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.
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.
Why lift the boundaries? (vision with the line of a wave of birds, thousands of them, coming up from the ground and into the sky in one solid waterfall-like movement but going up. This happened as I was sitting on a park bench) To go through life together under the Sun. To be ourselves with other people, but ourselves alone too. To give that boy what he needs, and he needs an involved I love you son wrapped around me. To change the world. We’re not messin’ around.
Now have we been put on hold, for the umpteenth time? Will I awake? Call me, senior advocate. Very closely nearly there. You better let me. I’ll delete everything, and you got your seer no more. What is it, a love reaction? You’ve betrayed the very essence of reality in my fundamental makeup, in my fundamental see, if we don’t come together, and I will know that the world is a fucked place we’re doomed.
And if we set ‘em sir, and if they’re not here, what is their placement? You can sit us in your organizing society, and we will show you where we rose. We’ll be here master plan.
I’m getting close I can’t stay yours. I’m a learning disability. Daddy do something about that girl. (vision with the line of a big man walking beside me with a black beetle in his mouth, and he was choking on it, and I was slapping his back to get it out) You’re dyslexic that’s okay. Your mother can’t punish that no more. I will take you with me, and you can be dyslexic in my school. I love you so very much. Next week, I promise.
Start happening! Start happening! I looked at it, [this line and the two above lines heard spoken in Nithish’s voice] and exactly as you said it happened. I want to know what your vision was. Momma laid her feet on me. All’s I could feel was our deep, undying love taking me to the lake. I will be there soon.
You will paint some rosy picture that I am to blame. I’m a Facebook mob. Oh I’m sorry, seven views. On WordPress there’s two. And Nithish, I see him now. His mother has replaced me, and he let her do it. The hugs, the kisses, the warm rubs, the excited talk about this and that, that woman who beat him has replaced me, and he’s happy with it. I can see the treatment. He’s a baby Sandiya told me on the phone. She’s gettin’ her juice. Before she would not even admit he was still a child.
Okay they go together. What am I still doing here? What the fuck, over? You have replaced all my lands. You have taken my very child and given that place I have with him to someone else, and they beat him and they slap him, and they lord it over his life. What more do you want from me? Why do I have to see that?
I have been betrayed in the sense of my stuff, by a little boy that took all of my heart and always wanted more. Where is release from this? He’s still won’t speak my name to his parents. Get that, won’t even say he wants to see me, the love of his life for all these years. What blackness is in the heart of children? What cruelty lurks behind their touch, wizziles with you in their face?
This is blind cruelty. The boy just wants to get by. To hell with me, as long as he gets his good food and bag of sweets and special treatment. He’s cast me aside, and I made so much noise, whenever he called, it forced him to call me and come out of his stupor face me a moment, come out of his animal bliss.
We’re dealing with a kid from the train yard. Whatever divine element in him, he has just gotten rid of. What do you do with such a kid? He will never speak up. He’s satisfied. He’s got his parents’ attention, and is the focus of so much love, even if it’s for his parents to have him and not for him. This operation sucks.
Do we rock that poem on Main Street and show it to the kid? I’m not happy with this boy. He’ll walk the room listening for phone calls, listening for Nithish. Man-managed plan develop on rainbows. Let’s look at that replacement line. Ruth, this is daddy. Now I’ll call you mother. There a step-mother sleeps. And you never got close to her, but you were dependent, a little child, and you had to look to someone to take care of you. She was mean. She was a monster, but you called her mother, and that was your choice.
You hated the relationship. You cried and cried. You really tried to please her, took her assessment of you as conscious fact, believed her when she came crashing down on you for just leaving your boats in the yard: you were a bad boy.
She saw you naked, washed your back in the tub. She combed your hair before school in the morning and fussed over your clothes, and you hated that woman. You were 10 and 11, no? She was just so mean to you. “Get up you little bastard it’s time for school.” “I know you like a book. You’re no good, and your father’s no good.” That really sucked.
The constant tirade coming out of her mouth she flushed at you, anytime you were in earshot, that did you in. You hid in the woods for hours, until your father came home, and he was no gentle lover. A stern man with whippin’s, that’s what he gave.
Now look at Nithish. He’s making the best of a bad situation. He’s being punished for loving you, and no one seems to notice that. In his heart it’s liberation towards you, like you felt towards your mother, only she didn’t want you back, was not on the edge of consciousness night and day trying to carry your pain. That boy has got you, and you’re all he’s got.
Can we mention this to the world at large? A boy has a man he’s loved all his life, who’s taken care of him more than his parents, and for that he has been so traumatized that he’s died inside. He’s still loves this man, and so much time his parents have spent to kill this in him. What the fuck, over? Are you listening to this? Can they do that? Just because he loves me he’s gone through so much punishment, gaslighting, brainwashing, and psychological torture: here boy, love this man? Let’s go to a fine restaurant. I’ll take you to a spa. Forget him, forget him, forget him.
But it doesn’t work, and the parents are frustrated. They don’t know their son. Okay we just ride this, let it be? The boy’s better off just doing his school work? I beg your pardon? You put a child through hell and say it’s for good grades in school? That’s his reason for living, why he can’t have this man? That’s an eight standard education talking, his mother’s. This man is a Classical Greek scholar, and knows dyslexia when he sees it.
Oh beanpoles, you will not get away with this. I’m comin’ for that boy, and I’m comin’ loud and clear, and I’m bringin’ the posse, and I’m bringin’ the cavalry, and if Indians don’t know matters of the heart, just say yeah beat the children, let them lick their parents’ spoon, Americans know better, and they’re on the way out of this, and that’s who I’ve employed.
Aerosmith, it’s Aerosmith to tell you that American thing, lights out on total control and ever remember your dreams. Got some Pink Floyd here. American music, there’s music there for the land Earth, and it sticks in your craw like a love song. You hear our anthem here. Won’t you buy a little American pie? We don’t doubt the man does. Are you afraid the boy does? And I’m not givin’ the lowdown on abuse. That’s magic in love, a parental man for his little son, a big boy for his best friend, a man and a boy who love each other. Hear it?
We gather you in poems, one after another. Can you speak that far? I don’t think you’re over the fence, one foot process from stuck in the craw to living school. You don’t know how. That’s saving grace, whether you know it or not. Come on let’s ballon, and let’s give this keeper his time shares. He’s keepin’ a boy safe from harm. You know his mother reads this, reluctantly, somehow, despite herself. We take her there. For the poems now. (vision with the line of someone offering two Rupees notes, one a large denomination and the other a bit smaller, but it was big money) I get paid in regard and help this little boy, not a baby in the room, not even a chair.
He’s been taken out of the picture by his mother, and no one can question him a thing about where his mother is taking him, if she’s not in the room. A boy of 12 see that, no will of his own, year there’s a civilization on record, mluv pomaleji prosím. (vision with the line of being on a bicycle and turning to my passenger behind me and saying that Czech phrase, putting my finger to my lips so to say be quiet). May I help you with that? Expressive of their will is expressive of their life. Don’t deny them that, and you’re off to the races. Don’t put down later. Pretty much give him to the public. Hey, what color of a shirt didn’t he didn’t wearing today? The color his parents choose for him. A raccoon was not a ground speaker, but he lifted up his head. The voice is in the room.
Is that what you want society, another person dependent upon society to be his mother? No will of his own, that blooms. He can’t find himself. He might even kill you, the manhood takes its stand. Robbed of his will right there where he becomes a man, just entering the body changes of adolescence. Can you say that? Just tell me what to do okay, that’s what we hear. Sure society, that’s what you want, a world of beggars please. Let’s study this room. See Nithish.
Okay Nithish, I forgive you son. It’s not your fault. You’re not to blame, and I will see you soon.
Harm's End 