again, day in and day out, and I have been given a load to bear that makes me hated by you. Only the most exceptional people, and they are few, will make my life easier with their care and concern, give the comfort you get every day from friends and family. I am almost completely alone in this world, and I don’t think you can grasp this isolation it hurts so.
So I have taken the world what to make of it, and I have found God. Wrapped in unimaginable mystery, he holds my hand and lets me see things you don’t and gives me keys to man’s change, and I can still love my boy and my best friend and my dogs. I can still love the world. I can love mankind. I can love it all because I have gone through a holocaust of human abandonment, and I discovered what love is. God is love my friend. God is love.
Tribute to the poetry of tradition. I’m an art student. I’m blowin’ the lid off poetry. I can’t get poetry right to save my life. If you study poetry you’ll get it. It’s just about our choice words, painting things right. I dare my pen. Let’s follow some tradition, and I’ve exposed poetry to be in the lair of predicament, every syllable counted and every i dotted. Someone on the internet will like it. These Germans, they like system and order.
Picked her brother apart, except that Skeptic’s Kaddish fella, who goes around publicly and discerns poetry, and he can make you meet poetry in a formula. It’s not weathered beat. It’s not the formula he’s lookin’ at. It’s his heart and matter. There’s a haiku, or a whatchamacallit he’s discovered that no one’s ever heard about. A poet has these easels, and he makes them shine with the testimony of word.
He passes the feeling test. He goes beyond words into something else. How elusive it is to say. You know you’ve met a poem, but let’s hand it to ‘im will yah? David Daylight, ben Alexander, measured right everybody call home.
You can’t find this on paper. It’s in the poet’s test, what he meets inside himself to write the poem, a sensibility in time that’s brought him world after world of be the horseman in the room. He moves humanity along in great waves of identification and another brand of thinking that goes for the goal of everything, its reach and purpose in time, how the world was made and why, and can I be pretty in it?
Every little thing is a poet’s mule, the suddenness of his mile (the traditional lift to pronoun stutters my feet), not to figure out and keep, to brandish science in the room or the philosopher with his stone. We must show them to you as they are with their mystery still behind them made greater by the sacrifice but revealed in the paradox of life. Oh my great big friend David thank you. You’re the bravest man alive.
Alone for you, state it and I’ll bring it. That’s our duty. I’m not a poet I’m a blog artist. These are thousands is that so? Would you gear with me the impossibilities of paint another form of blog?
I wanna get in your living room the poet speaks aloud, the blog artist refashions the internet, and it is as legitimate as a piece of paper sayin’ things. I’ve got out the bugs, the pieces of electricity put into us electronic think.
This is my whirl with you. I take the possibilities of poetry and group think and put them right in your lap. I’m a rebel I’m a holder. I’m sincere with you. God it all stinks, and a better world is coming in the kitchen sink.
Sylvia Plath did not Gertrude Stein. You know what a kitchen is thought, and how many people sink there? I bet you didn’t include the kitchen sink, and I double meaning my poem blog post.
It’s all gone to hell ain’t it? I sit and count God on my fingers. I can’t get at it that way. I’ve got to get bigger than your living room, your apocalypse see. I’ve got to get bigger than the loss of my boy and Auroville stinks. I’ve got to be a bigger poet than a blog post. Fuck you I said. That aughta do it.
Oh my fucking God, I’ve got to get bigger than my pen. I’ve got to say to you words that open up worlds inside you that change the world. I’ve got to make you see for one goddamn minute we are not animals in a bullpen. We’re not even That. We’re ourselves in time with the means to change out of this skin of loneliness and disease that even all good people wear.
We can improve the human condition. We can get better at ourselves. I’m finding that in myself as we speak. Adopt a belief? Change yourself into the bigger man when met with the opposition, your own damn faults or the shit storm of others.
You can be a bigger person to life’s faults. You can be the skies all take room in. Do you hear my apologies?
photo of the author by a camera salesman, image by the author
I wanted to die. Everybody knows how to die. Sufferin’ from panic disorder my only friend. I have no comfort in anyone, and this woe is me will not say it properly. I cannot believe I have no worth to anyone. I’m just a field of crap, and I have seen God’s eyes, feel the world’s pain like my own.
I sit in a height of thought where almost no footing is. I’ve taken you there in our thought realms unawares. The All-Negating Absolute has me by the throat, and even God is buried in immensity. I cannot discover God one last time as who we need in immensity.
3:33, 28-years-old, I can’t give God the proper numbers. He is too right and wrong. Mexican, He took my pants off and raped me at seven. It hurt too much to tell anybody. I was cleaved.
Why am I telling you this? Afraid to tell anybody, I put back action comin’ up in the rear. Squealin’ inside me, they crossed death too a courier of the same disease, those little tummies.
I can’t give you molten lava and expect you to cherish me. I can’t even say my name. I’m a brick in a wall that you don’t identify with, bricks in the same wall.
Up here, I’m a way to photography that wall, to hold it out open to daylight. I’m a measure of that peace, but you can’t come to terms with me. I’ve sinned to much for God cares, or I remind you of sin. I’m an enigma with an open door. God the carnage at Troy, sit back everybody and tell me what hero came home. The canonical field of Troy.
Do it again, I stand before you now. Will you hear me? We swim in oceans of blood. Don’t underestimate life. There’s a moment before you when you can give it to the challenge it tasks a man with, and he must stand alone in immensity and be the voice no one wants to hear turning every ear on to a future in ideas that will save us all come that future, whether I’m the voice that says them or not.
See me today sittin' with you holdin’ your hand likewise tell me the world has turned its back to you too. A pencil in agony, it’s too early to tell, and I’m a measure of that immensity.
So brothers and sisters, I’d help you. Those tummies are in good hands. You cannot electrify them like that, put them on lurch little boys and little girls.
A needle in a haystack give you a tap. Raise Supermind, I’d be one in the world. Get ‘im a chair to latch from our very disease and bring us all to peace.
You know how it works: no ignoring you world enigma. My OMs are here. My front door’s open. Enjoy a body of ideas. Do it again, I’m really intercepting your thought.
About concessions surpassing condition in this mutual lust’s core. / From Don to poet in 30 seconds. I’m on poet duty. I’m a hole in One. Can I tell yah our range card? The ego sits in its bunker wonderin’ over friends and family, excused about relationships the very center of relationship. Hey you I’m a world, a big planet unto myself, the center of my see. You have not that validity.
You’re just out there, and I’m in here the substantial train yard. I wanna melt these barriers down, but I grab myself again, and that’s impossible. I really love you, and that’s sweet and kind. No it slaps you in the face sometimes. I’m all animal whirl when someone gets my goat, but I mitigate it with you must be in there too, just fightin’ your own wars really feelin’ yourself a wounded soldier.
Can we get out of this? I try. I don’t know where to put you if you don’t see my worth, if I am just a blob in a corner to you. We sing awhile the injustice in that. Oh my God do I compensate. I think I feel every hole in humanity. I so understand your pain, and it moves me to tears I’m embarrassed to show. My God you have a rough time little Gaza boy alone in his bed of refugees. I don’t know where to turn from your pain Parkland shooter realizin’ what you’ve done.
I’m a hole in the fence to a greater life I can’t fit my own self through, but I’ve been there a time or two, on the other side of that fence, miraculously arrived in the very vision of God’s eyes, and I know we are safe caught in the lifetime passage dream to bring us all out of strife at the end of the tunnel.
My God I would be there now if I could unrealize the dream. So I sit and suffer in a peculiar sense of humor that sees beyond the show. I know we will be made right. I see this in my puppy dogs trying to crawl into me to feel safe and ease their loneliness. I am the master of love to them, and I am but a prototype based on God. We’re headed somewhere, you and me and the whole damn crew, so I hold my dog and comfort you, who set bars alight wantin’ to get at this lust’s core to dream to change it.
I would not be bothered safe. Now tell me now would you? Would you give it to ‘im, this poem over there, if he were your little boy in trouble? We can fly the world on a single point where suffering goes and capture the whole poem. Oh my baby dog Nithish, we wish you a happy birthday on tomorrow’s wings.
Can we reach the delivery of the poem that our being intercepts? I am worried about contradictions and just pissing people off instead of reaching them. Nithish is suffering. I don’t know where to stop that. No one seems to notice because it’s not polio, but it’s heartbreak nonetheless. He misses me, a mother to him for many years, the most important person in his life for many years, and I’m not the only one saying that; his heart does.
He’s in mourning, and that’s not recognized. It’s not even mentioned. He’s not allowed to talk about it. There is no outlet for his pain. His mother knows it’s there, and it makes her very angry, and she punishes him for it. What’s a kid to do?
He cries. He gets angry. He implodes upon himself, but there is no issue from this dilemma. It just keeps getting worse. He cries. He carries on, and the pot boils over. Now he’s desperate, and when you’re 13, adolescence has given you weapons the child you are still can’t handle. It’s a dangerous moment in Nithish’s life. We want what’s best for Nithish, and if we want anything else, we are really playing with fire.
What’s his name, Pride? You wanna let ‘im shoot your kid? It might be a gentleman that gives you honor and social prestige, for a little while, but when you put it above your child’s needs, above goodness and mercy, you wreck your life in the fall you have from Pride, when it’s gotten to the point even you know you’re wrong, and that you’re treating your child badly. But you don’t have to fall. Put down your pride and address your child’s needs, okay Sandiya?
I’ve looked at soul models. I’ve looked at grief, and you’ve heard me on Facebook tellin’ about it and all over the damn place. I don’t come on this platform to insult and offend. I’m much better in the werewolf of time reading you right. You took a bath tonight. Son of a bitch! We are closed. Abolish One on the way. Who do you get to come after you, Mr. Cat Stevens talkin’ about the Peace Train? No you get a me pointing the finger at you for all these abuses.
I respond to my muse. I respond to the image of my boy. I know he’s hurting. Now can I spread this on the table? He’s really hurting. These are deep wounds he has to live with, and they just eat him alive. You don’t know the pain of suffering when you’re just a little boy all mixed up in adolescence, your body a whistleblower, and everybody knows you’re confused. You’re standin’ there with a sense of self no amount of world can resolve, and you can’t grab the world by the tail because it has you so tightly in its grasp you just want to please it, make it go away.
He’s an adolescent, in the most difficult years of his life, the most confused, the most tender where he’s sensitivity it hurts. He is already a well of suffering, and then someone took from him his support and his comfort and his home, in his mind of things, took from him his daddy, and you all know how I mother people, in a way that made it I’d died with no contact allowed ever again in his life. Oh my God that hurts in the very substance of yourself, and it’s a pain that won’t go away, even if you want it to. That boy hurts. Please see that. It’s terrible for him. It’s the end of the world. Oh Sandiya please listen. For God’s sake listen.
Yeah I know I’m studying your attention like I need to end this poem. Not quite. Transact another line. Who has turned over, that’s always a thought. Believe me, we can fix this right. Everyone would have run had he been 13, a teenager in years with their what's up. There’s enough fuel, still childhood left, to remove this pain, to take these scars out of his life, take him to his blue book.
Healing is the first thing I’d do Sandiya. I heard his manhood depending upon this time. Please, open, open up in there, and put down your arms of control that’s squeezing the life out of him, and let him be with me, and let him be with you, so that it doesn’t hurt. I’m the denomination now, and that doesn’t hurt. Do we throw this boy to the wolves or what?
A kid his own age, George, I know very well. I really know kids, like it’s the focus of my life. You know that boy’s in trouble, and you know what has happened, and you know Nithish needs me because I can make it right. Pay him back on the outside what he needs on the inside to heal, and give him me for his birthday, and give him the happiest birthday he’s ever had. Give him what he needs. Let him on his birthday be with his daddy, and here I am.
To murder someone else on the arms of a little boy, in the status of a little boy, you hit the nail on the head with what keeps us from being human to one another, what keeps our humanity at bay in the everyday meaning of relationship.
Nithish has a parent that’s me we didn’t put together by law or found by blood. Time did it, growin’ him up in my care, parenting him. No amount of denial can change that in this boy’s heart or in my shattered life. No amount of lies can make it undone. We are parent and child and more.
We are each other’s significant other in that our lives are undone in the worry over the other. Where do you see that? In his inability to concentrate solely on school, in his brooding silence, in his anger that’s at a flashpoint every time, in his antsyness and nervousness not knowing what to do, in his inability to sleep at night. These are just vehicles. Those around him know something’s up, have known for months now, and all the punishment you can give him can’t stop it, all the control.
You got a situation where you’ve gotten rid of one of the most important people in your son’s life, / a very important person to your life, even important to the school his goes to, and that was done in what amounts to murder in the first degree, where you simply killed him as cruelly as you did that: without any thought of goodness or proper action, cut me out of your boy’s life like he was holding the gun, and you even made him shoot me, and he suffers for that to no end.
You can’t say why you done it, just that your parental rights give you that right, and I have none, what it boils down to, whatever the dyslexia of the situation, the Sri Aurobindo, and you split your family doing that, made culpable his school.
Who am I again? A real live person in your life no amount of getting rid of will get rid of, and even if you actually did kill me, or send me off in space, I would be around your neck in plain view of that boy for the rest of your relationship with him, what you did to me and why so you can have him for yourself.
Can we rule of the heart of the matter? And the heart is a tough customer, and you feel it too. It’s what we live by, overrides every rule, shows itself as the leader of the life in every relationship. It can’t be denied, and even if you ignore it, it will make sure you can’t, and you can’t can you Sandiya? That’s why you control him so much. You know he wants to be with me.
He’ll be 13 in less than a week. I’ve been to every birthday that boy’s had, been a principle player. You know what he wants for his birthday. He wants his daddy. He needs his daddy. You are his mother, and that’s what mothers do, meet their child’s needs. Was he born from your womb and now you own and possess him, or are you really his mother? Well are you?
Anyway, I want to see him on his birthday. Why can’t that be arranged? That’s tonight’s show.
Harm's End 