Special thanks for this moment— Bruno. At his side, he getting a life-saving blood transfusion, I wrote the poem
The most gates at society, hey! Propped on the sand in an eurythmic sweet sense, I look at humanity in raw oysters. There’s nothing there that makes us rise above our bull. We get decimated sometimes, and the humility lasts an hour. I don’t understand all this mess. It’s popcorn and candy to our sense of self tryin’ to prove our worth to one another. Look how big I am, and we can say that so subtly. I mean look at me will yah?
Can we spend this? It’s expensive not to see. I count this in humanity in everywhere I wait, in all the plays of the crowd. I want to get bigger than myself. Little everybody treats me, and I’m offended in my self-wears, and little I am. I can’t seem to see this when I’m in a fight. I don’t know how to handle it when I’m spellbound. Can I list my achievements please? Can I show you my worth, again?
Do I have to eat lunch with myself again? You’re not listening to me. If I was two I’d pitch a fit. That’s where I learn to get you to pay attention to me. I get expert at it by the time I’m twelve, and then all hell breaks loose, and I’m just shit-canned again, too old to get my way. Is that when the braggin’ starts? I have got to show you I’m worth, but I’ve lost all the old ploys, and I’m doin’ it again, wantin’ you to validate my self-worth the modicum of humanity.
Is that all turned on to kick-start our humanity, the pedestal I preach to you? Wow, I can sound so good in words. Do I hide behind my writing I knock down every word I say in some pinch or another that my hypocrisy wears? The hypocrisy of others stuns me. I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere on the planet. There is no accountability for it.
Wow do I read sweet words. Can you solve the problem with love without love? You just get likes for it. Nowhere does it bring social change. The social understanding that you’re the victim too, my God that’s the pants we wear. Get people arrested will yah? That’s all you’ve done. You’ve crime and punishmented the thing. Everybody gets mad at people. It’s how you social change, with a baseball bat, but we can’t hypocrisy our way out of this. Love has to be love or it’s not love. Understanding holds you sweet. It doesn’t embarrass you in front of the crowd.
Where do we go with our social understanding to see the lies arise in everybody where we find our brotherly love? Can you understand that? I can’t cover this. I can’t even say it. You just write beautiful words. You don’t mean them, and there’s no way to show you you don’t. You’ve got that covered. You can’t see them in the arms they wear. You can make yourself sound pretty good, but unconscious springs get yah when the spell of your unconscious arise and offers your behavior to meanness.
There is not a day I don’t encounter this in somebody. You’ve encountered a rat in everything society says about me. The principles of love and pray don’t apply here, and you have permission to shoot me in your thought, and that’s a release mechanism like all society wears. If I even say the name you’ll hate me, and there is no way out of this.
I could have done a better poem and kept my social status out of this, but we can’t spend your hypocrisy on nothin’. You’re just bruise your shield in that unspeakable name. Now where you at? I don’t think it’s in loving shares. Oh you do your family alright, a satellite I, but to love humanity you must wear everything in humanity you hate, identifying with that behavior. It don’t come out any other way, the principle in your subconscious communicating that spell “oh I’ve encountered someone I don’t like,” and in the roles of identity you have to know you’re there: I am humanity. This gets larger than everybody, but you can’t find it without accepting everybody.
The roles are mean, even in children, and I need to see this in myself, and I bridge it that way to its appropriate goodness. You hear this now. I’m taking myself and getting myself out of the way, not for any humanity worth, not so you can see me. I just want to be myself, okay, the actual me, the thing I am behind the play, not yet angel wings, but the natural me that’s not stuck to anything that can afford to be nice because nice is what it does our human soul, and nary a subconscious spell can touch it, no matter where you meet life.
The basement’s all cleaned out, and this comes down from on high, if you want to know the truth of it. You can’t just declare your love. You have to raise it up out of you in the skeletons you wear. Can you get my pen rose? Can you hear it please? You have to get down and dirty and clean, at least in the eyes you wear. Whatever you do, see it.
I’m gettin’ down to the natural colors of my room. Do you hear that? Look at yourself some mirror. Roles involved with sweetness, and you’re being bigger than the heys of the crowd. Just don’t recognize that’s where you want mental health to go. Good for her, good for him, take advice.
Real life forum for the discussion of school peace, a brick, that brick has something to do with you. We don’t wanna do it, continue, and we face certain destruction. Death is ever on our knee, and the world fail is in the picture now. A sudden storm could kill us. We are never safe, and we just explode all the time, come to hope and then crash, come to bay and then sink.
If you are left out of this loop, eventually your cross will come. We are not safe from crisis, and we are manipulated to star’s end over the avoidance of such. Some have good fingers, some no. Just look out for what’s right. You have it all the time, in some speaker in your room.
The avoidance of death is not possible, but we can make peace with our time that comes. We can ground ourselves in reality, and we can even see what’s ahead, and if there’s disaster ahead, well this is the crux of the matter ain’t it? We don’t want the suffering to kill us. We have to find a solution, or chaos reigns.
And what of prolonged disaster? I have been rejected by society like men on death row, and there is no way to climb out of this hole. It’s pleasant enough. I live in a bright home, and no one will see me there. I’m not value to anyone except whom I can count on one hand. This is deliberate and mean. It’s not the normal social isolation. So shoot me for it and let’s move on.
I’ve measured humanity in my bare hands. I have been to the top and the bottom of this old world. I commune with spirits and the impossible. I have seen things you don’t want to see, and I’m not talkin’ murder and mayhem. I’m talking about the fresh expression of the universe ploughin’ us down to make its see, how the Gods sit in their homes and use us as dice in their gambles on the world, and we get crushed, and how God watches too big to help. We are at a certain level of universe that pay the price. We sit on Heaven’s back the sustenance it needs to survive.
I have found a way out of this. I have found the truth of who we are, and it’s a slow movement’s crawl to the goal, when this is time on earth. I’m not filling you with hope I’m filling you with seeing. We are bigger than all that. We are outfielders from another universe that encompasses this one. We abide there now on our tops.
I’m speaking from there in the knowledge I give. It’s clear and certain knowledge, and it will open up the whole world to you one step at a time. It will mitigate disaster, break in on it and help you rise above it. It will sit with you at night and hold your hand. We are a dream weaver’s store lost in our dream, and it’s a collective dream that we share together, and we will wake up together when the time comes. That’s the certainty of dream.
Now can I honest myself here? I’m a pauper when it comes to Earth’s stuff, but I’m rich in meaning’s worth. I’m a brink in the wall that is us, but you can take me out and see time, remove me and see beyond the universe. I crumble in my own hands, and even in my tears, if I cannot feel the joy on my tops, I know it’s there.
I have given formulas for world change, and they go by unnoticed. I have laid practicality at philosophy’s door, given psychology wings, and taken the big questions and answered them right in front of your nose, and the mind meets understanding, and I’m just this existence worth that has no place among you. You think so?
I’m gonna dictate mission impossible. With all due respects, can we land society here, I’m conducting a sense of sacrifice where I meet the world? I’m writing this with a déjà vu. Even if you have not had your lives torn asunder, do not find yourself in hell on earth, or smell that awful stench near, can you make ends meet, support yourself and your family and not have to struggle all the time?
I’m talking to the great majority of mankind. Oh my God, poor people gonna rise up, get their share. [sing this and above line, tune “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution”] Can I sing to you another song? It’s the only way to be human on this planet, whatever your religion or creed or nationality. We temper our hearts with a sense of sacrifice. I’m talkin’ to the captains of business and all who make a profit sting.
You can tax the rich all day, and you haven’t met them in their homes, where they need to see their lives are propped up on so much suffering. Cynical people don’t need me I know, and people that run over other people to make them pay are not interested in changin’, but do we have to back them up in society and pretend it’s not happening, the great rape of mankind?
Yep there is. It’s everywhere apparent, and politicians take off our shoes and show us other stuff. Can any responsible journalist hear me, concerned teacher in school, professor? Preacher from your pulpit look at this, temple master. Can we talk about sacrifice in business as a way to heal humanity, / discuss this every day where politicians get our vote, where the rich see TV and governments listen?
Why is world fail? No matter who you blame it on it always comes down to this: somebody’s getting rich at the expense of others, at the expense of the environment, at the expense of us. It’s not a hole in one each time, and there are other factors, but tell me this one has no bearing on today’s world. Tell me it’s a trivial matter. Why aren’t we talking about it where we rise up and make social change?
I’ve put this in your hands right alongside the transcendent, how we get by in this place. I’ve put it right alongside social justice, without mentioning punishment or the price of beer, I mean sex roles and how you spend them. I’m givin’ yah things to talk about in a voice that matters. I’m showin’ you what’s up. Thank God I’m lost on social media. Just think if word got out. Mainstream do you hear me? I’m lettin’ the cows out. I’m lettin’ the rich hear me. I’m taking social justice by the wings.
What is the formula for world change? C-o-m-e t-o t-h-e t-y-p-e r-o-o-m. Your typewriter to write it. Eternity is a crossing reference for the that’s how the book of love. [sing line from the word that’s] So much more beyond our horizons. I’ve been up there you know, on our tops, and I’ve failed you. I just kept goin’ in an old movie and racked up my isolation today, again and again. Bless you I’m sorry.
Sacrifice is the only way to meet these things: you have to have it, and it hurts other people. Nothin’ you could do but give that up: boy I hurt you. This lasts a long time, where you find others lookin’ at yah funny and suspicious of your every move. You will not be rewarded for sacrifice.
Get that through your thick head if you’re making a profit on people’s pain. Turn philanthropist I’m sorry, and you’re givin’ till it hurts because you love them so, well that’s tough idn’t it, no one believes you. You’re still around money.
But you’ve come a long ways, and you’re not doin’ this for the praise of the crowd. That’s hypocrisy. You sacrifice your Wall Street for love. I can’t tell you how to do that, fall in love with everybody, and with some people it will never work, but you at least learn to identify with them. It does start with empathy, and then it goes through spiritual change. You see the oneness danglin’ everywhere, and you want to make it right with all there is. I guess that’s the stoppin’ point for this poem: let’s begin that shall we?
It’s all a fantasy program. How are we localized here? This stays. It comes and goes in the realms of sleep. We are in a huge tin can, and escape is impossible if you follow the seams.
We don’t even know we’re in here. A big accident gluttons our text eating up forever. This is existence proper, with hot sauce. This is existence on earth, and we suffer here.
How is it done? How are we fooled so early? Not as sick as existence proper. We last a long time in our menageries. The fairy roads to existence startle all of us. It’s all a sparks’ weaving fairy dance putting circumstance in place the settled fact.
It’s a picture show to tell you the truth. Now where is that projector, and is it being filmed as we speak? Something’s funny goin’ on. Can you find existence in there? Can you even get at it?
It’s a big story-house in space that we can’t find the light of, and we are trapped in our rooms of single seeing. Better men then me have pulled these cords, but this is my poet’s worth, but these are my poet wings.
Where does it all lead to and why? Do we even find out at the end of the movie? I can take you farther than Earth in the rounds of Earth, and I can show you time in a bottle. You would not believe who we are outside where we imagine the universe. It’s the secret of the ages, and we carry its wind in our sails comin’ back to itself.
What prolongs the long game, and what makes us suffer so? Can I tell yah? I just did. The tell-tales of existence, I’m there. I’m in the picture show with you. Can you guys see that?
All since childhood I went busy with it, the message I’m supposed to give of another. It makes for short poetry. Where are my feelings for me? It’s been the subject of my lifetime. Self-centered rides there, but so does a vantage point to study life, the name of existence on my lips. I can only see me as the protagonist of this drama, only imagining what it’s like to be another. That’s not self-centered fact.
I live here: watching the world go by the center of myself. You do too, and I’ve found this out myself: our integers are the same. What makes a person a person fills both our bottles and crashes them at the same time.
The social hierarchy will not let me poet to you the discovery we are the One. I cannot wear a poet label because I have not yet been given it by the crowd, and I bleed to tell you things.
I’ve been all over this place, climbed the mountaintop, sojourned in hell. I have been on broad rivers of mankind, and I have suffocated in stinking swamps. I have entered duality to wear them both till kingdom come, and then I get saved by the bell. Reach inside me and see I’m writing the papers of existence, and I help existence be.
I’m fighting for my room. You cannot harbor the truth, the truth of anything in its bare-bones reality. They will get you for it, the powers that be. Reality is being fed to us on a silver platter with cyanide, and we all believe the lies.
I’m easy to take down. I’m the most hated scapegoat of the day, but that opens up truth in a man, having to face himself to society’s mirror, and you are sincere to the test. It can open up worlds of seeing. It can make you love humanity when your self-love has joined the same.
We stand on great big tests today that eat our lunch. Never a lie’s been told, the dinjins will tell you and mothers and fathers all over this land and governments and snake pit operators. Oh my little child you are safe in how we rule things. You must dog eat dog and get out there and compete for bread. It’s greatness of your kind. The devil dance on a great mankind, and we will go to war to prove it.
Now let me tell you somethin’. It’s all subterfuge. We are avoidin’ what makes Tommy safe, Wendy grand. We have to flower in our room to humanity my dear, find the Self in everyone, and let that be our guiding light to discovering God lookin’ at the world through our eyes in the fullness of his vision here on earth. I just told you the truth, what’s happenin’ in the evolution of time on earth, in the world play we’re all a part of. That’s the secret that all existence hides. Can’t you see it yet?
80’s little horror war, what threw away? The administration of Auroville. It was surrendered to the government without even a care, and we lost our autonomy that way, at the toss of a dice, and the government rolled in.
Are you countin’ India to allow human unity to take over? What was the village thinkin’ in removin’ The Sri Aurobindo Society from the scene? Can we grasp Sri Aurobindo? The Society doesn’t, and it will block you to this day if you disagree with them. What was the Mother thinkin’ givin’ the township to this obviously irreverent crowd to love and compassion on earth and human unity.
Stupid me, stupid you, we excuse her for it, but this is the mistake that baked the day and ruined Auroville. Can anybody look at this? If ever a mistake was made here was one, and now we’re supposed to take her every word as gospel, as if she made no mistakes?
Where has she been all these years watchin’ it fall apart? Is she comin’? Yoga relies on inner seeing, if it’s got the content of its worth. I’m not talking about intuition, your intuition says this, your intuition says that, in a gut feeling, no matter how you describe it as the opening of the day.
Inner seeing’s a gut worth’s no. It’s concrete formulas laid out in time, spoken word, revealing vision, or the dream maker putting together the house for you so you can see it. That tells you where it’s at. When I entered the yoga I picked up the Mother right away in dream and vision, her signal loud and clear. That was in Auroville the first time.
She was not proclaimin’ to me her gospel, her avatarhood. She was puttin’ sadhana together for me it’s a sunny day. What made it so difficult, I just knew hell had entered my birth and would not let me go. What difference she made when she came on board. You couldn’t tell it from the outside for so long I’m ashamed to say. Look at that to Auroville. Can you gauge her time?
I’ll tell yah the Indian government can’t. Nor can it see spiritual vision or uses it to make decisions, spiritual vision as in seership, not a quote you pull out to prove your point. We are left with the Indian government in charge of Auroville, refueling the Mother’s words with their agenda, purposefully pulling her out of the picture by putting her in it the mouthpiece they wore.
You can see it happening. You just think the Mother’s responsible for it, but she did not ordain this, nor the government taking over when the Auroville Act was signed. How do I know this? I’m an inner seer, and we always live on the outcasts of time. Way out there, we question everything is this the divine?
I sit on your bench, okay? I’m a hologram holocaust survivor, and I can say my own name. I love the Mother because she saved my life and protected me all these years. I know the strength of her word, her teachings. They have held my hand for so long, but what she taught me you can’t find in a book, not even hers. Deities make mistakes, and avatars ruin, and in order to change ourselves we must see that to understand what we’re up against.
The whole paradox of creation comes down upon our head when the actual change comes about, to keep it from coming about, and you can hightail it and run back to Houston, or you can bear the impossible. A stallion of waves stampede, and you’re just everybody, and no wave can block your tide. My deep thought Auroville, can yah folla me here?
I got soul, a flare, when the authorities are so big. We have dark roots. We’re not gonna terrorize anybody. This is the poem that tell you where it’s at, the soul we find in the machine. Can you stomach this long road? Reach for middle ground, and no soul will show for you. Life isn’t easy on my mark, get set, and my personal arraignment will show you the hallway and the entrance room. Exploding tigers, eh? Exploding entranceways. Exploding tests.
Your soul returns in a blissful way. [sing line] I can’t find my wife. I can’t help it. I’m just get lost in things. What’s the status on my boy? He tries to finish. One second, make me some time. I will operate on my parents. I will come right straight to you.
This is Dylan. You look like Jesus. What are you reading? I will be right there growin’ up. I will give you forms and things, all your books. No one pets me. I would love to guard against that.
The evolution of a single day, we minimize it, blocked by life’s stuff. We can’t see the carton in the room we hold evolutionary purpose. We split in two, just bang our heads against the wall, grab society by the horns and be pulled apart by it.
We are pulled apart by society, so many tin cans in the room. How do we detach from all this stuff? Bring society into the room keepin’ your knees in it, and you’re just gonna get lost in it. I have an opera beyond society, behind every little thing in the world. It’s where I eat lunch. You hear it in these stanzas.
Okay I’ve got a grow room, and the entanglements abide. You hear it every day. I’ve got a little boy named Nithish taken from me, and I complain about my poetry: reader get me more. And I’m worried about my dogs dyin’, the lack of respect I get from my landlord, and the soup I had lunch with yesterday. These are entanglements.
Auroville doesn’t need me, does it? And no one in Auroville will give me a sticker and put my name on their greeting card, at all. I remain isolated, and they publish my poem every week in their newspaper. I write poems there too. The yoga will not even give me the time of day, the yoga of human unity and life on earth growin’ oneness wings.
Okay what is soul purpose? Can an entanglement say that? I’m watchin’ evolution here. It’s sees me, but I think it’s turned the other way. I’m bummed out about my entanglement. These are vital moods the life force carries all day long. I can’t get rid of ‘em. It’s a spell from places deep.
Alright there’s a chester drawer, also from places deep. It’s the soul in the room, behind and apart from everything. Yes, yes sing to Auroville today a guiding light, write poems to the yoga, and hold that boy when I tell yah to, and let go of your status among men. I’m the soul detach worth, and I’ve got mountains of soul change ahead. You hear that music now.
It’s a blister on Easter. It’s hard to come about. It’s the soul detach on things, and you hear it now, and it feels good, doesn’t it? How do you cultivate this nigger? By puttin’ soul change ahead, recognizin’ your time of sleep guides towards that when you wake up from dream.
Don’t just stay in your room. Have you ever put your thoughts in another as they walk by? What thoughts are they havin’? And you’re tryin’ to wear their skin. You feel them there. And pick out some sore spot upon the Earth, and put your consciousness there like you can’t get bread too, and your children are dyin’, and you feel this with your tears. Can you get there?
You’re openin’ up soul in the room, and you keep doin’ it with everyone you meet, especially those close to you, and this is an inner job. They just know you’re sweet and kind and tryin’ to figure them out. You keep your hand on that lever, everybody won’t even know you’re doin’ it. You know how selfish people are. I don’t know if there are any returns on this. I haven’t gotten any yet. People don’t see it. They see themselves, and you’re givin’ them what they’re worth. That’s hard. Entanglement number four, fuck you.
Are we all here a hero’s worth? I think not. We’re just involved with ourselves, and we sum it up for loved ones, satellite I’s of our solar star. The soul change gets us to see our room differently. It’s a battleground in there to separate the wheat from the chaff, and you don’t let no one down.
You learn what’s expensive in your room and costs you your evolution, what’s expensive in there to hold you up every time. Can you see this notion? It’s a soul room, where peace on earth comes from in the larger sphere. Can you gauge this?
I’ve just given yah a formula for world change, and all you that know how, will you dance with me? It’s a formula you give your room that opens up the world to us. It doesn’t come in a tin can. Is that so hard to believe? You try to wear their skin thought today.
Open the door. You try to wear their thought today. Takin’ a bath belly up while we ride that tone, we really reach in our heads and get it done, findin’ the light in everybody and brinin’ evolution to the forefront detachin’ ourselves from all these cares gettin’ to the soul need of each one and bein’ big there. ¿Comprende?
Making’ the soul of sacrifice, can you pull a soul play in that room? It’s a shame you brought your brush, charmin’ hair Nithish. He’s not a pumpkin no more cause he’s got the credit card to bring you in lean with him, and he can’t say your name right. A child forgets his toys if they get lost, and should he perchance see you, they kid cashes in taking advantage, and you’re left swingin’ on a short rope. It’s okay he loves you. Just get away from him in thought and wrappin’ around him all the time. Let the soul take over. No problem connecting him to you there’s a soul range ahead. Capisce?
To the soul on earth need help, and you see the need, and you parachute in. I’m not tellin’ you to leave him alone. All's worth on him and he needs to see yours, before you run out of windows for him. A moment in my futile pen all's say. No one holds the true purpose of mankind. One major soul note I have given you at my own expense, and now I have to live with this. They had a nice chair there buddy. Learn to look though. Take pictures of him again it’s bright and shiny future says Earth must do.
I did yet the big big pen to help me find him. It’s just my name’s not on his notebook anymore, and what can you do with that? What’s that music? He really felt it, and he really wanted our hope back.
I’ve got a lot of folding chairs here, and they’re supposed to sit in ‘em, like in 24 hours, on a moment’s notice. I grab my dick and double click, and no one comes along (I’m murderin’ my pen), except a thoughtful read of you my good friend right now. Oh gosh gee I’m sorry, I can’t pull it out, the poem that says it all, and you do see me tryin’. You are the world to me. Oh, sing with me, sing for the year. Sing for the laughter, and sing for the tear. [sing two above lines turn of “Dream On”]
The slightest word crowd, you can really show the writing on the wall. A few minutes ago you had us to the tune of “Dream On”. If it doesn’t work out for you, dream on, but we don't doubt that boy woke up.
Another life on earth, we enter that life today. Can you believe I’m 21? I sit in bathtubs and smile, holdin’ onto speech that has not come. I’m butt naked, and no one sees me. I haven’t entered society yet. I think my penis said that.
I lift my voice and sing syllables that make sense to me, and my truck, my God my red truck, it’s bigger than life. I’m a destruction derby all day long. How do you expect chaos to get along? When I pee everybody drinks it, and I’m glad that I did.
I just shouted. Did you hear it? I can turn a principle 13. Here I am in my kingpin. Wow that’s tight. What body part did they make? I am really in the ditch with you, and it’s wonderful ain’t it?
My body is on fire with the touches of life, and I can feel my own skin. I go through sudden rages, and no one even answers me for it. You can’t say no to me. I want to do everything. I love the sudden grandpa. He doesn’t practice the word no.
You know what it’s like to run free? We will find thought soon. I’m an image in my head of pumpkins waiting for the birth of thought. That comes with language you know. My grandpa gave me a new word today, careful. I fall so many times.
Okay I’m 21 months, and I’m takin’ my time. Who wants to be thrown to the wolves? I’m just all out in front of everybody. I’m Dylan. I'm myself to please.
photo by the author taken in a secret five minute meeting with Nithish nine months ago
I’m fighting stars. I have no idea I can’t do anything unless my muse reads it to me. You are the couch existence sits on to write. Still hasn’t found you able to write anything. Here, do this circle.
No matter what I say, no matter what I dream, I can’t get rid of those institutes that go against the grain of society in compelling posts. I have been left without my boy and wondering if he’s better off without me. I am bereft of hope, and this is bigger than my boy. Is the whole thing a tin can?
Is existence squeezed out of existence by the Diamond Bearer? Is this all a charade, and even God himself can’t stop cryin’? Is there a safe harbor anywhere, a safe place? I’m talkin’ existence big.
Thank you I’m smart and can see the ruse in everything, even my own ruse. I can’t change my consciousness to save my life, and I know what change means. Are the roads to Supermind blocked by Supermind? Is enlightenment just a scare? What gives?
Do you know how fucked up everything is? Do you know how big it is, the screw in everything? We can’t climb Mount Everest with that. We are foiled by cliff hangers, and we can never reach the top, and in the history of poetry I have to explain to you symbolism. Nothing gets out of my bag.
Do you know how tall that is? I’m meaning’s worth, and I keep reaching holes in my story. I don’t understand all that is, but I know Gods play with us, and there really are monsters under the bed. Can you see my daily life?
Bigger than being it arrives from distant shores, the very breath of being, and it gets there all the time, in our underwear. I cannot move this molestation. Are we fucked from the very first? There’s a hole in the program. Whatever it is that uses us for existence is unhinged? That’s how the story grows?
What guarantee do we have that it is safe? Are we existence’s pall bearers? Alright arouse my pen are we safe from the universe? I question everything. In the horror of day to day living, living where peace finds us and goodwill, you can’t condemn it all to understand. You can’t even breathe.
Do you know we eat bread together on the inside, and I am you and you are me? That’s the joke ain’t it, we spit on that. I’m goin’ somewhere, even if I don’t believe it sometimes. I’m tryin’.
There I am on cars, and I carry the world around all day a poet’s worth. I have these great big thoughts that ground. I mean I’m a scout for the human race really involved with you. I question my own worth, but that’s not throwin’ myself away. I work in the engine room of humanity, and I don’t even think you know there’s there, for what it’s worth.
We haven’t found ourselves yet larger than our own personal skulls, dangnabbit. I’m a shopping spree of the limits of ideas. I can do it, get out there where no thoughts are, and I can hold existence in my hand. Is that a safety rope? I’m gettin’ underneath things not because I have to because I love you, and we can figure you my little boy.
I witness the safety ground, and I’m lookin’ for it in the large eyes he wears, and I could just tear my heart out, you know?
I have the living room in my hand, and I got a shot at Earth lead me to him. That’s the death of a unicorn has almost swallowed him whole, and he don’t know how to feel right, my little boy.
I’m comin’ upon him now. I’m placing a wall. I thought for a brief time there’s no doubt about it this is what he wants to flower with me.
You can’t lose your job. James, I’m tellin’ yah the truth. You will have his little hands in yours again, right there on bright Earth, where the Earth makes sense. You’re fillin’ a role in the sky.
I didn’t allow there’s monumental change ahead. What happened? It’s alright— monumental impact. Well here’s the movie here’s the camera, and I’ve got ‘im, I’ve got ‘im in my pocket. [sing this and above line] Can this be like all played out?
Wide God, did he actually go to touch that? No, he resurrected Tommy another poet live on earth; another poet rides the Earth.
With over the top crime get a modern classic. Are you a surgeon? Oh my God, you’re a baseball bat. The look behind the ship is very primitive. There’s mom and pop and the show and the school bag. There’s the policeman with his gun, the psychologist with her table. Society is not challenged in its moving parts. We are blamed on social media.
A kid kills then what? The repercussions of society. We do not see where his crime came from, like there’s a killer in everyone waiting for social media. Children will take a knife and stab someone, and they are perfectly normal. Where did his rage come from? He wasn’t beaten at home.
Adolescence doesn’t show this. It can’t. They were construing society to make it say something it doesn’t. Crimes do come out of the woodwork, but with the attention to detail on this one, this was aimed at social impact. Perfect television The Guardian says, and they convened with Parliament.
They wanted to get a point across they said. I don’t know was that toxic masculinity? It makes kids kill. They really hate Andrew Tate, but do kids act like that, divorce from themselves and murder someone if they aren’t already predisposed? Can we see the answer here?
I don’t think we can see nothin’ but what the producers want us to see / and want society alarmed. It’s propaganda beautifully done. You can’t argue with it, but I can do more than that.
Let’s put a kid’s genitals on the screen. What happens in adolescence? The biggest thing in their lives, gargantuan wears. Their genitals have needs society doesn’t recognize. That thing growin’ between their legs, openin’, pulsating, it won’t leave them alone. They have to do something with it, but they’re not allowed.
They get tripped up with masturbation because it’s an ashamed text. Some parents guard against that, some societies. Never is it okay on the news. Now let’s turn the volume up, and they have to. Can you admit a sexual need?
Why is it normal for a 13-year-old boy to just stay away from vulvas and the tits of some girl he likes? Why is normal for her to refuse him? Okay we don’t want unwanted babies and disease, but what is your beef with them touching each other? They’re budding all over the place, and that’s only arming them for the institution of marriage years from now?
What they can’t they touch each other? Is it all a fear of sex brinin’ babies along? Have you met a one yet that did not come from intercourse in the intimacy of two people? Yes marijuana leads to heroin I know, but children fumblin’ with each other, children not older teens, are just not that competent, you know?
And maybe we could mitigate that with better education, and all through growin’ up their genitals were not squashed. We have to keep adults off them, but other children no. It leads to a safe society, letting little Johnny express his gun, little Suzie what she’s got. Do you know where sexual disease comes from? Squash a kid’s genitals and see. So many social ills come from there. Adolescence can you see that, or are you just too ripe blind?
Can we get to the human drama of the thing, the confusion of a child all alone growing up. No matter how many people around them, the scuttlebutt of their mates, they outgrow their skins, you know? And they’re punished for it. We have no outlet for them. We make them toe the line, stuff them in school, sports and whatnot, and regulate all their time.
They’re gettin’ hair down there and unspeakable urges, but there’s still monsters under the bed, and they can still rock with a teddy bear. They wanna be held at night if they’d admit it, and in everything they look at they just want to be loved. Do you feel that?
What do we do to make it right? There’s so much we’re not doin’ I can’t turn on the light for you. There’s a space a garden I said, and we’re worms in it tillin’ the soil. We haven’t opened our books yet and reviewed the hidden skies or walked across our dreams at night. We can’t see consciousness in our book and we share it all, and how we all sit together in time hidden identities of one another. You look at the outer book and fail with the tribe of children.
You don’t know how to meet them in the bigness of their thoughts. You give them grocery lists and jobs to do, and you entertain them awhile, but can you reach them where their soul touches earth? Can you take their hand and lead them past rainbows and hidden splendors to discover their purpose in time?
You don’t know what I’m talking about, and I’ve breached it again, your idea of society, but you will take a child and throw them in jail, whatever you call the detention center, and rub their nose in their crime, and you call that good society, and the protection of children leads here? Get tough on them they're kids who’ve committed crimes. It’s the only way you deal with crime since the beginning, takin’ an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth or as close as you can get with make them suffer in prison. Can we get outta here? It doesn’t the ramrod Adolescence.
Some weird stuff I’ve blighted you with, I’ve put on your phone, and you will just ignore me again. I’m talking to the public. I don’t get the reach of Adolescence. It’s spurred you on to make social change where kids watch social media. Meanwhile your hand is down their pants terriblin’ their teenager, and I’ve used an analogy don’t get mad. You are not right with them, and you know it.
All you give to them is the machine, the dissatisfied lives you wear, the boredom that rich people wear. I’m goin’ through the roof. Want to join me?
A TV show called Adolescence, a molten band, you’ve all been fooled. It doesn’t solve anything. It only makes you cry. It doesn’t even identify society as what’s wrong with us. What social media show us, all our fault lines. Get rid of the looking glass yes, and go back to newspapers and television sets, so’s they’re not so visible to us.
A kid will consider it. If you’re not too busy with your life, if you hold their hand there, no Nazis present or policemen, you can wrap their hand around social media where we make a better world, even watchin’ Andrew Tate videos or the mean Vegan Teacher. You let them chose the material, and then you engage them there. Am I spittin’ out fluff? I’m giving you the history with my kid, until the TV show went off the air, the tragedy that showed me adolescence’s fall.
White supremacy for mayor uttered in Wilmington. They just chopped people to pieces. The injustice lags the sky. I don’t believe it happened. I cried when I heard about it. Can we play that again?
We do it every day, not massacres, although they come along. We put people in power that hate Blacks. We give White supremacy a place at the table and call it by other names. We don’t know how to count it. There isn’t a racist person in the state. Even a White supremacist will tell you that.
Do you know how they feel, the Black people at the table? Of course they’re racial gatherings. What do we do with their anger? We don’t know how to handle it. It’s hatred for us, and nobody gets better that way. Nobody even knows what’s goin’ on. We are stirred up by so many people, and the unseen lends a hand.
Not all good people are good. A Kumbaya feast doesn’t do any good. Racial unity, we have to address our sins first. We have to see them there. It’s a feelin’ we have around Black people, even with our smiles on. I’m sorry will you get the broom and sweep the house? I’m gettin’ at colored folks in the drawing room of White men. We face each other not as equals. Our attitude hangs out the beekeeper. They are inferior to us in our American bones.
These are racial wounds we spit on and light on fire in the complacency of man. How do you get rid of this? You shove it down people’s throats a woke system. That did a lot of good. The White supremacists took over. What do we do now? We arrange guns and burn down houses. You think this’ll work? We just break apart our nation and cause a lot of hurt.
Racial aren’t the only issues in the sky. There’s livin’ with each other bein’ true to one another. We put our cap on and show genuine to people, because we feel it, the confusion of everybody in the hurtin’ of life. We know we’re dumb too. We have to protect ourselves yeah, but we take our hats off to everybody and give them a little bit of us if they ask.
How do I get this across? It’s a squeeze test. Most people aren’t genuine. Some people want to hurt you. You have to know where to step. You can’t carry your heart on your sleeve. You have to know when it’s time to get out of Dodge. You are generous but wise. I can’t give you the roof over my head. I can’t empty my pockets for you.
Now we come to the meaning of the Earth. It’s not racial reports. It’s how we all survive. We get in with each other to make the Earth work, and it’s bigger than life. We are bigger than Negroes and White men, bigger than any gender we wear. It’s across the great divide, our true life and purpose.
You hear a Daniel say that today. I’m in the lion’s den right among you, and no one has eaten up my flesh, but I can feel the breath upon my door of some dangerous shit. Can you hear me I’m tired, but I’ve opened up humanity in myself, and I’m doing it again. Will you sup with me? Will you even try?
Speak lotus, these were reminds me these were come up in these poems something of Wilmington has happened here in Pondicherry. It’s race related. I’m not Indian. A parenthood of oppression blights this land. I’m standin’ up for my boy. Free him please. Don’t let this tragedy go down unnoticed.
The details would scare you, and I’ve named them in other poems. His name is Nithish, S. Nithish, and he needs help. I sit here flabbergasted at the amount of lies that make up this story told to policemen and child welfare and so many other people.
They put their Indian first each time and the rightful law and order of the land that made their parental rights supreme, the underbelly the lie that India will not wake up from. Children are crushed by their parents, abused and beaten and forced to give up their lives for school. Hours of tuition at night kill their playtime, and disorders such as dyslexia and dyscalculia are unrecognized. They’re beaten for bad grades.
This is right and proper in India. They just took my boy behind the woodshed and killed him for parental loyalty, all in the eyes of the law. He has lost his personality, had his identity crushed. What this has done to his character will put him in his father’s shoes, a man who has murdered four men in Pondicherry targeted by his gang, on bail now for attempted murder that never went to trial. The case has been overlooked. This is standard procedure in Pondicherry if a powerful gang is involved. People get away with murder.
I have to stand here and watch all this happen to my boy, and I can do nothing. I’ve even been to the press and contacted every major NGO in India that deals with child cases. I’ve threatened hunger strike, but the divines I look to said no. I’ve written poem after poem, giving these circumstances, but the social conditions of a blog put likes in my hands, put readers, but I can’t arouse the crowd for my boy and get this matter looked at by proper hands. I can’t get off my blog.
Is this stupid, to talk about this injustice, to tell you my boy needs help. I am just a Black newspaper of 1898 this happened at Wilmington, a whole town overthrown by White supremacists, and no one believed them because they’re Black newspapers?
The New York Times and the Washington Post, and all the major news, came to scoop the story. Met at the train station with the royal treatment, the leaders of the coup put them in hotels and told them lies they all believed: Nithish is in the hands of his parents where he belongs, and the Indian order has been restored, the natural order of things; his father’s an outstanding citizen rich now in business, his mother a gentle soul that would never harm a child; we have him in school 11 hours a day because he’s acting and don’t want to study; we know he’s smart, and this is India, and we make school the center of a kid’s life for our national pride. Buy me another drink aldermen, and I’ll put in our newspaper what you said.
Would it alarm you his mother paid bribes? Even to the authorities. Okay, okay I’ll shut up, but I’m a Black man in a White man’s world, and no one listens to me. Can you hear this? It happened in Wilmington.
The offices of the Daily Record, a Black-run newspaper, were burned by a White mob during the Wilmington massacre of 1898. (New Hanover County Library)
Harm's End 