I’m a soul warrior defeated. I’m immortal but can’t heal, shot by arrows of betrayal on the top of the lonely mountain. The wounds are deep and cold. Wind burns my wounds and waiting till the cold nights stop.
What do I do? Do I build a house on top of the mountain, or do I find a cave? I hate myself feels like I’m the evil spirit. The ocean is my tears. The pain is my curse breaking the wall of sanity and peeking through it.
I once heard that I’ll be the one giving the world peace. I can’t even give peace to myself. And that I’ll find eternal peace. I’ll give freedom to the world. I need someone to set me free, and the voices that do whisper to me is that there is peace in heaven that’s not in store for me yet.
If I give up now I give up faith in God. This life will be a burden. I’ll have nothing to lose, no strings, fall for eternity into the abyss.
Now I can see how evil people are forged, and those evil people proved that their parents won the game and have accepted the curse.
This moment I make a promise to myself on 30/7/25, 7:30, that I kneel down before no one, and that this is my game, my controller. I’ll make it clear as your eye, and I write my own story in my own brand.
Nithish, a 13-year-old Tamil boy, wrote this poem. This blog has chronicled his plight for over a year now. He’s recently begun writing poems again. To view his previous work, what he wrote before his ordeal began, click on the Page Nithish’s Blog on the top of this post. The difference is writing about the coming night and being in that night.
I, or my muse rather, has written to him this response, and it’s being smuggled to him now:
And the word crashes with God. What's the name of the monster? It's not yourself. Do the relationship as I do. Don't banish God to the outer ocean. God is bigger than your pen, than your thoughts of him. Alright baby, look into yourself and say, "I want to be the biggest truth I am. I want to feel this truth inside me startling my days. No problem this truth slips out of my hands. I will pick it up again. It is not darkness."
Yes sir those beasts are mine. Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m a mustache fan, Johnny B. Goode. Don’t put out the secret to the universe. Move seeds, the intersection of whoever we are.
A bird from the passing by of the ships, cosmic order, it’s got esoteric wings, and you’re mesmerized. This locks you in the sky. It holds your hand. It laughs with children in the moments of their cats and dogs. It belly rubs and takes you on a journey to the stars, where it’s made.
It don’t just turn you on. We go to the transformation of society, another name for Supermind. You see its location on earth, right above you, where the heart meets the sky. On somebody’s shoulders this love. He is your friend in infinity, with a special clarity seeing that you know he’s witnessed, and he carries you there in the sweet hands of children, and let’s make it clear: never bleed a child or give them suffering to wear. They change the world into how they’ve been handled.
We have no idea how hands on this is, how intimate and caring, and how it makes or breaks our world. It’s the entranceway to spiritual change and the transformation of our world. It’s big stuff.
You hear it at noon. Wait a minute, and it will be all over the skies. It’s the role we need to see. We’ll be there tomorrow, when we use the internet for great things, examine the formation of society and not just complain about it, make its engines reformat the world and to better even for fishes and a safety net for trees, into loving homes and spiritual change, holding our cats and dogs dearly, what we week today.
Do you like the sound of that? It’s comin’ on your muffler now. Share this piece of music if you want the times to wear it on the holiday of our ideas, the special occasion we need to see them with. Share these thoughts to your largest room, and that’s where we find tomorrow if you want a better world healing papa and beautiful with her children momma. Share this video on the way to our ship.
How I believe in you, and I’m not stupid aren’t I? Getting results, it’s in your hands now. The best days are yet to come. I’m cookie honest with yah. We ride children to our goal. We’ll figure it out.
One of the photos I took of him in a secret meeting in April, the last time I saw him
Untitled
by S. Nithish
The Beatles needed each other. I need all of you together. Nithish can only take you to the door, but you have to open it.
* * * *
Soaked in pain, guilt. Let alone in the dark. Can’t find a ladder. I hit rock bottom and sink even deeper, laying for the lies that built the world. Where do I find a cure for this virus?
We stepped on a bubblegum. Will stick for life. Can I be forgived for being myself? Now I see how people turn evil and bad. Is it the society or the world or both?
I could almost call myself a homeless dog, but even the dog is happier than me. I saw a kid who can’t speak properly, but even he is happier than me.
The worst part about life for me is that I can’t go live with my daddy, [1] and I’m afraid that I can’t forgive myself till the end of time if I don’t go live with him.
Ever minute of my life spikes of sorrow and guilt. Poke me on the inside and the outside it’s been very long time since I’ve got wet in the rain of love and joy. [2]
Darkness on the corner and light on top of the mountain, it’s easy to run but can’t hide from the radiation of the bed I sleep in, the hole that I’m falling. The mud is soft but the hole is deep, and I’ve gone blind. I can’t see the world or feel the world of what it was.
I’ve never wanted to go to North Korea. [3] All I had to do was follow the damn train, [4] and I am warmed by his smile cause I’m the one who has his mouth stitched. Who am I? Why are we both chained to the pain of the world and suffer from this poison and keep drowning in the bottom?
Where is the divine? Is it a rock? Everybody thinks that I’m evil, bad, greedy, selfish. The one who really love me will really ever know me.
Where is my mother? [5] I don’t see her. Why aren’t you coming to the rescue? This is the story of the universe. Why aren’t you introducing the twist of my motive? My story is not filmed by IMAX. It is filmed by the divine, the universe.
What sin have I done and pay so much and put me in debt? Look into my eyes. See and feel the pain, guilt that is untouched by you.
[1] Me, what he calls me
[2] He lives under almost total control so that he will not make contact with me in any form and so that he will make passing marks in school, and that control entails being called names, being beaten and slapped. In his entire school career, and he’s now in 9th standard, he’s never been able to pass all of his exams. He has learning disabilities, mild dyslexia and severe dyscalculia, but his parents do not believe in learning disabilities nor will allow him to be tested for such. I was there from his birth and informed his mother of his dyslexia when I began trying to teach him the English alphabet when he was three, seeing him write letters backwards and not able to put sound to letters, and when he was not learning to read and write English in school, 2nd standard by this time, I taught him to how. His parents have been told it’s impossible for him to learn to read and write Tamil.
[3] A favorite activity of his growing up in my care was, when it rained, to take off all his clothes and go and play in it, I mean every time it rained and it wasn’t too late, on the roof when we lived in town, simply outside when we lived on the farm. I only made sure he didn’t harm himself or offend anyone.
[4] In our own personal speech between us, this phrase, which comes from a GTA gameplay video that he liked when he was six and watched more times than I liked, came to mean for us the simplicity of just going with the flow if it were taking us in a good direction, and we used it among ourselves to correct one another for going against that flow. The whole phrase is “all you had to do was follow the damn train CJ.”
[5] The Mother, Sri Aurobindo’s spiritual collaborator, who is for him is the divine mother and whom he adored and dreamed about often.
The poem was written by a 13-year-old Tamil boy. If you’ve read his previous poetry, it’s more organized than this and more poetic, but he’s suffered a lot since he was taken from my home a year and some months ago, and his poetry has suffered also. The first verse is classic muse, the inner voice of poetry, in its mode of giving advice and guidance, and so I set it apart from the rest of the poem. I suspect the rest of the poem is not pure muse, is him mostly just pouring his heart out, although still under the rush of inspiration and still in the voice of poetry. The trauma he’s suffered has almost turned off his muse, and, with the exception of a song he wrote upon being able to spend some time with me the first time since he was taken, “Heaven and Hell,” he gets very little muse now.
In the months before the was taken and his ordeal began, he wrote poem after poem, two raps, and a song from the muse, each spoken or sung to him on the inside, and each one a prevision of the future he’s now in, the raw hopelessness and desperation of this present poem so painful to read in the light of those past poems, which are full of confidence, faith, and resilience.
I am very familiar with his handwriting and form of spelling, and so I can make out what he wrote (you can see the dysgraphia) and organize it into lines and verses. I include the pieces of paper that he wrote this on at bottom. They were smuggled to me recently. He wrote this in school, in secret, on the back of exam papers. His muse told him to give it to me, and my muse told me to give it to you.
Months ago I gave his school a copy of all his poetry and asked that they provide for him a child mental health professional because he had mentioned suicide. I did this with a letter, as the parents have bribed the police near the school to take me to the station if I come there, what Nithish’s mother told him they had done, and what he warned me about. I might add that neither his school recognizes learning disabilities, and of him they have repeated what his mother told them, that he is acting and failing on purpose because he’s a smart boy.
I had complained to the Child Welfare Committee of Puducherry earlier, and they didn’t even know what dyslexia was, and a bribe was paid there also, his mother told him. The school has also complained that he thinks of me a lot, and that interferes with his studies, not able to recognize that he’s suffering the grief and heartbreak of the loss of a parent, a relationship with him they will also not recognize because I have no legals rights to the child.
It took months for the school to respond to the letter, and when they did it wasn’t to me or to provide him with care; they asked him to write a poem about his school, praising it, and they’d publish it in their weekly newsletter. The request that he write a poem came some weeks ago, and he wrote this poem instead, after much deliberation and anguish over the whole thing, but he’s afraid to give it to his school because his parents would see it and punish him for it, and so, I have to open the door, albeit without causing him further harm.
I wanna restrict access to ether department material. I wanna clarify the sense of know. What is the irony? They never seem to remember they’re not dealing with science they’re dealing with train yards. It only becomes science when consciousness becomes involved. That dog exists. He points all the cartoons and movies. I’ve seen ‘im.
This is not just an English submission. And the way you must maintain, [sing line] inhabit this as if your life depended upon it. Disturbed her hand. Nobody knows where this is comin’ from, and no reader sees this comin’. Soon you’ll get bit and ice cream. It has the attention, [sing line] and you hit a basketball court, and it may happen to be our key.
Dobie you came to stop me why? Christianity does not know it’s interred. It thinks it’s the sandman. It hurts people, and it does not match reality. Fine, I’ll keep singin’.
I put everybody in bed with me so they can see change. It’s a safety measure. Where do we come from? Do we come from the trees? What happens when our pants are off when we were children? How angry does momma spank us? Are we left in a corner to rot? Is daddy a guerilla? Do we get enough to eat? Are we the brunt of everyone’s joke? How much pressure do we spend childhood with?
What’s mental health, and how has it failed us? Every scientist knows you put the telescope on heavenly bodies, the microscope on nature’s small dance. What makes us tick? The observational posts are not there. We’ve neglected our very selves, who we need to see to survive it’s gotten so big our department store.
Why didn’t we do this from the beginning, put all those training devices on us so that we know where we came from when a child comes out of the womb? Have I hit the most territorial seize the day? You can’t look in there. It’s the most agreed upon privacy in the world, that little family intake, by the time we got to where science was. I’m not countin’ cucumbers. I want you to look at this. We put our eyes on the workings of nature not us, as if that would change the world and make us live with one another well.
What was early scientists thinking? They established a model, and to get right down to the business of us, the making of the human being, was that akin to heresy? Now folks, what do you want to look at to be safe, how many items dance on the head of a pin or study the universe to systematize it?
Let’s be crystal clear. Science deals with the environment too and the damage we’ve done to it and the danger that’s put us in, but human choices made these decisions that have put us at risk. How self-centered they are, how monetary gain. Change the human change the environment so we don’t run amok.
Did I just spell out change? Why has the focus been on objects of nature, I mean in the intention of science? Momma don’t make your babies grow up to be cowboys. [sing lineto tune of the country songwith similar title] Well I lost the rodeo. Can we talk about small minds and violent natures that live in boxes? / I grew up in this milieu. I could say policemen or rodeo clown, or even schoolteacher, but the exceptions would pile up, and I can’t show you what’s happenin’.
How can I tell you we are a tortured device? We do not produce good human beings. Just look at the world. Do you know how violated everybody is? Do you know how mean? We are still guerrillas, even your newspaperman and mother with her child. We are not a functional society for the good of us. We have animal hierarchy and just let people die or rot in misery. We are a selfish lot. We are not our brother’s keeper, and we do not love our neighbor like ourself. We make war with him.
No gentil people would agree with me. They’re soft and warm. They treat their brother kindly. They go to church and pay homage to society, or they have the right liberal opinions and treat everybody equally. Do you know how immature you are? Watch yourself in transactions you get shortchanged, or where your opinion is busted, or you find someone you don’t like, or you’re brought up against your unconscious, and you watch it take over. You react and show your immaturity.
This comes from upbringin’, from where your family put their hand, their voice, their feelings, and their directed-toned thoughts. Now science would not say this. It’s not there yet. It won’t do that, look that closely at us when we’re in momma’s lap, in bed with daddy, at the dinner table bein’ reamed for somethin’ we done, or just sittin’ on stools with the family in our little private milieu.
We can’t put lenses there, and we don’t know how to get at that space and nobody knows we’re lookin’. We could’ve solved this a long time ago, but science didn’t see that we are behaviorally made. Put genes in the shotgun they come from behavior too, however many diseases get in the way.
Audible, we saw a destiny. It wasn’t religion. It grew larger than mankind. We’re in the apple in the trees now. We can’t get out of our underwares. We still slap children, make them feel uncomfortable with themselves. We breed disease. We don’t know how to handle children, and our world’s a mess because of it.
How can I get you to see this newspaperman, scientist studying nature? Who else would we look to for change? A politician’s a ninny-gag. The clergyman reads from a book and doesn’t see change except to be more Christian. I bring a new thing upon the Earth that we haven’t seen in awhile, as the poet lands Earth.
I bring you essays on living through my personal share that can see through the walls of humanity and show things even cameras can’t capture. I can show you the inner workings of our species, and the dice is on the table. I can hunt you in corners and show how this makes us mad. I can show the pathology of mankind and the rule book of disease that puts rabids among us, and I can chip away at your armor and show you your snakeskin, the hidden fount of your wrath, and you are as policy as the rest of us.
I do this with a divine eye that looks in on things, and I have found the hidden fount of poetry, new for the times we wear, a new font of poetry that speaks to us living men and women to bring our heights to the sun.
I am not a caged animal. I have a freedom in my room that walks on mountaintops. I am a receptivity to God. I hear the angels sing. Healing lives in my top drawer, and I let it out and sing to you the heavenliness of its smile. I can do more than that. I can rise the sun in your eyes and reveal to you the secret of the universe, the real person you are beyond time. I can bring you to the Silence that empties our race of all its cares and brings enlightenment into the room. I can hold your hand to the well of soul and have you touch base with forever. These things I have seen and been, where moments meet me in the well of change.
Do you see me there? Every impossibility meets its gun. I’m taller than you in that I have met my own impossibility and let God handle it, but I did not neglect my duty to pay. So I’m aligned with the times to give us living Earth. This is not a handmaid’s tale that robs us of our own divinity. We have it on our tops, and we will wear this one day in clear and certain skies. Time’s the animal we wait on now, but time is not our keeper. The hidden divinity is all across our tops in every movement of time.
Right on. I have some stature to gain. I want Silence to enter my room, but the world keeps swellin’ up. I tarry there. It’s not an impossible situation, but it’s bigger than I am. I’ll just put on my hat and let grace still me. It’s an office I wear, concentrating with no thoughts in my head bound for the Silence. I can’t get past the thoughts of the day, but I can ride the quiet for minutes or hours. It’s a warfare you know. They know you’re close, and the world steps in and robs you of your peace. Dangnabbit, I chase the Silence away.
They carry your name in the wind, the lovers of sky, if you’ve seen past the boundaries thin Earth. You are a flame shot up there that kissed the night goodbye. I’m hope in your room. Don’t let me down. Can you see me now? [the last verse came watching the movie The Summer Book walk its way into my heart]
The Void fashions thought, gives it the clothes you wear. We bury the world there. We’re all over each other in drowning reality, and each one of us wears woe is me clothes tryin’ to describe our reality to another, even if we don’t feel that way. It’s the default among us. Just read some poetry and see. It won’t lift you to the skies, poetry club after poetry club. Do you know how bottomless this is?
I don’t know where to end this. By Dylan’s side. I don’t think he’s learned to be sad yet as his disposition. He’s two, and I wear him on my sleeves today his minder, really protecting his freedom, no anger, no swats, and no is not a word I cram down his throat. I like his natural freedom and his natural state of joy.
Where does it come from? I can sit in the same tub and not be happy. He’s an expert at this. He knows where the joy is, the merger inside of him with his environment. I don’t think we’ve reached a separate Dylan yet all in his own clothes. The joy is phenomenal. He just screamed and looked at me, and I gave a pirate’s laugh. I like the sound of joy.
His frank littleness operates on my moods, and I can taste his taste with the world. You have to hold on there’s stickers there. The world will grab you, and all falls down. You have to be careful there, and everything has eyes you know, even the water bucket. How amazing this is. I coo and talk to those eyes a speech pre-language wears. Identified with Dylan with a poet’s laugh, I’m in his jolly roger don’t you see?
Now what happens when we’re three? Identity with the world please, it no longer storms our room. I could be seven, and joy becomes something monumental we chase the dogs with. It’s not homegrown anymore. It’s not our natural state. We’ve put on man.
I’m on poet’s wings, and I’m identified with what’s in front of me. You can’t do this writing about your make up. It’s how we discover the world, reaching poet wings reaching the starlight, where God sees everything glow. It put us together in ancient times, grabbed civilization out from the paws of nature, a poet’s look guide, and we’re born you and me so much’d civilized clothes, and a poet born language don’t you know. It came from the skies added to our feet down below.
Where’s all this goin’? And we write it down in speech, great big letters of world maker’s art that came in vision or dream, and we fountain a language with it. A poet saw that. I’m not here to hear you scream, and kill all these damn flies. That’s the muscle we wear. The poet has the architect of civilization we grasp here. You don’t know from on high. You don’t know these robes. I’m speechless. Yeah, you would be. Well I be damned.
The chaos of the toddler, it writes your poem. They don’t know dirty, and they have no sense of mistake. They don’t know danger. A grandpa’s life is dangerous, and he gave that toddler reach. It’s not playin’ with the same cars of a society toolkit. They meditate together on meaning. The boy feels the rush. It’s living. I can’t draw your papers from here, but I’m showin’ yah how we’re made. I can’t explain it to yah so that you wear the same cars, but I accelerate growth.
That’s not dangnabbit, or any role of violation. It’s where that guy sees the stars. Are you with me on this? For a nice mental health, where it counts, it’s in that toddler child. You don’t want to falter there. They’re bright and shiny objects from the universe, and they just love to play. They don’t need a hard time.
Just organize them the storybook of the universe, and they mean something more than I am tired, irritate me one more time and I’ll slap you, or I’m horny please me. Don’t be confused with their gatherin’. There’s a child there with their tall eyes bein’ the Earth for you, and every touch counts, and they love to be touched and cuddled. They wear your fingers for the rest of their lives, your harsh tone, your can’t take it anymore. All of humanity needs to see this.
Listen, it’s not possible today is it? This is too cutting edge. This is too model. Don’t take their joy away. Let them be rising and kind and kids by you’re conducing a sacrifice for their wellbeing. Can’t you see this Paul when you get home from work, and you’re tired, and momma there in the kitchen, that meal’s better than that child? And we can reverse the roles and do the same thing or join them. What would daycare say? Keep them busy no. Let them occupy themselves with whatever, and watch them there. We want them to organize themselves, no just obey masters and do what they’re told.
Can you see my thought’s skies? We don’t want a subservient human being. We want society to challenge the world. We want a greater world bear. We are on earth for no other thing. How could you argue with yourself? Beginning right now, make that toddler’s world better by your lovin’ hands and freeze, no shouting, no hitting, no inappropriate hands. Goo Goo and Ga Ga, they just inherited the world, and it was nice to them. Oh man see this.
Make a child’s day. Make every moment count. Can yah? Will yah? It’s growin’ up to be you. A vehicle burned by society’s ways, a damaged vessel, do you really wanna put that on that kid? Let them play in the dirt and mud. They’re not going to murder themselves, hurt society with it. Aren’t you right there to prevent mouthfuls and rocks up their nose? They’re testin’ time, where all the dirt goes.
Aren’t you glad you see that, their special put together? It makes for good kids, lettin’ them be the little animals they are when they’re two, no inhibitions, not feedbacks. They’re beautiful little tigers, and we give that little creature kindness and consideration in every mood they wear. We just don’t let them tear up the ship, or express their violence towards other people and puppy dogs, and we teach them to be kind to ourselves with the kindness we give them, and who would let a toddler hurt himself?
You gotta be swift and fast, and you’re gonna make mistakes. The little monster’ll test your patience, the little cuddly bear. You’re farmin’, know that, and you determinin’ that child’s life. A great big heavy thing in life, we shape our children by our touch and mood, and the most important time’s before three, monumental she wrote. I’m infinity’s cards, and I’ve just showed you the spasm of life, where it most counts: hey baby, oh you new thing. Can you dig it?
It’s the living fetal position for animals, the punishment chair. Stop this motion. Order the pens to our insight. I was thinking first of Dylan. I didn’t chatter my teeth there. My comfort, his parade, he got the money’s worth. I can’t spell this out for you. It’s long on time. What do we do with him, pull his pants down and shoot ‘im, arrange him in the corner, blister his butt? Let’s call him kings, and you’re his subject most of the time. Can you get that?
Wow he’s free to make decisions that don’t harm him. You’re followin’ him around a puppy dog. Did I just say something mean? It is exhausting, but you’re right there as he explores the world. Too wild to keep, my parents put a dog there, highly efficient at watching me. Outside he followed me everywhere. I brought some of the memories back. Can you believe he talked? Used all the sounds a dog makes to convey meaning. Boy get away from there. You stop that behavior at once. It was a pleading sound with authority.
Buckshot was extraordinary, a big dog from army parents, half Shepard half Collie. He came from a military base. Can you see it? We’ve been doin’ it all along in our homes and in our backyards, but we can make it an official duty of mankind, train dogs to watch kids. The little one’s too exhausting to keep up with. They need special care, and a good dog can give it.
Am I meaning here? Do you know how much this helps the child? The love of a dog opens up society to them in the ways of love, and if it’s a lone child, they pay attention to another person in their play. Let’s put a handle on their selfishness shall we? That big dog can protect itself and is a sense on the world we don’t. The consciousness shares between a dog and child, that’s the link right there, but I’m gettin’ far ahead of you. You don’t know you do this with Dog. We are more than their masters, and they are our children.
Buckshot grows. Would you believe he’d take my hand in his mouth and lead me back to the house if I passed the invisible barriers that said too far? There was a dog there on his way to human. You don’t know that’s what dogs are doing with us. In the evolution of soul they become man after climbing the latter of Dog.
What did you think they were doing with us? I put dogs in the throne room too, kids with fur and tail and adorable ears. There was this hole in evolution, and we created Dog to fill it when we were ready in soul, when we became men and women firm enough on the ground to fill it. At the role of civilization, and then came Dog.
I’ve gotten angry again, and I just shut it off and move on, apologizin’ profusely to that kid. How is this learned? The heart is open to soul. The heart is open to that kid. Profound love dwells there that can heal anything. Careful with that soul. I guess I’m a witness that you let out. I’m not an icicle. I am love everywhere found, deep feelings of release into the sincerity of the moment.
You are love there watch your nose, and you obey your nose no longer. You’re not led by the nose anywhere. You’re compelled to soul choices, complete understanding not offended by anything, and where you find love you find the wisdom to use it to correct that child, the strong love that knows its pants that can say no to things that harm and make that child know he caused it without those feelings of guilt that block remorse.
You surface the soul you know. It’s what takes over as you’re doin’ it, a sadhana out of ego. It heals. It wears a crown. It makes everything right. That’s what we’re doin’ here, being soul, a manual for the new millennia, how to be safe with our kids in diapers and into the terrible twos, and they’re comin’ unto themselves threes and fours. We are expensive with the toddler, lavish on them our heartfelt attention, and that’s the history of science that makes a better world.
We need a role model, and I’ve lifted up a poem for you that comes from higher sources, the role of a poet, a special use of language wear, and poetry that I have, I’ve returned us to our origins, where the poet revealed to us the world and gave us strong ideas how to live in it. It be compatible with what the world needs. I can’t account for its audience, but here take another poem.
We walked out a miracle. We walked out back. Did yah listen? The applications are enormous. I am in any thought you use to harbor children. A family of pioneers asks a lot about a new generation. Well I’ve got that orbit. I’m asking me this I’m asking you: what’s conducting God in our filthy experiment? The eyes of the child.
The pictures, we’re gonna keep looking, and another FMG, it was on the film net. Would you cause me to live? I’ve gone further than I am, and I don’t feel badly about it. Broadly I read you. You know Stoppa was running. They didn’t know what they were doing. This was the parade. I’m tellin’ yah I’m sorry. I'm not fighting wars with children anymore. Can you get a load of that redemption? Be hostile where joy was, their glasses whole birthplace humanity right on time. Good afternoon.
The change in consciousness ahead, get me my improvement I’ve penned these days. Why would I be running from it? See a bullock cart, I can’t get out of this view. Got some dirt, it springs into anxiety. I put it on the lawn and deal with it. I don’t know exactly when it happened, the line of consciousness drawn. I’m a senior builder. Stopness, seriously wellbeing, birth has a lot more to do with it than nature. Is that so? I gave a poem that talks about relief. I’m not gonna pull it to my pants down. Were you like a screwdriver yet, you’re used? Can I answer that question?
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)
Take the questionnaire. I have problems existing the way you want Council Bluffs. An opera, just what the world needs right now, our post-traumatic show, and I can’t do anything to stop you. You’re the stupid muse.
Who’s to listen to? I’m talkin’ storybook Earth. Are you wrapped around the axle with it? My God it’s got me by the balls. I’m in Nithish’s pan. Other than that I’m free. You would not stage this.
I’m too honest for broad noon, and I’ve got some big thoughts Earth don’t wanna look at, I mean in your society room. Have you ever seen an Earth poet? You’re supposed to. That’s what we’re all made of. We’re speakin’ to all mankind. Earth today, we get mad at the word man, but it farms poetry, you know?
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, I’m in a limousine, but let me get more Tennyson on yah and Marilyn Monroe. You think poetry’s got to have capital letters and sing about verses and stuff. Emily Dickinson would agree poetry comes from the inner voice. Slipped into you a mind swell the beautiful rose of poetry, even if it’s not a football field of the huddle of verses that high sound poetry to you. I give you an inner lunch.
Okay we’ve brightened our books today. I give you an inner sound, tryin’ to find your head. It’s all Madagascar. Have I opened a movie on the showroom’s floor? Train’s coimin’. It’s all about them dice watch your hedge podge in where you put your blinders on. Cute animals, eh? And everybody’s longing to be free.
Be not normal men and women, but reach above our kind and show how it’s done, ain’t that the anthem? Movie after movie of the greatest stories on Earth get by our living room with this. Would you believe they keep you in line, even in your underwear? Ask the surveillance movie Drop from start to ticket or Seven Veils, and I’m sorry I’m giving them credit, but I can’t watch every movie in time that littles us, I mean like right now as we’re havin’ lunch.
So many lies are told to manipulate your mind and bring all the bad country to bad men so demon they shine with the impossibilities of human nature taken to that degree. They’re demon bad. My mother sucked me when I was three, and my step-mother terrorized my mind, and I had to hide from her in the woods until my father got home. Teacher after teacher put me in the corner, the kind that hate little boys all over the globe for bein’ who they are, and they had a score to settle with men. Give a world this schoolin’, and let’s see how she acts. You can’t trust nobody.
Now I’ve got a little boy in the lurch taken from me and reamed, who grew up with me since he was five, but I was there from birth his daddy. It makes you all nervous inside that I’m speaking about him in this poem. Exactly. Can I show you the hurtin’ in the machine? You think it’s child abuse or a host of other ills, men bad to women, or a sudden and frank genocide, or tumultuous war. It’s our wrong seeing that causes harm, how we bake bread willfully and ignorantly with the guardians of the universe resistant to change.
I love my little boy, and that’s right and proper, but I’m a White man and he’s a Tamil boy in a red flag zone. Surely his parents must be right in beating him, slapping him across the face, not letting him go out of their sight or surveillance system or visit friends so he will not contact me. Do you know what this does to a child? He doesn’t write poetry. Now buy him anything he wants and wine and dine him. Surely he’ll stay on our side.
What’s the beef you reckon? I made better miles with him, and he preferred me to them. It’s all in the menagerie. Parents got rights over their children’s lives. Just ask Child Welfare. The mother gave them a bribe and the police and paid my lawyer more than I was paying him. This is India and this stinks, but who gives a damn?
Is anybody listenin’ to this poem? I mean he’s got to go with us, how you make a child today serious to produce that child the staple of the machine. Now let’s give ‘im bright airs and promise him the moon when he’s older if he complies now. Study hard kid. Your worth is in those grades, and your future depends on them, and we will ignore your dyslexia by ignoring it, you lazy little bastard. We’re smart can’t you see?
Now this has been shut off, squeezed out of him in a parental vice par none. You like that? That’s okay with you? Who the hell are you anyway, ordinary people? I heard you. The Indian consulate the Indian dear, kick ‘em to give this boy what he needs. For fruit to work tell ‘em read this boy.
Up bring everything. Where’s my boy? A resident’s assembly bringing towards that you. Who lived off the grid? What exactly did you mean by business? They think it’s me the wrong piston, this wagon: I can’t find my dime in society. This sucks and I want out of it. We’re on you like stink on shit— the great big arms of society. We don’t let you get there to utopia. We damage everything.
Now let’s go to the bubble Auroville, an experimental town city. Great Scott! society couldn’t leave it alone, molested it like a little child, and it got taken over by the Indian government way back when but comin’ out of the woodwork now, just as pretty as you please. Now they’re stuck with nothin’ to do about it. A patriotic Indian government has taken over, and they’re throwin’ out non-Indians who disagree, makin’ the international city Indian.
Spirituality’s the powder keg. They don’t do it right they say. They quote the Mother and Sri Aurobindo all day without understandin’ what they’re talkin’ about, without knowin’ those words, with the fervor of a religious persons who bring Auroville to its knees surrenderin’ to the Mother said. This is the apex of the new city. It’s lost its charter there. I’m a mechanic, and I’ve got some cars to work on, the Auroville sedan and the world school bus. I want to show you the method of the spirituality. I have some things to say. Annie get your gun. We might stay together, anyone wantin’ a new society, anyone wantin’ to change the world. Annie’s gonna shoot us all if she could. She don’t let social change, and she’s government big.
I begin here my revolt, not with gunpowder or any type of violence, not with protest signs and blockin’ streets. I give you the ideas that will change the world. Funny huh? it’s just little ole me. I want my boy to come home. That’s this can you hear me? That’s the child I’m pullin’ out all the stops for, I’m riskin’ my life for, to rescue.
A black man did it, killed all these people in control of mankind, without takin’ a single life, without firin’ a single shot. He got rid of their ideas that control us. He blew up the machine with the ideas that make the world. Keep him open answering questions.
There are horrors, huh, right now? [vision of a ghoul-like creature popping up from behind some trashcans that I kicked, as if it’d been hiding there] The tremblin’ must be rewound by it. You’re almost taken. There is no revolution anymore. It’s found you. This is hotdog nigger stats, your consumer prices index. Am I racial string theory my dear? Interracial. We are all following the machine, reacting to its wares and memes. Nigger got you didn’t it? You all jump in the same hoop, even if you use that word to call people names.
We are a standardized machine, no glory holes. We take our partner to legalized sex and punish those who don’t. Can I get at that spirit of the machine? I’m not sayin’ sex traffic kids. You’re all in a bottle you know, even the one who breaks all the rules. You’ve been put to the test, livin’ off the grid like you do. You define yourself by society. Just look at the books you read. They’re society bound, even Henry David Thoreau or that guru master you read. You’re reading other people of what you make work in life.
Can we get off the stairs? Can you table God? My God he’s big. Can I rewrite you a blindin’ every minute to the creation made today as we speak, nothing standardized nothing made all this past that led up to now? It’s a fairy rose, a shapin’ flux that’s puts together our minutes seemingly aligned with the past. A great big school of thought this that brings the universe to bear. I mean the universe is jumpin’ out at yah right now, created this minute don’t you see?
A settled creation no. Created now of world maker’s art. You have these pistons it fits into, and you grease your days and nights with your own content. You are a happening in the Void, a mechanism for a movie graveling existence into nothingness so that we can be. Do you have your hat on?
When science reaches here it will see God guiding stars from above and gathering forms in place, but it is fairy rose, the whole damn show. In this existence is real. Its rises God, climbs out of the Void by lighting it, and we make up its lives. See you soon at the reunion of stars. We do not come from the Void. We are the soul in the machine.
Now do you see miracle? The soul rises in the machine. Are you startled? You should be. That’s the bulwark of creation right in your hands. Now take a child and whip him again. You know you’re risin’ stakes. You don’t see the significance Earth? It has a wonder-weft in it. To your mom Nithish. We have the autograph books for Being, big beautiful Being.
That’s why wood’s together, those two grapplin’ with existence proper, the boy that makes you uneasy, the man that makes you question things, they find inner muscle. I’ll have X call you back. You know he’s waiting. Now for some childhood trauma. I met the Void in its dirty underwear. Outside of the world I disappeared from Heaven in a toddler’s nightmare. Buried alive, I had existence piled on top of me. I rose things that jumped out and rescued me. Fell down in the Void a toddler with inner journey secrets. All our arms point down be careful. Hell has a wide mouth. Light itself got me out. Can I call your name? Can I name the world? Caught in those wheels myself existence rose, right in the middle of the sun.
Now I’ve seen where holocaust comes from, saw the monsters of the deep and the origin of all evil. I felt it there. Trade me for secrets, and I will light what can’t be seen. Come down to earth with me, and let’s get out of this hole leading little lives of quiet desperation not knowin’ where we’re goin’ or a get there to get there too, just bein’ fishes in a plastic bottled sea in the pattern of the days. Even if you’re rich or the president of something, we’re in the Void. We are almost buried in the machine.
What do we do with these minutes? We standardize them, make them in line, and we do this by society’s test in the basics of us, no matter where we live. I’ve chased you there, all the great thinkers escapin’ the machine. I don’t think you can be free in it. Here is the test now in a sudden poem. My God that works. I can do it. Fine, I’m in my underwear.
Can I show you the Holocaust again in time, the cruelty of one towards the other, the diabolical meanness? Will you change that way and be kind to people or even good, or will you hate the abusers and turn off the TV? Will you see this in your own house with your own kids, forcing them into labor camps of school, making them obey you or else, giving them your name not theirs, making them fill society’s roles and cutting off their souls? It’s a holocaust of denial. We make standard kids in a standard room, and we can’t get over it don’t work. Even if our kids cure cancer, they haven’t made humanity bigger than itself, they haven’t evolved us further than ourselves, they haven’t seized the wheels of time and discovered us.
You live in a box you see, a prison house of weft. I’m tryin’ to find a key to outside where the inner splendors lay, but you’ll just shoot me if I’m wrong, not in my theory in my moral with boys. Look at you. You will deny the inside in the moments of this poem because I can’t talk about it I’m not worthy? We all live in the yellow submarine. [sing line] Coffee sir, I think we’re on the brink of change.
I’m off right now. These are world fireworks of every cloud in the sky. I’m a loud chitty bang bang. I arrest you and put you to sleep. I call your name at night. I’m bigger than sin. I’m your guacamole. I take you to the temple at night. I really get into your stuff, and I can mislead you too. I can really mislead you. I play with your consciousness like it’s on fire, and I wrap it around the gods and the name you call home. I’m puddin’ in a bucket. I show you things unseen about yourself. I fry there. I’ve got a lot of gas to get you to the supermarket and back. I can change your life if you let me. I can show you which way to go and where you must not go. I’m a conscious mechanism in dream and all vision states. I’m your inner life where it touches ground when you’re alone to yourself. No dammit I'm not Donny. Jeez, representative think, will yah?
I’m great big and I’m mean. I mean when you first open me, for a lot of people. I change the world into its starlight, and I’m all piss and vinegar in them hellholes. Come open me I’m a gift of inner seeing, the lost art of humanity. Wanna watch it grow? Right before your eyes in this poem. This is what you’re off the grid for, to get in touch with your inner dynamics, to reopen miracle and you.
You’ve got to consciousness to get there and study there like you’re in school, where to travel in dream when you wake up in them, how to use the paralyzed trance to leave your body and your room and see if we share a field of consciousness, how to bake there in any inner keeping the questions of existence, of who you are and what unfolds time.
Off the grid do you hear me? No, you can do this in a valet parking lot, right in the middle of society. You don’t have to wear shoes. You can just get goin’ anywhere you find yourself stuck on Earth. You don’t have to have any titles to do this, no special education. You can just be you opening the doors of the inner consciousness and discovering what’s in there don’t you see?
Samadhi will come along eventually, and you will abide there fishin’, even in the surrender mode. We have paths to cross. We’ve got to get to know time. We have to see who we are. This is in the middle of the road. That's the dream maker. It gets you out of boxes, and it’s available to every man, woman, and child, even in the animal kingdom. I’m in; how did you get down there?
You study dream. You look for the doorways in there, the spiral force that takes you, the swing, and the fall down into the well of soul. There is enlightenment too that you can slip into for a dream wear. There’s overhead experience. You focus on the inside like it’s your business. Soon you will see the future in dream, where you dream every night some part of tomorrow. It’s in symbols weird. It will blow your mind. You will explore consciousness then so fortified. I don’t believe in magic. You will begin to. Just open the inner doors with discernment and kindness and a watch out about yourself, and see the world change.
You don’t jump in boxes. You call out my name and send money to this number. Now you know how a fraud sounds, as I notice your red tongue. Do you wanna be a teacher? You don’t need a guide. Go get your calendar. I’m going to build a new house. That takes time. Inner red riding book, that’s your splashdown. How to fly to inner report the eggs that it needs? Symbol after symbol you will encounter. It’s the language of the Spirit. I never thought about needing one. We haven’t gotten to the interpretation of dreams yet, but in our little dream company we cracked the code. Start with Episode 1. It’s a podcast silly, but it’s free.
I don’t have a guidebook to give you. I just have me when you get down to dream. I have evidence it’s out there, the rediscovery of mankind, the great big rediscovery of all our good books on survival, how we get along, and where we change for one another, share that field inside. I’m bigger than my room. You just watch. The table where we’re all planted the beginning of the inner revolution. Listen to this poem there. It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature, and it’s right here we beat AI, with our own inner television. I see. I need a new pair of shoes. And that’s great.
Earth meaning on a whole, the meeting of two red lines, you keep your outer life goin’. Don’t lose your job, and if you take your kids out of school, make sure they can function in society. Don’t give them your life. Let them find theirs. Outer life tuned, you’re now an ensemble of the inner too. You don’t get lost there. You don’t even make it your life’s work. It’s your education, how to handle the outer life and where to go with it, ultimately how to change the world.
You don’t get led astray by your name among men. Can I exemplify you? You let your art do that. It will fly before humanity the flag you’re supposed to, the take place of you art. These will come from inner wares, the more inner, the more valuable. You’re not doin’ this to preach. You wanna find yourself inside to get into that outside the proper material.
You’re balancin’ life the inner wares too. You don’t cut one short. The inner and the outer play along and begin to dovetail. You can do both at the same time. That’s advancement. That’s where it starts, you outgrow yourself, you’re becoming the bigger you are, and it’s diamonds, but it’s not wear around your neck. You meet the breeze humbly and sweetly, without acting. Your self-honesty has reached sincerity. Come over here. You’re in the drawing room of God, and great shoulder notions ride your room. This is the attack plan of a real world revolution. Sweet, ain’t it? Sweet and kind. This is the attack plan of an inner revolution, and all you have to do is open your eyes to inner beginnings. You got that right?
I’m gonna explore and investigate consciousness. Bottled up inside you your destination. See who it is an overhead experience. Now you know you’re there because you’ve reached this nameless origin, the Person that you are, the origin of all your lives, somewhere up there in the sun, greatly over your head. You can see everything. It’s too big for you to remember when you return to your little self. My God this is big, and there’s no mistakin’ time. You’ve been outside of it. You’ve been bigger than the moon, the tall country of the gods. I’m ashamed of this? You don’t even know it’s there. You can’t count the sun.
Now murder me for it, or get your persecution gun, like you’re doin’ now in Auroville the city of dawn. I’m an outcast there, not now about little boys, where we begun. I’ve made people mad by seeing things the community don’t. I’ve engaged people who wear special status in spirituality or somethin’. They glide in my room and just spit there. Most won’t respond to me, and I’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest I believe.
These are little people. What do you do with them? You come out of your holes and shine. You don’t hide yourself no more. My boy’s at stake I’ve got to do this. He needs my help. Will I be here tomorrow? I don’t know. I’ve got people on my case. I can disappear anytime. So I show you the sun and where creation comes from. I give it to you all free and without regard to my safety. Great you say, big deal, are you trying to impress us?
It’s the wrong time for this. Everybody’s show and tell. I am just one in a number oh isn’t that interesting? But here in Topeka the flies are a buzzin’. [sing this and above line, a song by Loretta Lynn] I’m in danger here. What’s a body to do? Why open more poetry of course, high priority encounters about the transfer of the One. Then you draw the line he needs rescued. I want my boy back.
Gonna go to the funeral of my/one nation above all. [two words heard spoken simultaneously] This is politics. Nobody knows its price. There’s no exclusive zones. You value humanity more than your national individual, or your race or peoplehood, even your religion. Sounds impossible now. It’s the only way to survive, equality at its most basic point.
Fundamentalist Christians will have a field day calling this the Antichrist. The number of man don’t you see? 666. And Jews and Moslems cannot exclusive each other, and the resistance to that will go to the sink, but you still be Jew like it’s your life’s blood. Americans cannot be Americans and only Americans. They must include the world. India cannot see her greatness above other peoples when she can give her spirituality, definitely universalized. No nation or people will ride the others like they own the planet. China will have to settle down and give us good engines to wear. This is flower, not put the engines of the world to her use, and North Korea will be no more. All will unite in peace.
This is the human ship some waves from now. Can’t believe it, can you? We’re on the brink of this today, where ideas ride time, where ideas enter humanity as the clothes we wear. It’s comin’. It’s not even in our minds today. It’s not on the news. It’s a radical idea everybody’s scared of, nobody can promote, neither in the press nor in the government, and science is busy with atoms and other small fare. They will not bring us together. Academia, well, this is a pipe dream, and increasingly they’re controlled.
Well how does it get in? Intelligence— we put the human being first or die. I’m talking about people’s upon the Earth, purely political wears. I’m not talking about ruining existing structures or eclipsing God with man. I bright and shiny your day with your humanity comes first before any other kin. We teach that in school, give this to our babies.
You hear me now? It’s a price we wear, gettin’ good at as we see our survival depends on it. We start today in the maker of a poem where I put my foot ride: humanity ever coming first, in my politics with mankind, in my behavior, in my think about you and us, in where I meet you today.
I’m riding God as the one I wonder at, as the one I want to please, as the one I want to be like, as the one I want to hold dear above all else, as my principle keeper, and if I put humanity first, the human being over any category of people, I am bright house God wear, and the more I know God, he’s not an exclusive zone. He can wear all pronouns at once and is the love of humanity in my heart. Where do you think this idea comes from?
It comes from God one notion humanity. Past you’re early. Noosphere, everyone’s looking for you. In siddhi, that’s where I sit, and I just made an inner poem. I made some mistakes where we meet each other. I will answer for it like this: let’s put humanity first.
In the middle of humanity, in humanity’s living room, I can get this across to you in thought wears. Come to my room the thoughts that are out there pullin’ humanity close to itself on the frontiers of thought. I’ve pulled humanity close to itself. I get in humanity’s room today.
Is this a great mixing? I don’t think you understand me right. This is the center of identity in human terms among all the peoples. It’s a movement to grow this in humanity where you raise your children. It’s not a boiling pot humanity, pull your pants down and let everybody there. You still have national borders and respect demographics. You’re just more human about it. You give it a liberal hand, but you don’t overwhelm a culture with immigrants. We will get good at making their lives better where they are, but we will not refuse them to move.
Can I champion human causes? We need to improve the lives of children in Africa. You can’t get better infrastructure than that, priority child’s lives. Loved at home and treated brightly, that’s the food they wear. Do you see my cultural dynamics? It’s the number one priority, meet those children’s needs. The world doesn’t wanna to be overwhelmed with immigrants comin’ out of Africa from the hungry states. She was havin’ a baby gettin’ bigger than the rest of the world.
You wanna see if I can fix it? That’s the reason you don’t let population growth get out of hand. You let it stay in check. I need to ask you somethin’. Who writes the news? We are not listening to wisemen.
I don’t like everybody; is this everybody? The warm human being giving rise to the warm human being, it’s easy if you try. We have to educate people about children. The rocket science is how they treat the world. It’s amazingly possible to stop slapping children and beating their little behinds— no physical punishment anywhere on the planet. Get rid of this nursery rhyme. Treat it like sexual abuse in that it has to be stopped, in that it’s harming humanity. You would not kill people for it or treat them like monsters. You wouldn’t even hate them. You would understand the rule of abuse: they just get mad and hit.
Their behavior’s preconditioned, and who can control themselves when a spell from the unconscious takes over? Can anybody? You’ve never understood this since the beginning of time, why laws don’t work, why the killin’ hasn’t stopped, the rape and plunder, any ole bad behavior. It’s unconscious process, and it has to be stopped through recognizin’ its process. Can you do that?
Education will ensue: stop being monsters to the stupid monster in everyone. You don’t hit a kid, that’s rule number one. We start at the beginning, this one Krakatoa. We get in there and educate the public like our lives depended upon it. We help kids when their parents hit them, or nazi them around, or any harsh treatment, and get in those parents with the strategies they need to survive/cope, [words heard spoken simultaneously] forcefully, tactfully. You can’t abuse them in turn, but you make them know they’re hurting their child.
A license to have children? We’ll get to that, a coverin’ ground how to have children. The very first thing you mention you don’t hit them, and I’ve left a school behind, a whole row of poems, the specifics about them genitals. Eat it up.
You’ll know where the safe houses are, the ones comin’ online, the ones makin’ it right with their children. They tell their children they’re humanity before any other row. They tell them sweetly, kindly, and without all this pressure. This is your identity kid. You’re a human being in the politics of bein’ human, who you are among the group. Sure your people are important, your race your tribe, but sweet humanity my dear, the whole is who we are.
Do you see this trampoline? It can be done in all existing countries, in every household on the planet. Can you get at humanity that way? Will warm slowly, but when the idea's out there it’ll catch on. Let’s get after it people. Don’t you wanna to stop climate change and do away with genocide, and take a big bite out of war, and how much to gender will be solved when everybody sees their human being and not just a gender walking towards them? Okay little human being, you get started. Okay let’s ride.
That old door we can lock it. We can lock it by taking a rule and applying it to behavior. I will never understand why it keeps rising. It’s good fiberglass, but when you bump it it breaks. It’s only doable in finding your own fine seals baby. You really test the waters there, overcome behavior with a song, “I Love My Child”.
Listen, listen close, back to the tree, that shadow tree, that tummy I don’t give up. It seems like this whole thing is evidence there’s so much to the hitting of children, and there’s a whole lot we don’t see, but always remember forgive me and go save my child when you’re in Africa. That’s really what he wants, what they want, parents who beat their children: they need help raising their kids. They just don’t wanna admit it. You can control yourself. How do you do? Could be good company comin’ in. Those are the helpers you see. It could be divine speech.
I’m tired of standing here with supramental orders that can’t even be looked at. / Comin’ off a blog, you can’t get that heretic. You get a certain group of followers and that’s it. My fingers count the readers of these poems. You can count to ten for most posts. How many morally outraged people are there? On them days there’s a spike, the people lookin’ for the gun. I’m a rose in a cabin, and never I get out of that cabin and out into the public’s heart. I press controversial material, and there’s a lot of fear there.
I have not been allowed to speak I come from that social group. People are fear there. Come to the concert all your children in that they come first. I’m a child lover. I am a child lover that knows how, and God has taken my hand and shown me how. Will you dance with me?
You can’t film a psychological drama. They’ve upped the ante. We’re all weirdos. We don’t know what we’re talkin’ about. Thankful, be thankful. Somebody’s made some sense of all this, and I’ve done that expertly and cleanly. You can see it now, and here I am humanity giving you humanity, a toe to raise your children telling them they’re humanity, a radical idea to change humanity into its kinder parts, most noble. We need this to survive.
We find each other on the limits of sacrifice. This is no fools barred. We include everybody. Alright ship let’s go. Let’s get on with it. It’s a glory ride right into our business and actually, physically change the world. Don’t a waste it. We got this down.
We’re gonna tall this in and go for walks with the greatness of our children beautifully down the road. I’m in a compartment blog. We don’t remember. It must be a huge one. You’ve slept in a ponytail before. This is woke at its most basic part, where it means somethin’, and that all of humanity rides. It’s possible it’s possible, and gather to me now all the action when we walked in Heaven together, when we lived in bright beautiful homes with no strife. You don’t believe this I’m sorry/I know [phrase heard spoken simultaneously] gathered here into your one life, but we’re guardin’ plans at the altitude of Heaven meets Earth, and all that Heaven’s gold’s here. There’s where we start to ride.
It’s a recipe of children maker, and it’s always been in our hands to use. We’ve just had to get here at the opening of the Earth. You won’t be surprised this all came about, we made it, future read this. The cosmology of plans fulfilled looks so inevitable to us, but a cliffhanger in a half this was. For example, I almost didn’t make it, you know? I’m the preacher of the word, the choir I sing to, and I’m the congregation I start. Gettin’ ahold of yourself, it’s the tooth fairy about livin’. Hold on, I must tell yah I’ve really done that, and it wasn’t easy. Come on let’s bake this mile. We have a world to change. Let’s get goin’ people.
I remember now. I built a mile high stadium. Stupid show, look what Hookah did in the center of your program. We’ll always have that voice.
I would murder in words anything I tried to say. We have our long lists of hurt that’s been put out there. It’s how we tax the world. It’s how we feel better about ourselves. Would an actor see that?
And if I reduce it to a role, do I bleed responsibility? Do I reduce it to an abstraction in the places I’ve bleeded reality, the places I’ve burn?
I’ve grabbed the sun, live on a height of thought and life I write about all the time. I see the representation, the symbol we all are. It eves my day. What then?
How is it possible to hurt someone and not know their pain because you’re a writer of sky dreams? I communicate with the dead, have them all around me, each little life I’ve lit on fire in the bucket of intimacy.
I don’t think the possibilities of healing surround your room. You are not stark walking the symbol. You know the outer lair. An inside all day long, you don’t approach that.
You don’t know what it’s like to love the world in those places you’re sorry, breathing those words all day long to a you know you’re heard way beyond man. I don’t think you’re aware of the price you pay when you become aware of man. The pain you feel humanity.
But on the cutting edge of this is who I make it up to, a little boy growing in time. He represents you. He represents the world’s eyes, and I am there for him.
We can take joy on the Earth, sweet, innocent and kind, holdin’ our humanity close. It’s not all a razor blade. We can get sweet on the Earth, and when you get home, you can love the world like a little boy, and your representation grows.
Harm's End 