Insert card and procedure. Remove the chance that we had, visiting. Are you English? I don’t understand. I didn’t red one second in that girl. Stay high and close. There’s a ballpark you’re gonna play on. It’s just a matter of minutes. Come on get happy. Ecstasy at the apex. Ride your family. There’s more than family values. Okay A camp, there’s Donny.
I’m gonna realize you in the stack. The stone of my words will remove them from any look on themselves innocent. Arrow on his sight, and Auroville is under the dominion of these wares. Well that’s in Pondy. The hand butter or you are called potentials, the rest of your life. Don’t feel scared there. You’re not wet cross.
Why would the child cry?— excellent. For some attention. These phrases stopped your evolution. You didn’t touch that child. You were so good to him he cried when you left. David Wayne was it? Your cousin’s boy, David King. They accused you of molesting him because he cried when you left. What a child and jury, these were your cousins you’d known all your life. They just accused you, without even knowin’ why.
“Must’ve stuck your hand down his pants, when we weren’t lookin’.” That was your uncle Jerry, whom you’d loved all your life. Jerry Duke and his wife Sherry Duke, they were monsters to you. Karen and Eddie, their children, were the posse. I think they saw the kid cry and made out you did it. You saw each one of them born and grow up. They were Jerry Lloyd’s brother and sister, your first best friend, the love of your life until you were five. You were like twins, daily in your playfields together. You kept that love, growin’ up. He didn’t.
Now wasn’t it David King had you stroke his penis when were a little boy and he a teen, and didn’t he tell you he raped Karen when she was 11, he 18? Wow you, Eddie and Jerry Lloyd, a lot of sex play when you were little, penises all in each other’s mouths, especially you and Jerry Lloyd. This continued growin’ up. All the cousins did it, James Duke too, and you’ve always remembered that horse Jerry Lloyd and them fucked when you were teenagers. Did I see you get on it too? Steve fucked yours, do you remember? You were 10, he 14. Now they’re gonna go and accuse you of child molestation. It ain’t right.
Jewett, they all lived in Jewett, Texas, on Old Durant Road. Some of ‘em still there. Mean people, they just got rid of you when you were in college, and they were not. Wow you had been a Green Beret, and they hadn’t been anything. They are jealous, vile, people, and your love for them was never returned. The suffering of that false accusation, it changed your life. You wailed in dream. You couldn’t believe it, and they never spoke to you again.
How’s that for family? They’re all born again Christians, and they act like it. They don’t love their brother. They don’t even know he’s there, still hurtin’ from their murder of his love. He cried for years in the solace of dream. This hurt. What did it do to his ramrod? False accusations sting. They waylay you. They change your behavior. Why even try? You do it then.
You were really good to David Wayne. He was four and don’t remember a thang. He was a cute little guy. The Dukes and the Kings, how are they with kids? They take care of them but don’t give them any attention, the kind that opens them to society kind people. They give them swimsuits and baseballs, but not the focused family time they need. They all watch television together. It’s not raise a kid, and they’re the center of the room, the heart of the attention. They’re not fostered so they grow up nice and sweet. They’re whipped with belts and switches and a lot of anger, and along comes this nice man from know how to do it, because he loves children so, and David Wayne gets the attention he so desperately needs.
Why did he shake his head yes that you touched him? He was four and didn’t know what they mean. This was a holocaust to that family’s sense of love and devotion, to that little boy’s pride. They got away with it, until today. You hear me speak now.
I am in my own city now. I have to get Nithish out of my consciousness or else insanity looms. I cannot carry him anymore. This is painful. I'm all out of sorts.
We have reconciled. He stood by while a cop tried to arrest me and said nothing. His mother had put the cop there because I had spoke to Nithish at his school, there to speak with his principal about the real reason his mother wouldn't let me see him, and I was concerned with her abuse.
As the cop tried to put me on his bike to take me away, Nithish was walking away and did not even look back. I had committed no crime, and so they could not take me in. Sandya stood by gloating, and then walked away disappointed when I wasn't nabbed.
The consciousness can't take that. It doesn't compute. I am finished holding him. This is terrible news. I had gone there to defend him, and I was worried sick over his situation. He all but pulled the trigger.
And I am left holding the gun. Nithish showed me a video on his mother's phone, which had gone to him. It was of his little brother masturbating, legs spread, penis erect, hand going at it. Sandya can be heard in the background laughing, but she didn't take the video. It's child pornography, but she said they did it in fun.
I've heard about for the last three years Nithish's father masturbating his little brothers, not diddling with it pumping it, for several minutes or more. He had tried to do Nithish, but Nithish said no. I did nothing with this information, except tell Nithish to say no. When Mithrin, the boy in the video, who's three and some, got big enough, his father masturbated him a lot, and Dhina, Nithish's auntie's husband, taught the boy how to spit on it and rub. Nithish told me these things. I heard all this, and just filed it away.
Dhina made the video, and now I'm left holdin' the gun. Do I shoot them with it? I don't want to hurt Nithish. So what do I do? I just leave the boy alone. I don't stand here and study him. I don't try to get him back to me. It's over. It's done.
Okay you've heard the news, why Nithish was taken from me. I mentioned that video to his mother and his father masturbating his brothers, to try and protect him from them. You see the results. Even the boy hates me, but I don't truly know that. Okay shoot me, public. I am the bad man here, turning that little boy against his family, and wanting him to go with me.
I thought I had a better home, and I wasn't his abuser, but you know kids are fickle. They hang on that family tree. I'm a nigger to him, a வெள்ளைக்காரன், and he just wants to be left alone. He's happy with the presents his parents buy him and the cater to his whim. And pain? Fuck pain. He wants his smile to be real.
So you have a masturbating video as the cause of all this charm that he's getting from his parents. They don't want him to tell on them, and they want his love for me gone. Well that did it, no word from him in days: daddy are you okay? what happened? I've been so worried about you.
He's just decided better go with it, his refusal of me. It's easier that way. Just ignore me and enjoy himself. I will never hear from him again. I can see that now. I've done my job, every possible thing I could do, to get him out of his parents' clutches and back towards the poet of the coming dawn, a destiny he had refused.
Now what do I do with this? I know the public you don't care. You would also have me arrested if you could. This may be my last poem. I'm throwing in the towel. We tried. We finished, and I failed.
Now glory in your self-righteousness, and tell me again you love kids. I don't believe that. Okay now I'm leavin' my little boy. You will not help, but I think I know what happened. He was totally afraid of his mother, that boy of twelve. There at the school she told him to renounce me and raised her hand to slap him. I grabbed that hand and pulled it down, and he did not give her what she wanted. She even put her hand over his face, so he couldn't see me. That's total control, and he had to go home with her afterwards.
What does a child do when the shit hits the fan? They stand there and cry, Ben 10 not included, or the Avatar and his gang. Nithish showed kid shock. He was just bewildered. He managed a weak head-bowed yes when I asked him if he loved me, and would he back me up. That was before the cop came. We were invited into the office to settle this dispute, by the principal before that cop arrived, but that Sandya refused. She wanted me arrested for defying her to see my boy.
We can't blame this on the kid. He's innocent in this, and I don't know how he feels now, but I can't continue hurting him and me. I can't love him like this. That little boy's been broken, stabbed in his identity, made to feel all alone in the world, put down for trying to hurt his parents, and at the same time they lift him up, afraid he'd tell.
What do we do with children, when they're in a bad situation, and our helping them hurts them more? We leave. We tear our heart out of our breast, put blinders on the soul, and just walk away. That's what I'm doing today. You with me?
Here is the address where the mother and the boys live and Sandya’s telephone number: +91 9384460042 64 Nettu St. Kurusukuppam, Puducherry, 605012 The street is only a tiny alleyway accessible from Advocate Chinnathambi St. Fourth Cross. On Sardar Vllabhai Patel Salai, a main road, turn left on Francois Martiin Street. Turn left again on Advocate Chinnathambi Street, about 500 meters from the Patel Salai. Go to Le Nid Apartments on Advocate ChinnaThambi Street, which is on the left where the street turns sharply right. Stand facing the apartment gates and turn right 90 degrees and you will see a little alleyway in front of you. Go down it and it immediately turns left and her house is the first door on the left. It is a very narrow alley. Time is of the essence. They are on their way to his father’s apartment in Chennai to avoid me. His address: Ashok Pillar 29 sector, 6th block Chennai, 2nd apartment building and the left, 1st floor, wooden door.
But I am provided in poems. Put it in the baby wash. It rules society. I’m talkin’ military hardware. We live with babies. The whole universe sticks in them we don’t see. The openness they are can start a revolution. They are so open it’s crazy in there. We just program them well. We don’t even know we’re doin’ it. This is ballpoint of society, and it is here we fuck up.
They’re strangers you see. They just lay there and fuss or pop a smile. They are closed to us. We have no idea what’s goin’ on in that baby’s consciousness. They’ve arrived from somewhere. Does this still glow in them? It’s got Heaven on it, which they slide down by degrees. They’re a soul state. They are empty room. They come from far away to land here.
They’re a Heaven’s breeze to our notion of self. We delight in them. It’s all over their face we have the power. Oh they’re tiny lords to our work schedule. They make us work. They are ever present in our garage. They are kingpins there. That’s the surprise. They bake in our dreams.
We don’t know what to do with them. They are a non-entity yet, but we love them to death. How do we handle baby? A conditioning arm. Everything we do effects them. They haven’t managed yet to filter out the world. It’s all new to them, and they rob you of your sleep. We handle them, and every touch matters. We are formin’ their identity. All their little quirks they’ll pick up from us. I don’t think science knows this yet: we cast their sexual identity in our arms. We determine it.
The action around those genitals will give the boy his love, the girl her romantic feelings. You don’t even have to touch it. They live in a soup of all this emotion, and they dance on the shores of the body your emotional fingers and hands. Your emotional awareness and hands, it could be you cannot see. You only know you’re washin’ and cleanin’ and things like that. Sometimes you kiss the life force there. It’s a magnet for your fingers, a draw, and the baby feels that pull, swims in it. You’ve determined their sexuality, I think the heaviest hand there.
Let’s swim in feelings you know. We swam usually when we’re three, and let’s pick the boy in the room. Can we call him daddy’s little lover? Their bond makes the fishes glow. It has heavy all over it. They abide awhile each other’s lover. This is way before memories are formed. Maybe it was your uncle. You don’t know. It gets squeezed sometimes, that little package you got, and his is so bright and shiny in the shower room. It’s a big muscle thing, daddy’s central hat. You’re not bein’ molested. You’re bein’ loved on, squarely and sweetly, and you love it there. It’s a special relationship, and a gay man comes out of it, like watch it glow. That man builds his life around it. We think he’s just gay. Do we open more doors?
Give that kid an orgasm and see. Oh my the baby bliss there. It can make Hitlers out of men and a mystic’s standin’ regard. Can you be a child molester? Depends on how you were molested. Was it sweet and nice, or did it throw you away? It was so beautiful my mom said, so amazingly sweet. No, sex did not enter the room. You see how blind we can be? There was sex all over that paper, but I love children a million dollars worth.
And I’ve shaped babies for yah in the frying pan, not enough to see it whole, just to know it’s goin’ on. All the variety of kids we produce, the adult they’ll be, I haven’t glowed on. Can you see this happening in society? The baby’s room, I live there, and I mean don’t we all?
And now I photograph, a photograph of ourselves on Thanksgiving Day. You really need this vision, and that’s where we change society, where that baby encounters the world. This is the cutting edge of difference. Don’t spank them don’t bleed them, don’t turn them on. Don’t even give them reason to cry, unless you can’t help them that way, and they’re in baby mood. If they see violence or hear an argument, their violence will ensue. We are rose with them when we call their name. Can everbody get this report? Baby’s Day Out, you have no idea. Baby’s Day Out, the real McCoy.
I’ve got my microphone. I’m puttin’ on my prejudices to give you infancy. It’s not all about homosexuality and gayness or look at that pedophile. It’s about somethin’ I can’t talk about. It’s got lands on it we don’t know about. I can only show you a picture that will help us along. You got that Fredrick? The baby wars, they’re a baby, and I call out war and disease that land at your backdoor, over the rainbow.
I have a tin drum.
It’s not crack cocaine.
It’s lovely, isn’t it?
It’s important main speaker.
I wouldn’t call you a liar,
in that inner voice sayin’ things,
but I would not be heard in public.
I’m an eagle’s roar.
You can’t hear that pronounced.
You’re not even listenin’.
I am doing this for my health.
You would redo, cut your hair
if I climbed in your television set.
I opera house
a viable life,
but I’m not a self-help coach.
I’m in the middle of the room,
tryin’ to get yah to be kind to one another.
I need that kindness for me.
You would walk away from me if you saw me.
I would trigger hate in you
without fail.
What would you do
if you saw someone that had done children?
How much like seeing a monster that would be.
It wouldn’t help you along.
You wouldn’t know what to do with it.
If that man seemed to have changed his tune,
what would you do to his window?
Would you advertise it?
Would you be embarrassed you didn’t break it?
Would you shoot him down?
Would he just be a thing to you?
Would you sit up and read his book?
I’m in the worst position in society
in the net speaker I am.
You just wanna do away with me,
even if I help yah.
You see my dilemma.
There’s no way out.
It’s impressive, isn’t it,
the deck stacked against me.
It’s pounding in my ear
your silence at my delivery,
your aversion.
I get black eyes with it all the time,
yet I don’t hate you for it.
I can understand your smokescreen.
You’re vulnerable too, aren’t you?
This is society’s cuffs.
How long will I be allowed to wait
on your compassion?
The clock is ticking you know.
Society is retreating into a cave
in its understanding of men.
Rape is being defined as any unwanted contact.
Get down with it,
like a child.
When they say yes it means no,
where you find children.
I was almost understood,
and now I’m questioning policy.
Maybe you’ve gone overboard today
on what it means sex to a kid?
Is it really a living death?
Do they suffer for it all life long?
Is programed suffering the suffering you feel in the hospital?
Sex makes children suffer
in any set of circumstances?
You point it out to make something
bigger than it is small.
You damage them that way,
and they have sexual bodies.
They play sex together
wherever you find children,
if they can get away with it.
An adult comes along
and gives them pleasure there,
no sex trafficking picture.
What is the exact point of suffering?
It opens doors too early?
The power the adult has stings the child?
Where on their body are they hurt
if no pain is involved?
Would if they like it
and repeatedly ask you to do it?
Is it suffering then?
How do you explain that to the child?
We have to stop;
the adult you’ll be will suffer for this?
That sounds stupid to the child.
Can we put this all on our backs
and try to understand me better?
I’m not sayin’ it’s right.
I’m not arguin’ sex with kids.
I’m asking you the questions you should be asking
to get at the bottom of this.
Will you ever see it,
your fear of that child’s sex?
How about your own children?
You’ve employed boundaries with them.
How many say your child drew them up?
I think we’ve gotten to the social mechanism
that binds you all
to hate me.
It’s singularly laid out.
It’s right before your eyes.
That’s a policy decision
ignore me.
Now that I’ve showed you,
can I ask you to see it?
We just have the one opening,
the picture at hand.
It’s not a molestation picture.
It’s so much you and me,
what you can do with a pedophile
when they know the right stuff,
when they’ve come together with themselves,
when they simply do not molest children.
You got that Oprah?
You got that world?
It get your mountain goat,
technically.
There’s an attack
if it’s a dark creator.
I sit to him.
I don’t pound him on the serf.
He’s one of the joy’s in my life.
This is not a person to grab.
I can’t see this child.
My room, well, my room has him.
He’s the center of my room.
Do you see him?
I’m showin’ him to the world.
I’m showin’ him to you.
He’s such a poet,
unbelievably strong.
He’s just turns 12 next month.
I’ve given you a glimpse of reality,
what’s happenin’ instead of what you think is happening.
That’s the special lair.
I pounce on you with reality.
I’m safe with children.
You’ll just smear that all over my face,
if you can even breathe.
There’s a werewolf in the house
you have society’s picture.
What, that’s it.
That needs changed.
I mean if you wanna get rid of werewolves.
Oh they persecute people.
They’re not the people themselves.
You would have to learn that in your bones.
You would have to see that in reality.
You would have to see that up close:
a mistake
we see a werewolf.
And that’s my team spirit for today.
Thank you people—
no riot.
Och,
did you have to say that?
Well that’s a terrible edge.
Why would you believe me for?
What you need to look at:
let’s stay on the couch.
Is that the dog and child?
Eyes closed,
he loves that dog.
Did you get that mountain down?
Because it’s delivered right inside your truth spirit.
An army of change
has this leading edge now.
A specific change,
I’m gonna open it.
Take a monster.
He’s a human being.
We’d have to choose
his humanity
if you want him to not be a monster.
Now just take a moment
and realize it.
photo by the author (not an actually rape victim, but you do get the picture)
Because of rape
I asked you to start talking about this.
You would kill me if I do.
Is rape like murder it never leaves?
Do we always hound people for it?
If there is a victim involved yes.
I must face this in society’s ways.
Are you fucking crazy?
We don’t have society here.
This is the explosive shell.
This is the dragon’s lair.
This is where we can’t understand right from wrong.
We don’t even want to.
We are society and it hurts.
In the comfort of our packs
we chop their dicks off.
There is no other way:
get at that guy mean.
Chop his head off
if you could get society to agree.
There’s no blame here.
He’s evil and we do ‘im in.
And who has stopped rape
doing that?
Do repeat offenders offend?
It’s all in a day’s work
if you’ve been violated,
and there’s where we lock horns:
heal a violation by a violation is a violation.
Would if a rapist said that?
Let’s get that motherfucker.
Okay I’ll stop.
I can’t play your hero.
I can only tell you what’s mean,
what destroys us.
I can tell that when the zeitgeist mean.
We tend to do that you know,
reformers.
We need an alternative to law here.
We need a better system to deal with it.
We are hellbent on revenge,
and not even the newspapers would admit that.
They call for blood.
What’s wrong with this?
More rapes
because of it.
I can’t crack open society here and show you its egg,
but is rape at an all-time low?
Oh my we pursue rapists.
It’s a planetary blight this.
It’s always been.
Wherever humans have gathered there is rape.
It hurts.
It pounds us.
It changes our daughters into
the notion of pain that binds them,
our sons into a warrior mean.
Japan had this in its arsenal
that unleashed the war.
Germany made Nazis out of crying men
when they were little boys.
It continues to rape us today
where we find inhuman conflict.
Oh such a pleasurable mean
a little boy graveled.
It’s the werewolf’s lair.
Even love can do this
to a little boy.
You see where I’m callin’ from.
Sometimes I get yah right in the poem.
I don’t know how to do this,
stop human behavior.
I can only tell you we can’t hate it away.
It comes down to do you love that boy,
and this is individually arranged.
I’m tellin’ you my side of the story.
Now what do we do with the werewolf in society
that pleasurably means
just to do us in blood
in whichever hole they do?
Great Scott I like it,
do a 15-year-old
in her scarlet letter.
Oh I’ve taken society by the horns.
You bitch,
I own you.
Oh the cram in,
it’s like I’ve arrived on earth.
Your gasp makes me cum
an earthquake.
I’ve put on models here.
This is not my do or die.
I want you to see how you identify
the purpose behind earth
where earth bleeds.
Can you smoke that cigarette?
Can you change its tune?
A little boy there
has been made to feel momma,
and it’s so comforting to him
to have sliced the Earth.
Maybe momma was a nanny,
a sister or an aunt,
but he’s probin’ you know
his Excalibur.
It was laden to him wrong
by women’s hands,
and we’d throw in a beard or two
of a farming man.
I don’t know the abuse.
I just know it’s there.
He’s been made to feel violated
in his thang,
his wherewithal,
his stewardship of being.
I’m not just callin’ sex parts.
We might not even see them here
in every case.
It’s a lowdown.
It blinds you.
It takes so long to move the Spirit there
even after Spirit has found you.
It takes so long to rectify this.
What do you do with this?
You don’t rape it.
You move it out of rape territory.
You deal with it like you do disease.
A cure is on the table.
A rape is on the table.
I’m givin’ yah high glimpses of it.
It got me too
when I was a boy,
a butthole of seven years.
I thought there was a sword in me,
and I thought I was gonna die.
You don’t know the pleasure of rape
when the tables have been turned.
It sleazes you.
It takes you through the field of yourself
a probin’ wound.
It can make a poet outta yah
if you’re strong enough,
or an artist,
if they haven’t gotten to yah,
those hellbent on revenge.
It can open up the world to yah
if you’ve gotten that far
in healing’s eves.
Ever you look at yourself
like the one who needs changed.
You never forgive yourself for it,
let yourself go.
You just wanna say your sorry
to the proper person.
Oh this can open doors
when it’s a healing divine measure,
a process of soul.
Who do I sing this to?
Oh my God world this is for you.
Block this out, will yah?
Harm's End 