A different kind of story. I’ll write it across the sky:
I am a poet of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. I’m a 12-year-old poet. I am an original poet. I’m a muse poet, no help given to the writing of this poem.
We have as little as possible to do with bounds. Everything, if you think of something divine, it lights up. Grape juice, what’s the price? To get this boy’s poem published? Use the excellent hunter witchcraft. This is by far the best boat.
We have an epiphany of being. It lasts. It shoulders reality. It doesn’t go away. It will be there when we get back. That’s an ankle torn, lavishly spent on nature. I think we disappear awhile into our compellings. This could be a shade of grey, or the self-righteous crowd.
We hang there. We brood there. We don’t know what it means. I think Earth has taken us by the hand to stumble some. Are we workin’ things out? We’re an operation reality. So many meanings made clear where we go wrong. Can you see this?
It reaches us right there where we’re at. There is no perfection slave point. We arrive there, post-stumblings. It’s as certain as Earth. This is all in a car now. We hump it some.
I can’t show you the Earth. There are no fields there perfection’s sum, the arrived at. I can only show you time in her suspended miracle. Each failing of Earth gathers us. It fixes us where we find wounds. I think the urge there is to heal, in humanity, and in ourselves.
What have we done to the Earth? And you think this is out of step with nature’s plan? Of course we rob/ruin it. [words heard spoken simultaneously] No other animal would do otherwise in the glory of its day. So how do we naturally put on? Give the Earth time to heal its man-plan. This is far away from us? You’ve got it in your hand.
We open Earth with it, one story at a time, stories big enough to see us, because they’ve hit us in the quick of ourselves, in what it means to be human. We lavish such stories in exaggerated can. There are all humans to meet, who spiritualize themselves and bring out of them soul.
You can’t see this plan. The story has made us discover ourselves in an avoidance of Mars, the tribe of our taboos, that can make you vomit if you find it close, that can heal your scars when you find it redemption.
What do we do with this? He’s a pedophile throw him away. You nincompoop, this blesses us, if we know it arrives at noon, if we can call it our own, sit with it and not react.
I can’t spy this in for you. You’ve got to see it yourself. You’ve got to be there with the Earth where she most needs. You’ve got to be open to chance, and from bad things can come good things, if we arrive there. The Earth is a joy shout out. It means somethin’.
Every separate thing loosened from its coils came from her divinity’s roll out. Some have become perverted in the mask of space. They have a divine element. They come back to themselves, over and over again, if we can find that purpose put.
And the pedophile becomes a purpose maker in the intensity of small children. Instead of sex he gives them stars. Your disbelief is operating now. It blights this page, and I’m stuck with it, have to sit with it and stare at time. You won’t release me.
And we’re crowdin’ in on time. My boy has submitted his first poem to a literary showcase here in India. There will be others. He’s 12, and comes upon us another snag: did he write this?
You maniac, you are horrible disbelief. You would destroy the world if you could, rather than read his poetry lie down. I’m making it visible now, Nithish’s hotspot, where he finds muse. This is in our certain poetry together in the soliloquy of love.
A shapeshifter, I’ve morphed into my true form: hello there boy, I’m intensity of consciousness open up to intensity of purpose, hanging your own star. Watch that glow. Good God that’s purpose, smellin’ salts.
Stories that make you puke, stories that rhyme with the Earth, calculate us and make us see. They involve with us to every hand’s on healing. Do tell, and here I am in that yard. Wrap me around the world, will yah? I’m certain. Watch it, a fuller opera, a zero point ignition, reaches Earth.
I want to be Rivendell to meet, not some pedophile sandbag. A lot of people meet me everyday. I’m countin’ the reaction when you’re encountered with pedophiles. I’m goin’ to school where I meet yah, and would you believe you could learn about the sky here? They stole it, people who let social stigma get in the way of their judgment. Did we just mention everybody? For awhile there, Jesus was not one of ‘em. Now he’d be right there judgin’ yah with everybody else, because he’s a Christian.
Do we have anything fat to look at? Can we get into a different defense cave? Social stigmas don’t have sting anymore. It’s not visible too seen. You think you know everything. What does this cost us? Would you believe the stars? You can’t go there. You can’t even run. It’s got yah by the balls. You’re not helpin’ anyone sexual sinners included.
Did we just mention social stigma? The heart of the disease. It camps us in the hatred of the sinner. It’s here we have social margins, places we cannot cross, the ultimate taboos of society, bigger than even eating your neighbor. Can you feel the hate down there? What riles you up more against the sinner? Where do you go with that? In the news.
I’d like to lesson faith, put Christ there on the table and examine him. Let’s start with Buddha. Do you see love? Hell even Krishna would say no in a pedophile open container. Muhammad would just deny that it ever be. I’m countin’ populations of this faith or another, that give us Godly love. The population says no, if we’re lookin’ in sexual drawers. Why is that? Godly love’s not among them.
Progress, we haven’t seen this yet to stop hate here. Have I come to a common denominator what eats the heart of man? And we can come further. We can see this thing. We can liken it to our lives. We can know it hurts us, to always have the scarlet letter we give people to wear. I’m talkin’ about every day, every hour, every minute, on this Earth, and multiply that times humanity.
Silent the Staffers are about this, the administrators of humanity, the ones who give us the news, the ones who sell religion, and the poet, and the playwright, and anybody who makes noise. A lot of people mention queers and transgenders and other fancy stuff, but they sure aren’t showin’ us the leaven of the rule to hate sexual sinners, very different from accept me I’m gay.
Did Jesus come to heal that? A powerful religious figure. Have we come that far, where we can recognize the sinner in the ones who are to us Gods? And the ones we recognize as Gods, they wear perfection you see, so they have authority, so they don’t blind us with true vision. We can’t take that light. Mother Mary was a saint, and Jesus never sinned. Can we get outta here? Out of wedlock has got us by the balls.
It damages us, makes us see right in lying about the Light. Muhammad never loved women and failed God there. Can we see this for the truth? I think someone would kill me if I said it, and word got around. Our religious bringers, even if they don’t know it, are tryin’ to heal humanity where their own lives are concerned.
Of religious hate, it can’t see this. Of religious hate, this is all over the place, and here it’s most prevalent and mean, most pronounced, and it’s there in your jury room, and it’s there in your heartbeats. What do we need to heal? Society, if we ever hope to help the Earth. Environmental change to a better Earth for all begins there. It’s our starward. It’s our hope. It’s where we meet each other.
Who do you revile the most? That’s the key ingredient of our change. It’s where we find each other on common ground. It’s where we pick apart humanity and find its managing flaws. It’s where we touch base with one another, and it stinks to high heaven. It’s beyond the pale. It’s what moves us to rape, murder, and war, because it’s our common denominator, LCD hate, the hatred we all share. Move that, touch that, and we all quiver.
Are you there yet? I’m roundin’ you out some. I’ve got a field to show. Hear my heartache? I am everywhere. I’m in your shoes now. Feel free to put your comments in the minus bar, is that what you say Eddie? Is that where you’re at? It’s where we draw morality today.
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.
Harm's End 