Look at the homeless with binoculars. Our individual freedom doesn’t extend that far in the thousand mile kingdom. No homeless please. We’re all fruitcakes. Be crazy live a crazy day, tantalizing. We are moored in individual freedom everywhere our commercials reach. They key of the individual has been locked in some drawer. Look at it. Conformity in obedience is every sign.
Conformance and mobility, is that a high-rise condominium? We live in nation great. Has anybody seen it? It’s a melting house of the wrong ideas. It’s a house of conformity livin’ in big beds. Try to bring four dogs to town, and you’re out the door. Can the people that make such decisions respect you?
What are we doing here? Everything makes money or is about the same. We don’t live in a society of free people. We think politics rules the day. It’s each other we rule with our dumb attitudes of you’re not my type or you don’t do that right.
Let’s all be mean to everybody when we have the power to do so. Who wears a social mask when you’re a hero championing all the distain? I can be mean to you because social hierarchy is everything in the land of the free.
What’s up? Have we sold our souls for product? Look at the shelves. The comfortable eating world of me, my God it’s big. The availability of product has destroyed the world, but I put America first in my prayers, and I get fat doin’ it.
Now it’s the Gulf of Mexico bein’ drained out in America’s name. We are proud people, and we stick our nose up at a fall. We don’t know there’s a fall. Just ask an immigrant, illegal if they’re non-white, legal or not. They know a reckoning. How are they not human beings? They know the price of a fall.
Can we discuss national boundaries? How are we managin’ this, without constraint? The people that sleep in the same trees as me my country ’tis of thee? Open borders haunt us all, but are borders and hatred the same thing? I’m ICE lookin’ down its long list to expel people: let’s get rid of vermin will yah? Is that the land of the free and the home of the brave?
Salute the flag again. Everybody’s doin’ it, and here comes Trump, an underdeveloped character from our minions, who does not have love for his neighbor, has taken the golden rule and shove it up your ass, hates even his constituents if they’re not about his name.
Where is God? He is not in Trump’s eyes. He won’t fit there. The justice of God is concerned with the Earth, sacrifices for the love of mankind, loves the just and the unjust, let’s his rains benefit everybody, is an ambulance carrying people to righteousness.
America puts God first? Let’s send everybody to hell who hasn’t got the formula right worship Jesus or die. Now that’s love for all eternity, no forgiveness ever, and you are suffering the worst hell imaginable. Found your nation on this religion, make this your idea of God, his final character, and you don’t have a nation love your brother let me tell yah.
Now give Trump the power of God, that carte blanche you’ve given him, and make him mean you. Trump is not there in the love of your life. He’s a dangerous will armed with time. Where do you see Christ? Where do you see the love of man? What is his dollar statement? Every head and every hands making that the chief concern. Right on the beach put this hood on yah: you’re makin’ money off of sunbathers; you’re makin’ money off of fences; call this the American way.
The mess we’re all in, have you found it yet? Would you look for it if you could? Are you just blind to the peripherals? Would you love your brother if you could, whoever that is? That’s not giving them a dollar to eat. You’re giving every man, woman, and child on the Earth we inhabit, in our togetherness, the helpful goodwill we need to see each other correctly.
And America, the most powerful nation on earth, can you lead us all to goodwill and be an example of sacrifice? Never mind defending your borders; you have that genuine need, but can we get grace to policy your movements?
There, my God I poet. Do you hear me? And found peace a few times before the profound peace. I’m lookin’ for it now. I have an appointment with destiny. It’s just my own personal flavor on things, a poet in the halls of America let’s be good shall we? I didn’t cut my teeth on it, and boy have I been a sinner, but goodness is my way to meet the world because I’ve learned the price of love.
Can I give you that honor? Let’s swim on the beach and never harm anyone, even in the throes of thought. Let’s pick up ourselves and cherish one another. I’m rootin’ for you in this sundown meditation. Do you hear the beach?
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."
Video description: Nithish wrote this song in school after finally being able to spend a significant amount of time with me after six months of not seeing me. It came all at once, sung to him line by line by the inner voice. It was sung to the tune of “Daylight” by David Kushner, and I did the best I could to make it sound like that song when I took the wrapper he wrote it on and put it to my guitar. I was able to consult with him during that process.
Losing a child in circumstances where the child also loses you his parent sets up heartbreak on a level of suffering that is simply hell, for the parent and the kid, because your kid isn’t dead; your daddy isn’t dead. Both are in easy seeing distance but cannot even talk on the phone or message each other, and that is a knife that does not stop stabbing as time goes on. As long as that kid’s a kid, and even after, and as long as that daddy’s a daddy, hope assails you in the same place as despair, and all the bad voices are saying bye, all the good voices are saying hi. Now you can hear the song. He loves his daddy.
He discovered that his Crimea life had to change.
I’m not talking about the pencil box.
We’re seein’ movies:
all eyes on the outer scene and you're in the movie.
How do I concentrate?
Remove obstacles.
Look at your life in purpose.
Don’t just stand there and stare at things.
I don’t know how to engage this.
Look at that rice on your plate.
Does it need you?
Yet it exists.
I need another metaphor.
There’s a dog in the corner.
It’s barking.
It’s baking.
It’s just lost in its own movement, you see?
You put yourself in everything you’re lookin’ at.
Can you give a free look,
free of charge?
Just look,
no questions asked.
This is less painful.
It’s not up and down.
The Source is just a remover of boundaries.
The Source won’t last long on my time.
I’m a question paper.
In this instructional video,
can we suddenly lick my nose,
make mean somethin’?
I wanna apply this to life
in the substance of my hands.
We process thought
so your hands help the world sunshine.
This even in the substance of your genitals
and how your dick holds the world when you look out upon the world.
Why the sudden graphic video?
Attention readers,
I think I got yours.
Once we go down there it’s hard to come back up, you know?
even in a poem.
I study reality whether you believe it or not.
I put divine values on everything.
Now I’m learnin’ to not bother with me.
A thousand runs will there it is.
We don’t want to invest reality with our stuff
in the substance of our see.
We want to be free in that look.
It’s like the doorbell rings,
and you’re not concerned about it.
You do not enter the picture.
Can you get that look?
It’s hard to bear/keep. [words spoken simultaneously]
There are so many things pressing on your mind.
This is thought control
at its most basic.
Can you see reality from here?
It’s got lines in it.
Crossing them means you.
A monkey sees that
swingin’ from tree to tree.
You can’t see that in your living room.
You’re not involved in yourself in reality,
unless your reality needs that look.
It’s screamin’ at yah.
Can get that look
on death row.
Reality has you by the balls,
and you see yourself too much.
This is freedom from spheres.
You have a long way to go
to freedom yourself,
oh world of my sunshine.
It’s not a substance of thought.
Your reality changes
the ground of consciousness has.
Wow, this is frightful
if you haven’t bubbled into it over time.
There’s no room for it,
with your leavin’ everything,
and you don’t know how to handle zero,
and everything’s still around you.
We’’ll get to that later.
It’s the culmination
culminated elsewhere.
This poem doesn’t go that far.
Here you just let go
of you as you stare at things.
photo by Donny
Anyway I’ve got a limited ordinary sword. [vision putting the image for poem here]
I can’t seem to see the forest for the trees.
It’s hot stuff,
because it’s got so much reality behind it,
but still there’s ordinary consciousness there.
Can you count the trees?
Can you even tell the difference
between a reality bin
and ‘can you see the trees’?
I am a lineman for the county. [heard sung by Glen Campbell, “Wichita Lineman”]
You’ve tripped up everybody—
a line you make.
Will it ever join reality?
We’d have to look at my poems awhile and see.
No one’s taking them to the picture show.
What form is that?
Can you get rid of me?
You’re not packaged reality.
I think the reader said that.
This is traditional English in the mass.
Where do all these bubbles come from?
A larger reality
that makes passes at reality
and even cowardly reality.
Much more was in conflict after Zelenskyy’s assassination.
Can we make Zelenskyy any bigger?
Planets and rallies in the corner,
the poet the symbol is a metaphor of.
This is so on your feet.
This is so operation from your mystery.
His society refuses him to speak.
You heard his poetry anyway—
lessons in accountability.
Alright throw him away for now,
and just look at bare reality.
It’s there behind the poem.
She was always ahead of the Path.
Can clear at any moment,
and she just keeps engagin’ in stuff until it does.
Do you want to see my failure in things?
It’s listed on the net.
And there it is.
Man it came to me at dawn:
I am now gonna make it to the top of the world,
with or without you. [heard sung by U2, “With or Without You”]
Do you hear my drivin’ point?
My freedom from midnight,
from all expressions of evil.
Can you hear that power?
It’s right where you least suspect it.
It’s in your living room.
Pick me up will yah?
Get into the rest of that television
mobilized for enlightenment.
Cheerio.
You can say he went to the doctor.
A lot comes out of that.
Good and clean,
those are the eyes.
Hallelujah.
Harm's End 