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]
About concessions surpassing condition in this mutual lust’s core. / From Don to poet in 30 seconds. I’m on poet duty. I’m a hole in One. Can I tell yah our range card? The ego sits in its bunker wonderin’ over friends and family, excused about relationships the very center of relationship. Hey you I’m a world, a big planet unto myself, the center of my see. You have not that validity.
You’re just out there, and I’m in here the substantial train yard. I wanna melt these barriers down, but I grab myself again, and that’s impossible. I really love you, and that’s sweet and kind. No it slaps you in the face sometimes. I’m all animal whirl when someone gets my goat, but I mitigate it with you must be in there too, just fightin’ your own wars really feelin’ yourself a wounded soldier.
Can we get out of this? I try. I don’t know where to put you if you don’t see my worth, if I am just a blob in a corner to you. We sing awhile the injustice in that. Oh my God do I compensate. I think I feel every hole in humanity. I so understand your pain, and it moves me to tears I’m embarrassed to show. My God you have a rough time little Gaza boy alone in his bed of refugees. I don’t know where to turn from your pain Parkland shooter realizin’ what you’ve done.
I’m a hole in the fence to a greater life I can’t fit my own self through, but I’ve been there a time or two, on the other side of that fence, miraculously arrived in the very vision of God’s eyes, and I know we are safe caught in the lifetime passage dream to bring us all out of strife at the end of the tunnel.
My God I would be there now if I could unrealize the dream. So I sit and suffer in a peculiar sense of humor that sees beyond the show. I know we will be made right. I see this in my puppy dogs trying to crawl into me to feel safe and ease their loneliness. I am the master of love to them, and I am but a prototype based on God. We’re headed somewhere, you and me and the whole damn crew, so I hold my dog and comfort you, who set bars alight wantin’ to get at this lust’s core to dream to change it.
I would not be bothered safe. Now tell me now would you? Would you give it to ‘im, this poem over there, if he were your little boy in trouble? We can fly the world on a single point where suffering goes and capture the whole poem. Oh my baby dog Nithish, we wish you a happy birthday on tomorrow’s wings.
Can we reach the delivery of the poem that our being intercepts? I am worried about contradictions and just pissing people off instead of reaching them. Nithish is suffering. I don’t know where to stop that. No one seems to notice because it’s not polio, but it’s heartbreak nonetheless. He misses me, a mother to him for many years, the most important person in his life for many years, and I’m not the only one saying that; his heart does.
He’s in mourning, and that’s not recognized. It’s not even mentioned. He’s not allowed to talk about it. There is no outlet for his pain. His mother knows it’s there, and it makes her very angry, and she punishes him for it. What’s a kid to do?
He cries. He gets angry. He implodes upon himself, but there is no issue from this dilemma. It just keeps getting worse. He cries. He carries on, and the pot boils over. Now he’s desperate, and when you’re 13, adolescence has given you weapons the child you are still can’t handle. It’s a dangerous moment in Nithish’s life. We want what’s best for Nithish, and if we want anything else, we are really playing with fire.
What’s his name, Pride? You wanna let ‘im shoot your kid? It might be a gentleman that gives you honor and social prestige, for a little while, but when you put it above your child’s needs, above goodness and mercy, you wreck your life in the fall you have from Pride, when it’s gotten to the point even you know you’re wrong, and that you’re treating your child badly. But you don’t have to fall. Put down your pride and address your child’s needs, okay Sandiya?
I’ve looked at soul models. I’ve looked at grief, and you’ve heard me on Facebook tellin’ about it and all over the damn place. I don’t come on this platform to insult and offend. I’m much better in the werewolf of time reading you right. You took a bath tonight. Son of a bitch! We are closed. Abolish One on the way. Who do you get to come after you, Mr. Cat Stevens talkin’ about the Peace Train? No you get a me pointing the finger at you for all these abuses.
I respond to my muse. I respond to the image of my boy. I know he’s hurting. Now can I spread this on the table? He’s really hurting. These are deep wounds he has to live with, and they just eat him alive. You don’t know the pain of suffering when you’re just a little boy all mixed up in adolescence, your body a whistleblower, and everybody knows you’re confused. You’re standin’ there with a sense of self no amount of world can resolve, and you can’t grab the world by the tail because it has you so tightly in its grasp you just want to please it, make it go away.
He’s an adolescent, in the most difficult years of his life, the most confused, the most tender where he’s sensitivity it hurts. He is already a well of suffering, and then someone took from him his support and his comfort and his home, in his mind of things, took from him his daddy, and you all know how I mother people, in a way that made it I’d died with no contact allowed ever again in his life. Oh my God that hurts in the very substance of yourself, and it’s a pain that won’t go away, even if you want it to. That boy hurts. Please see that. It’s terrible for him. It’s the end of the world. Oh Sandiya please listen. For God’s sake listen.
Yeah I know I’m studying your attention like I need to end this poem. Not quite. Transact another line. Who has turned over, that’s always a thought. Believe me, we can fix this right. Everyone would have run had he been 13, a teenager in years with their what's up. There’s enough fuel, still childhood left, to remove this pain, to take these scars out of his life, take him to his blue book.
Healing is the first thing I’d do Sandiya. I heard his manhood depending upon this time. Please, open, open up in there, and put down your arms of control that’s squeezing the life out of him, and let him be with me, and let him be with you, so that it doesn’t hurt. I’m the denomination now, and that doesn’t hurt. Do we throw this boy to the wolves or what?
A kid his own age, George, I know very well. I really know kids, like it’s the focus of my life. You know that boy’s in trouble, and you know what has happened, and you know Nithish needs me because I can make it right. Pay him back on the outside what he needs on the inside to heal, and give him me for his birthday, and give him the happiest birthday he’s ever had. Give him what he needs. Let him on his birthday be with his daddy, and here I am.
To murder someone else on the arms of a little boy, in the status of a little boy, you hit the nail on the head with what keeps us from being human to one another, what keeps our humanity at bay in the everyday meaning of relationship.
Nithish has a parent that’s me we didn’t put together by law or found by blood. Time did it, growin’ him up in my care, parenting him. No amount of denial can change that in this boy’s heart or in my shattered life. No amount of lies can make it undone. We are parent and child and more.
We are each other’s significant other in that our lives are undone in the worry over the other. Where do you see that? In his inability to concentrate solely on school, in his brooding silence, in his anger that’s at a flashpoint every time, in his antsyness and nervousness not knowing what to do, in his inability to sleep at night. These are just vehicles. Those around him know something’s up, have known for months now, and all the punishment you can give him can’t stop it, all the control.
You got a situation where you’ve gotten rid of one of the most important people in your son’s life, / a very important person to your life, even important to the school his goes to, and that was done in what amounts to murder in the first degree, where you simply killed him as cruelly as you did that: without any thought of goodness or proper action, cut me out of your boy’s life like he was holding the gun, and you even made him shoot me, and he suffers for that to no end.
You can’t say why you done it, just that your parental rights give you that right, and I have none, what it boils down to, whatever the dyslexia of the situation, the Sri Aurobindo, and you split your family doing that, made culpable his school.
Who am I again? A real live person in your life no amount of getting rid of will get rid of, and even if you actually did kill me, or send me off in space, I would be around your neck in plain view of that boy for the rest of your relationship with him, what you did to me and why so you can have him for yourself.
Can we rule of the heart of the matter? And the heart is a tough customer, and you feel it too. It’s what we live by, overrides every rule, shows itself as the leader of the life in every relationship. It can’t be denied, and even if you ignore it, it will make sure you can’t, and you can’t can you Sandiya? That’s why you control him so much. You know he wants to be with me.
He’ll be 13 in less than a week. I’ve been to every birthday that boy’s had, been a principle player. You know what he wants for his birthday. He wants his daddy. He needs his daddy. You are his mother, and that’s what mothers do, meet their child’s needs. Was he born from your womb and now you own and possess him, or are you really his mother? Well are you?
Anyway, I want to see him on his birthday. Why can’t that be arranged? That’s tonight’s show.
I’m a bleeding article from your last test, a hyper-hypotenuse. I say the line. It’s a dynamic field. We don’t get there soon. We don’t even see it for awhile. I hate to be the seeding can. I’m not celebrated in the streets. I can’t get my name across to change the world, but I tell you where God’s made, Mr. and Mrs. People.
God grows distant here. I am so tired of institutions. The institutions of marriage and family break our social fabric in adhesive bonds. We can’t get away from them. They test our social fabric with what can’t be named, a guttural possessiveness that puts us all in hordes. We tarry there eating each other alive. It’s needed for our ship, a family of parents that brings kids into the world. It’s not what we need to survive. It’s what we need to get rid of as the managing arm of society, as our social fabric dies.
We can’t raise kids that way: listen to me or die. My life you have made whole by your coming, and I will rub your nose in it all life long. You can’t be free from me where you go against my purpose for your life, my need you for my own ends. Society balks at this: give that child freedom to manage freedom. Why must he live his parents’ life? Why must she be the daughter of their destiny?
Why do we have to do this all the time: uphold the parents’ rights to determine the will of their child? Can you count this in terms of freedom? Step back parent and let your child play outside no rulers present, no supervisor gag models. Alarming this is on humanity’s plate: Big Brother rules the child just in everyday parenting.
The fear of outside unsupervised doors, sex resides there, doesn’t it? Your fear of sex rules the show. Your fear of sex rules everything. They get scared of their own front teeth we put sex trafficking models on them, a child molester behind every bush. They don’t know what it means to be normal with the fear the news media raises. Add that to their own possessive accounts, the parent that raise them, to guard that child at all costs from perceiving another parent in someone else, and you just explode at the seams with a child that can’t reckon itself, and they will grow up unable to handle society.
A new institution will make the new man. A small group of people family size will orchestrate the new human being. They still visit their families every damn week, maintain those close ties, but any kid that can relate a dream, old enough to, becomes part of a dream group their dream calls them to. This is a sadhana watch ladies and gentlemen, and a handful of people call its name. They are near the child’s home forming all the time.
It’s what society does now, spiritual growth. No clogs in the machine, children will grow up to change the world. A spiritualized society comes about from its own accord. It rises from the soul in things, and we almost see glimpses of it now. No government can put this in place, nobody that makes steps the criteria to get there, and no organization makin’ people do it.
I’m a sadhana watch ladies and gentlemen speaking its piece, and we’ve lost our youngest member to parental overreach, Nithish, a prototype of the new human being. His stuff is on the web for you to watch. His tale is told in these crawl spaces of his life. Jealous of the songs he was makin’, jealous of the music, his parents made a big mistake. They tried to take out his soul in great abusive waves that tore down his life. No reason for this except jealousy.
It’s heartrending. Their cruelty destroyed him, and he was left a nervous wreck scared they would smother him in his sleep. In such an environment he turned off the new human being. Betrayed by God, whom he adored, he stood helpless facing time a growing rage against the machine. Parental rights determined all, why I’m fighting for his life. You hear me now, don’t you?
I can’t do it anymore, just stand by and write poems. I’m a half today. The other half is his, and we make a whole of action. Finally, inevitably, we come together on freedom. Hear us Lord? It’s Your horse we ride the day we certainly dare, the day we certainly keep.
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.
Harm's End 