Into the summer pageantry, I go forth unfailed by noon, unhanded by time. My spirit’s lonely shell in diabetes lay, is fretting upon the Earth. I can’t seem to get lost here and forget the Infinite for whom my life’s pay. Golden bridals of dawn have lit the morn, and I suspect Earth shakes. I suspect I’m wrong. Too horrible creature for words I belch poems of fire.
I don’t know where my destiny lay. It’s deeper than me. I don’t know where I’m goin’, and I’m in a car upon the roads of time. I just sit there and wait, going forward, lifting up my voice to fate. I can’t catch my dreams. I don’t know where they’re taking me. I’m in an uncertain moment, labeled a monster of the wood by someone who gets away with it. My home I fled from. She’d put a gun to my head, nobody to help me but this old guitar on the lifebeats of time.
Will I wake up and understand the morrow? I don’t know what business there, and I can be crucified today. Oh foolish Sun, is so much wasted on thee? What am I doin’ it for? Why do I plot my life towards the Spirit’s call? It is within me and I do it that is all, and I’m frying in a frying pan, having melted my home for her, where she had all power. Where did God help?
I suddenly escaped, and great large forces prepared that, and people did help. Fine, fine, I’ll go. I’ll transcend time and climb out of time to see my Face once more. I wear him still, where I find him today a necessity, the greater being that I am, so close it’s a million miles away, a chariot on my moon. Stronger now I gather evidence.
You don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. I just want to lay me down to sleep and be oblivion to all that encompasses me. I’m watchin’ the freeways turn to some other destination I can’t read. I can’t even see. I was born to put the incarnate in verse. I cannot count the cost I’m done. I am the uttered word taken apart by kingpins and pushed into the dirt. You see the history of this? Jezebel come forth. I am writing on the Sun.
Are you sure you’re led halfway? What rallies against your speech now? What blinded impulse urge did you do? You are innocent of her charges. Where do we get this out of here? There is nowhere where we haven’t drawn our horses. We are an envelope on our soul opening it. When I walked my soul I was in daylight. Love is the threatened of my feelin’ knowledge, the smushed of the prepared in my shield. I feel my stomach in it, all this mess. I spit it out my room. I’m not a devil. I’m not even a bad man. I’m certainly not raping my dog or about to blow up and kill the neighborhood or kidnap Nithish from India. Why would the cops take her seriously and come to my door and harass me?
I don’t understand this murder or the threat of jail for weeks afterwards, or that they might take my dog. This is ungodly. I didn’t commit a crime. I didn’t even do anything wrong. Where do this lead us? On the wrong road. We are not Bridal Falls, Minnesota. We’re Hell’s bells in this situation room Florida. Why would I suffer here? What’s the door? Poetry I let out. I called Trump out of office. I talked about infant orgasm I received, not condoning it nor encouraging it, and I didn’t let Christianity get away with it, putting people in Hell for all eternity, even most voters in the world, because they didn’t vote for Christ, and what about ICE? I’ve poetry’d against them, their murderous ways, their racist endeavor.
Okay you found me. I’m a poet you need shut up. I’m a poet you need out of town. Did you do that? You let it happen. No one came to my aid, except who I’d reached through friendship, and they are great on that, but we’d shared life together, and we’ve been in the presence of each other’s eyes soft and warm. They came in and helped, put me on the road again and a place to go to, and they’re ground guiding me in. I discovered reef, what the fishes know. It provides for me.
Okay now where is your soft and warm, your care and concern? Where do you hold freedom as a value you prize? Is anybody listenin’? You know what happened to me? Can you understand this in America? Poetry got me in trouble with the law. Nothing illegal I wrote. Someone took my poetry to the police and alarmed them with the accusations I’ve mentioned, no evidence provided, no evidence needed. This woman had power. She wanted me removed and did it.
What do you say to that? Do that for lunch, crap all over somebody, show them to be a monster, try to remove them from society, because they’d written poetry that offended you. The patriotism of this lady would turn your head, her salute the flag, but isn’t this typical of Americans nationalistic to the core? They will take your freedom away from you if they don’t agree with it. They will burn the Constitution, if you’re protected by it, and they don’t want you to be.
I’m still tryin’ at your door. Who does a poet talk to anyway? Who does he appeal to, the lawyer who wants ten thousand dollars just to investigate this case, the civil liberties union, who won’t even answer your email, the legal aid society, who won’t give you a dime, if the matter here is crime? You’re a warped society. No protections for someone such as me, who has no special name among you, who is not rich and doesn’t need one, who’s not a member of a minority. I did not carry a gun to a protest. I did not hit a policeman with my car, even a little bit. I wrote poetry and got in trouble for it, and you only give those murdered people credit to get protection from law enforcement, from cops carrying guns who unfailingly use them to murder citizens. What about a living poet? What about the rule of law that should in theory protect him?
Do you know what’s happened here? You think it’s dictators. It’s your worst nightmare made real. It’s your apathy and compliance to the mass enslavement of people to the cruelty of the machine. Another man taken down, so what? Do you hear me people? So removable, the awakening of the crowd. Storm Heaven with the right to be not a Christian. I think you like this speaker. He’s American. You told me something. Put on the vote get power out of office that’s goin’ down these lanes, where even art and poetry is in danger, or even freedom of expression they take from you now.
Am I a flywheel? I am the culling house today of let’s make this real simple. We’re lookin’ for a depository where instances of fascism can be recorded and set up criteria for the legitimacy of that reporting, a national hotline, an email you can tell, a national depository. You’re online, and we can review these cases ourselves, see them grow. You know, we’d get somewhere. We’d see it happenin’. We’d know it’s there.
On Old Galveston Road, or just down the lane, I rose up into Wonder’s sphere. My seat of consciousness came out the top of my head several meters into a whole other plane of existence, the larger I that I am beyond this sphere of lives. It’s conscious and it’s free. Several seconds I sat there. Then went back down to myself driving the truck. So, I know it’s up there above everyone, a being so unimaginable, it is the divine self of you above, the divine self of everybody, individually sphered, is the innumerable self above. It is one being one in all. Yeah, I ride that the poetry I write.
I have breached the spheres, and I know this is all bullshit, this whole damn ride we have down here, but it’s not an illusion. Nor it’s a lark. We change it one combustion at a time, until the Glorious comes down here to work more often than it does now, the Being that surrounds the universe with its gaze. Of course I’ll be persecuted. Of course Jezebel will hunt me. Of course these things happen. I’m on it. I’m right here describing it to you, fillin’ the details in with know whodunit.
Left lane ends one mile. This breach in the reality of the universe, the reality I’ve described to you that is the sole heart of this one, will be addressed and repaired not long from now. Can you get that? I will not be persecuted much longer by these people. I have some poetry to write. First thing I need protection. No, I’m talkin’ in a space that can't do that? Careful, you might lose your own freedoms in your notebook.
Tryin’ to humanize the experience. I’m tryin’ to show it to yah. It started when I lost my job for poetry months ago. Before that in India I got kicked out for writing poetry, separated from my family. I think you think it’s okay there, but has America lost democracy too? What are we tryin’ here? The way of the world. Do you know what engines are about, the directions of population control, the implements in place for that? No, I’m not talking gruesome they kill you there in mass droves. The everyday means of livin’ are being turned into a cattle bin. It exceeds any report about it. Look at your phone. Look at all the control devices. Look at the rules and regulations to even open a bank account, to rent an apartment, to put vehicles in the street, to go to the doctor. How hard is it to get a job, and what do all the questions ask you? Are you friends with the machine?
Everyday liberties are being taken from us, and it is as though they never were. This is insane, the normal people operating in society rule checks the automaton, is a pipe in a machine that pipes to no thing that eases its desolation, is a calling card to the Man to check the citizen's every move. We are becoming unmanageable as isolated freedoms. We’re too expensive to just let loose. We must be bound and carded. We must toe the line. We must do all this and merely say it’s fine. Dissidence is becoming too dangerous to harbor. You report dissidence to the police. That’s what happened to me. That’s what’s goin’ on now.
We’ll see yah tomorrow mornin’ chicken noodles into a fight. Are you gonna fare me? I’m not gonna shut up. Leave us alone. Take down my playbill, you can see they’re experienced today. Everything’s written around that. I was there in a Haight-Ashbury’s shoes yoga year. And to think that you’d become on the ground of being, often on the road, a vehicle for God’s registry to put his voice, a lone weaver of the hour of God, and what do you do for a livin’? What cycle do you wanna take? The song of poetry, my voice lifted high to the sky, my words reverberating on earth matter.
Is this a dream? It is thy wild wood. It is thy heart’s desire to thee. It’s where we go from here. It’s the stadium we pass now. It’s yours for the beholdin’ kin. I can do that. I can land on your word the vehicle of my speech. I can land yours in mind and plant mine on your feet, so the heart shall know love crude as a peacock has glistened his moons today, has arrived with liquid voice to show you the Sun’s risin’ ways.
I am a purple heart, and I dance on you now the purple pageantry of love putting hate in its place out of bridal dawn. Fine, I’ll grip your heart today. Will you dance on me now love’s pageantry today, love’s high noon? I’m the alien to all your notions of time, to what you view as the larger picture, to any answer that you’ve come up with to our state, because I’ve seen what I know, experienced it firsthand, and no amount of convincing me otherwise will prove it to me that I didn’t. This is my livin’ faith. This is what I hold in my hand. This is the knowledge that parts the stars.
Fine, I’ll be your bended wood, the poet you won’t give that title to, the one who stands here and sings like I’m in a vacuum. I know I know who I am. Gonna pull over somewhere and realize I am you. This is the knowledge that welds together the stars. It’s all I really ask from you, the empathy of that name, the identity that helps. We’re in the zone now I reach all the way to the public. We will see if you care. We will see if you know the difference between love and hate.
That’s what you guys for, to engender freedom and our care for one another. Corona’s the last time I saw you just shoveled aside for. Herd you away from the freedom we need to breathe almost everything in society now. Somethin’ is not right in our day to day ritual. I have the field glasses to see that. I have the equipment. Wrong kind of recipe you put under freedom. I gotta tell you somethin'. You’re makin’ some big mistake puttin’ poetry in the corner.
Now you can play off of my poems that I give you. I’m givin’ you poetry, and you’ve completely forgotten we manage by it freedom and help to wipe out hate and to be a true language model. What is this world? I’m late. We’re supposed to manage this world a better friend to everyone. Why on earth would you not agree? Why on earth would you fail here? That’s for poetry to answer, and I have. That’s the start of you wiping it out our rise to the occasion you take a poet and shoot ‘im or take his freedom.
Run up to see what you’re sayin’— the freedom loving individual. You’ve done it before. Remember your Walt Whitman? I fly my seat upon the roads of time. He axed; he falls more gravity than I can bear. I just look you back here, all that’s gathered back there and start doberman. Readers pipe in. I mean you gotta go down something like this don’t look at it all— Mrs. Mean Date in the earlier walking. Another purple heart. The first two, they will blasphemy.
Somebody spittin’ you and you go right down there: just as I am I cross thresholds. I try to be myself all the time. I don’t exaggerate my being. I want you to see me as me, and we identify with each other from there, from that bake, a humanity seeing, a humanity start. We’ve got to stop this revolution that puts us all as automatons at the hands of society, that takes our lives away, and they become the machine, that puts us at odds with each other so we change our core being, and you are not my brother, my neighbor; you’re a stranger we can do away with when society says that. We want to stop the revolution of ourselves turning into a mass of product. Can you realize that far? Please, come with me.
The barriers of time, I don’t think you ride them very well. We come up against them all the time. They’re in our shoes. They hurt a lot. You can’t see this for the daylight, the great big prison playroom we are in. It’s got walls to it intrinsically built into each one. That’s where our cameras go. That’s how we feel this test.
Your loved one’s on the other side of the room bakin’ pies. In symbolic meaning that’s a round of thought comin’ your way. You’re separated by time’s barriers. You can’t get at each other in the physical sense. Great big surprises come your way when you do, cramped experience that puts relationship to the test. You hold them there sweetly, and then you may never see them again.
You don’t know what’s up, what’s goin’ on. I’ve left my poem alone in a fire so heartfelt in love’s embrace. I can’t get at the tires, or maybe death’s got your door, and your dog’s died, the great big sloppy-lickin’ dog of your life, and no ma’am I haven’t just lost a dog. I’ve lost a reality so big it took up half my room. She was always there lickin’ paws next to my life. Losing her took my front teeth— my daughter you know.
She’s melting time’s barriers tryin’ to see me. I don’t think you know the cough of this universe. It’s horrifying. I see her damn near every day tryin’ to reach through vision to get me near to her. Death’s reality would spook you if you knew it’s there. I’ve muscle on this, but I’m pigeon-toed. I can’t just hold my girl like she’s right up against me. I hold her paw in some astronaut’s gleaming Interstellar there at the back of the house. The confines of death, they break us apart.
The muscle of time, do you know it’s there? It separates you from everything— one little lonely being at a time. Times barriers put us in a single physical space where we can’t figure each other out. We laugh out loud, then cry.
You’re a pickup truck that can’t pick anybody up. You hold yourself the station of the universe, but you can’t move a goddamn thing if others block you. They are themselves the center station too. The great paradox of life makes you powerless to act where you would give your right eye to act but cannot, in those places most meaningful to you you have no power over. You sit in time scaling your life, a sheer wall of belief and hard fact, never any top in sight. What are you doin’?
It puts us to the test. Time’s warriors bake and sell us at the flea market, but this is not why you’re here, and you last longer than Heaven, a safe haven at the back of the house to get our strength back but that can trap us too. We are so much bigger than death that blinds us all while we’re still alive. Hold your child close. Can you protect him from anything bigger than your arms of control? Fiend death my friend, he sucks. What’s the answer to all this? What are we doing?
The answer lies on a page in a WordPress blog? Definitely, if you know how truth presents itself. It’s not haughty and it don’t wear spears. It might even be embarrassing, hittin’ in society’s low spot. It would be uglier than the norm, the vehicle of truth, but it would shore you up with sincerity if you test it. It would be one among a mass that your truth sense recognize, because it is beyond belief in name and form. It’s not part of the system that ensnares you.
Come to my party? There’s no snaking you there. You just have to realize what’s been true all along, but that you have never seen because it’s so represent itself, and you only see the representation, the figure in time, or the one who has wings to be your figure of God behind it you thought about a lot but never really met. The scientist would just see a meaningless void.
Can’t you see I got your skies on? I’m not pollutin’ the skies. I’m not anything wrong. Well how about that? I hold my boy in love’s embrace, and we figured out time. That’s the challenger for your social skies. I’m not doin’ business. I’m a love angle on time to make us greater in it. That’s the vehicle in the room. Can you dig it?
The limits of time, they are both normal and strange. You can’t be in two places at once a sudden trapdoor to a greater life. You are either who you are upstairs or the little I down there livin’ life. I’ve seen this juxtaposition, where I got out of time. It was a railroad. Greater times are comin’.
Now I just comb my hair and wash my face and shoot my gun? No I land this in your lap reachin’ through a poem to you. It’s fresh meat now, but where will I be when I am dead, and you’re readin’ these words? Look around the room. Am I there a thought stroke?
That’s life, you know the big one. Strict society belt won’t even let you think this to yourself. I’m bein’ looked in on by me with a question: how much longer you runnin’ half the house? You will have a future integral with who you are on high. My God this is big, and we meet time’s barriers down the because in the room. I’m comin’ after you foldin’ time, a lesson in reality completely out of the script. You’re gettin’ that script.
I’ve come all the way from the ground up. I’m not an existential crisis. I know who I am. I’ve been shot that’s all, ghosted by most everyone, put out to pasture. What do you do with that, and you identify with the world, hold it close your livin’ self? You have gone out of time and been the big who we are, enough to see it, enough to be it to know it’s there.
I’ve seen outside the symbolism, outside the roles we play. Even if you call it a computer simulation, figuring the unknown with the known, whatever you call it, I’ve been in compassionate reality, the bigger reality beyond this one. I’ve seen the real thing. No one counts this as a thing to be known where animals food our feeding faces as our reality, no depth to it, no meaning, nothing behind, except Gods to worship and obey or enlightenment’s sweepstakes that bring you empty shell.
Can’t you see beyond time? What’s bigger than the universe? Is that just empty skies? What’s bigger than playpens? I’m a figure on that. So like the show to give you the universal accepted scapegoat as the one to show. I can’t get my name in public. I can’t even write it down anywhere near heard. Is that just because I’m lying?
Can I show you my flag? It’s not rainbow screwed. It’s your heartbeat and mine symbolizin’ time. It’s where everybody goes to school. It’s the time of day in this poem. It’s where we all meet at the end of the classroom. I’m sorry it’s me, but hello I’m yours.
The terror is only a being in time. The face of evil, It can’t get at that larger you in transcendence’s sphere. It has no power there. It can only rattle your cage. Anything it does to you it’s not doing to you but to the actor in that cage. This is the meaning of no harm can come to you.
It’s beyond time time's relevant, time's keeper, truth's formula, but it can act within time and space with impunity, with absolute, unhindered power. It is bigger than evil. It has eyes on you, not to save your life but to bring you home. It does not stare you down. It doesn’t even guide you with any advice. It’s up there. You’re down here, but it’s comin’ to meet yah. It’s comin’ to be who you are down here. This is the plan of Earth, what her victory skies.
You are a crossroads to that. We are at Earth’s great turning point to land ourselves there. I am a seed bearer that is all. I come to tell you what’s comin’, and if my voice don’t get out someone else will. This is the mystery time hides, why it put you in a straight jacket, why it won’t leave you alone. Can you understand me? Do you see what I’m doin’? I’m meetin’ you with your maker who is you. I’m solvin’ the mystery of time. I’m giving you wings to grow. Take my hand please, these worded verses, and make it all worthwhile.
Protracted, a polar bear’s smile. It’s gonna take a long time to reach Supermind. It’s not there at our feet. It’s not your garden grow. It’s not at the hoof of your horse. It has to be as common as a cold for you to see it. The more people up there for a moment’s gleam, it holds you up there breakout sweepstakes.
This area’s comin’ into our view portal now the hesitancy in time. It’s comin’ your way in poems Emily Dickinson’s undiscovered continent she looks out on from her pier. Rumi’s love poem says you can only see the sun by the sun. Did we see him there? Now this poet speaks in plain as day. I’ve reminded you of Supermind in Savitri’s care. I’m just the outcast that says it.
Now hold me close. You don’t have to do nothin’, just read the poem the miles that you work today, the poem that you reach today. It’s such a piano to look at the subway and see supernal skies. Stand the subway of time. Is that tomorra mornin’?
Emergency level truth’s barriers, time’s walls. There’s a lot goin’ on. Right at the turning point. Except for the money I wanna tell you somethin’. Your morality drinks beer. You’re not the captain of the ship people. You’re who we go to to take our stories off. Right here for you on your mark, get set… The restrict we have, we put it on things. We use safety to protect ourselves from safety. Actually a lot right here. We’re movin’ on. What’s your plan, bring us all to safety? That one சாவி, I’m inside a poem.
Have brain damage, that’s not really politics. It’s a funeral. Who would see The Last Tree Trunk on Earth? Critics say it’s a good movie. It’s spills bad. It was filmed inside Iran in secret trees. It’s got a wallop to it. You see freedom up close thrown out in the street and beaten on. You see it shot with knives. This is a real camera folks, and girls just want to have their scarves not choke them to death. Is anybody watching this? Can anybody care?
The Seed of the Sacred Fig was put in the wrong house. Brilliant you hear the arguments at the table theocracy speaks, but it’s shot in red and white, and we practice human nature with a murdering gun. We do not show human nature. A father and daughter are not that red apart, suddenly, unexpectedly, so the plot can aim its gun. Would a family go mad, horribly so, for a strength to resist evil that none of them felt they had? An entire lifetime together with daddy milk and a mother devoted to everyone, it lands on the freeway I will hunt you down and kill you love said.
How tall these movies are in our backyard. They bring humanity under the gun. Has human nature been robbed of its sense? It’s blow out of proportion so it can impress audiences and score award points. We see human nature sick and dying in movie after movie, and we can’t get over the villain. He is so perfect in his craft, miraculously a monster just doing the impossible. We love to hate him, and if it’s a her all the more.
They’ve confused us with what’s real. Human people don’t act like that, and these movies have us all alarmed, riding out our hate in tickets sold. What’s the point of all this mess? Make more bucks, and let’s take these artistic challenges and make them rob people wear. My God that’s a talented movie just on our disease.
Alejandro in Problemista almost makes the villain human, but then he wrote the apology. We’d have to go to Sing Sing for a good movie in emotional fare, so Shakespeare on Earth. Let’s not get too gay in National Anthem and spoil the show. We have purpose in our lives this movie knows not of. You wear a good Holocaust in A Real Pain, tryin’ to show it right, on the level of human eyes a human drama. What am I doin’? Showin’ you my movie list. I watch a lot of movies. I’m really into them. This is the way we spend human nature, in identifying roles. We get involved with a part. We identify with a character, a plot. It wears our lives in symbolic meaning. We get at the stuff.
We invest ourselves there oh so strongly. We’re raped with a bad ending. A good movie can make us feel good about ourselves and improve our lives. It can heal. It can do bad things. It can tear up our lives for a moment of all meaning. It is so very powerful, cinema. It goes directly to the starting point, where our lives came from and why. Alejandro is good at this. Amazing creativity those scenes where he’s talkin’ to someone, and it shows the whereabouts, the representative part.
Drum roll please. We are creative edges of time. We stand and sing our lives an entertainment for deep meaning. So many roles wear our lives. Can you get at the audience? Being after being, shrouded in unimaginable mystery, have a total immersion gamble with our lives. Of course we like movies. We are there.
A Rumpelstiltskin comes along and plays the keyboard, and we’re on bended ground unable to figure out destiny, but we can get back to ourselves. Audience after audience prevents us, the cliffhanger of our lives their entertainment point, but they value our lives in our bid for freedom and to discover who we are. It’s their thrill. They clap when the angels sing.
Are you crazy yet? You’re just gettin’ started. There is so much behind the scenes in the dragnet of who you are. I cannot show this to you, the person you are on high, the actor that has donned this long line of all these lives. I can only keep tryin’ in poem after poem and my symbolic life, but it’s a farce you know. I’ve really let yah down, right where you needed me, and there’s no way to make that up. When you see it’s a game, though a meaningful one, know like you know the body you wear, because you have seen it with your own eyes, that you are an actor in a cage, a player playin’ time, the first thing you do is fuck up. It’s the proud of human nature. It’s so stupid.
It prevents me from showing you who I am and who you are, unimaginably big, but that’s life, a goddamn movie that just throws you for a loop, and you can never get it right until you stop the pretendin’ and come together on yourself what you need beyond time. You’re not the audience I’m speakin’ to when I say I’m puttin’ on those shoes. Feel the thrill? A poet measure this poet smiles.
How do you chew on that poem? We grow in stadiums. A Watcher watches our lives. It’s dream big. It’s not who we are the audience in prerecorded time. This is not the first time creation mount. Great DVDs we live for their viewing pleasure. We are that Watcher you see, not the audience pang, and we can’t get over him. It’s too stadium big. It transcends time and space, but above our roofs it’s there, the hidden keeper of our lives, who we return to, the one who started it all in our little universe.
You don’t believe me I know, but you’d like to. The hidden meaning of our lives are compassionate witnesses beyond number and form. Everywhere they look they are there the meaning behind creation on this bended globe, in this starstruck universe, and they change us with a look the bearing on time. They are the Watchers behind time watchin’ the movie us them very selves in time. Can you feel them?
Your true self, they bring you home. Months of capacity open those gates, if you’re ready for them again, and you’ve been there before for a brief moment a time or two in all your many lives where afterlife grows. It's a certainty you remember. It’s a certainty you hold in your skies that you farm into your very ground I’ve planted this poem with, a vehicle of my own return one sudden afternoon before the death of me. You come up with yourself in the ultimate game of life, the ultimate paradox of life. That’s a round of applause. You hear the whole stadium sing your great escape, your victorious mile I put better in progress.
Alejandro, he did it. I’ve seen what movies list as our great surprise. Too mundane to take it where we meet beyond the universe, they give it gas and go. Are you hearin’ this?
A heartbroken line. You just have to write this down. There is no Earth and Heaven but you. We glide here on our own devices. We can’t see the world around us. It’s blind to us too. We can’t even see our yard. There’s a process there. It’s image on sight. We have see things to believe in them. Our fingers have to touch their face. No other process allowed. That’s the ring around the rosie for us. It’s how we live.
It gets us in a lot of trouble. We can’t always see things. When people are away from us they’re gone. We imagine their existence, and it’s not real to us. They’re not there. Now tell me what to do? Go outside and see things, and try to transfer sight to some bigger picture happening before your eyes. Don’t just see your little world. It’s gotten big enough to swallow you whole. We gotta get outta here.
It eats us alive. It’s the only thing we know. Can you see this? Do you know what I’m talkin’ about? We are blind before our face. Our world is the world, and there is no other that has the reality of ours. We can put this in a movie or a sports field, or maybe even a good book. We feel something other than ourselves, but we’re involved in it. We’re still the center of the room. Look at YouTube Shots. They piece you to pieces, this show, and that show, and this show, and you have your favorites. Where are they taking you? They don’t know how to time. They don’t stop. You are lost there in the middle of you.
I’m tryin’ to get to some larger whole none of us see. We’re divided up in pieces, your world and my world and Larry’s world. Will we put our glasses on and see this? It really sucks you know when you lose someone. Say you had a kid and you’ve been raisin’ them since they were three. At 12 you lost them, and they were just taken from you for no other reason than just to take, ‘cause you made someone mad. Devastating.
It was a bubble relationship. We were the captain of our ship laughin’ at the world go by we teammates, best friends, together all the time. We were joined, and the world went by, and we were so special in it, so much comfort in each other, so much love. And then you lose that boy. No contact is allowed, and you watch that boy turn like he never knew you, and now he wants you gone. No, no, I didn’t abuse him. His parents did. He was broken whipped and spanked until he gave his parents what they wanted, the keys to himself. They can do that. They’re Indian parents. He was broken, lost his will, lost himself. They spanked him, and he cried and cried, and I had promised to save him and couldn’t come. That anger rides.
What are we left with? A quaking world. Death would seem a happy state, and I almost long to be there. I want my boy. I can’t take it. There is no escape from this pain. What do you do? You feel pain. You don’t know what to do. There’s no way out. Months ahead, the death of a child. There is no remedy for this. I’m lost in him, and oh the jesters of pain, that kid could care less if he sees me again, in just two short weeks.
Where do we go? To death? We have to do something. We have to live. We have to get up and live. You’ve been fucked by the universe, abandoned by your Gods. All soul’s failed, and you’ve got to find another life, and you really want the one you had. You’re stupid you tell yourself, a fool. Children are treacherous, and they only like pleasure and joyrides, and their heart can be bought with candy and cake, and they forget you, even when you were their whole world.
I’m dying in this pain, and I’m just showing it to you so you know of the reality of which I speak, in some little lost world forgotten from the whole. To cut him out of my heart is blind. That boy needs protected, and he’s in a bad situation. It’s an abusive situation. I cannot abandon him. I must go on tryin’ to free him, but the loss is too great to bear. You see the predicament.
It’s going somewhere. I am being perfected for him in parental ways, as he will need to be healed. If he returns, he will be healed with certain hands. I’m ready for him. There is just this need to swallow, this ever aching need that he fulfill my life, be its ornament, and meet my emotional needs. How can I get rid of this? Don’t look at me funny. You do it too with children. We are property lovers with them.
I don’t know how to do this, and that is my lesson now. It hurts. Where do I find you? In the lesson plan. I’m reaching out to you to be a lover with you, to put down that kid a minute, and let’s say hey look at this: we are fragmented world. Will you do the time with me? It might be a pickup truck that takes us all on a ride to higher skies. That’s where we think about larger things than ourselves and the contents and people of our little world. I’m pushin’ yah there in my own flagpole as I do this too. Will you sing with me?
Will we be together again? We come from afar. This is not our home. We’re on dangerous ground, where the Void meets Earth. There are doings here that have us all undone. We live out our lives little people, totally forgetting who we are together, the very next field above this one, the supramental field.
I’m ridin’ yah there, journeying myself. I don’t want to go. All my thoughts on little boy and what’s going on with him right now. Is he happy is he sad? Is he missing me? Would he like to see me again? Are they hurting him? This goes deep.
Alright I’ve told you some about what we don’t talk about: look there’s a whole; look there’s together again; look we are bigger than what we are. Have I reached out to you? I can’t see it. I don’t even know you’re there. I think that’s a reality kingpin. I’m alone in here in front of all of you, because of my perception. Can you figure it out?
That is put to the finish. Hey you got some things growing up there. Tunnel things this reality. It’s trustworthy. There’s no other way to see it. We’re not real, is that how far this goes? Do you see what I’m gettin’ at? Where is reality’s footing? Where do we place ourselves? In the center of attention? I think we look higher up. We look where it happens, where reality gets arranged, and we find ourselves there watching the arrangement. Isn’t that funny? Here I am.
Suffer the supramental solution. Sri Aurobindo wrote his letters just sittin’ there. He didn’t see the disciples, yet he knew they were there. He didn’t have to see them. He had concrete inner contact with them, and he knew what was goin’ on. He could see their own selves, and he knew what they needed.
This was just vision to him. No, this was the substance of his room. He grabbed the whole with his own hand. It was his messenger. He substance see’d, knew in relation to the whole, and he could see without errors. I cannot do that. I have strong inner vision. It doesn’t come everything’s true without errors. It gets a lot of lie, exaggeration, and endless possibilities worked out. I can’t see straight.
You don’t know how much this sucks. I’m glued to inner vision now to protect my kid and bring him back home, and it’s driving me crazy, all these scenarios played out one by one. He’s been hit with a dog. He’s been pissed on and raked over an open fire. This just kills me, and I don’t know what to do. The bad part is over, when they broke him to turn him from me. Now they’re tryin’ to act normal, and they want him to be happy.
Gaslighting is the order of the day. What’s a kid to do? Acquiesce and be what their parents want them to be, do what their parents want them to do, and say what their parents want them to say, and that’s what he’s doin’. and I can have no contact, and not a single person there will tell him of me. It’s inhuman. It’s a total blackout they’ve arranged. The abusers become his saviors, and his beloved grandpa a foreign devil tryin’ to take him from his family.
I was his main parent from the time he was six. Six years with me more than his parents, and they’re gaslighting him to make me some babysitter they mistakenly arranged. Okay public, what to do? I’ve shown you his card, a song he wrote himself when his parents were pullin and kicking him about school. This is where he is at. This is the boy on his own. Where do we find him? I hope that’s not the graveyard. Can you come and help me find him please? I really need you, and this is a live child waiting for your help. Can you help? Oh Puducherry, you couldn’t Aarthi.
Now there’s hope. The boy’s alive. How do I know he’s unsafe? His father’s a killer for a Lawspet gang with BJP connections, but he hasn’t killed in awhile. Says he’s done with it, but see the gold on him you’ll know he’s still involved, a gold ring on every finger like a pimp. He could kill that kid in a jealous fit of rage, and the mother’s of low character, and she may not prevent him. That's where this is headed. Don't be sorry. I’m calling on you now, Puducherry, rise up and protect that boy before anything else is done. Will you help me? Can you take this boy to safety? That’s wonderful. Thank you.
This is the boy’s address in Puducherry, India:
64 Nettu St. Kurusukuppam, Puducherry, 605012
The street is only a small alleyway accessible from Advocate Chinnathambi St. Fourth Cross. Go to Le Nid Apartments on Advocate Chinnathambi Street, stand facing the 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 his house is the first door on the left. There is also an Ave Maria Kebi on the left side of the apartment gates.
Nithish’s school and he’s in 7th standard: New Modern Vidhya Mandir Higher Secondary School, 73/A, Pillayar Koil St, Angalamman Nagar, Muthialpet, Puducherry, 605003
His father lives in Chennai and has a business there and comes to Puducherry on the weekends. Here is his business address:
P. Sundaram S.S. Air Controls No. 432 Pachaivalliyamman Illam 29th St. 6th Sector K.K. Nagar, Chennai 600078
This is the address they spend the weekend at, usually from Saturday evening to Monday morning. It is his father’s parents’ house:
Grace is the next world’s railways. We will be happy there. What stark sun is this? Sometime soon. Your energy is a witness to it. You’ve combined the opposites, and it doesn’t bother you. Asiya attests to that. You were soft ice cream, and he ate it up. You’ve got the leeway, and you’re holdin’ down the fort. You’ve good. You’re learnin’ your trade. You’re doin’ it great football fields wide. You’re not a son of a bitch. Let’s bubble up some and just sit in bed and bask awhile.
We build yellow houses. We construct them with wood. Then we lay them down, over and over again. This is our construction process on the bails of thought. We feel them into being. This rides our day, one thought after another, day by day. It’s ice cream. Did somebody say favorite food?
We are housed here, and a thought is a mop bucket, cleaning out what’s after. A thought is a huge thing, all naked and wood. It’s already occurred before we think it out. We go over it and over it. We do not stop. We never go away from this. Bails upon bails of thought we make, freight trains through our minds. Let go of this, and you’ll be in thin wood. You’ll cake on yourself. It’s where the balls are that we retrieve into Silent Mind.
Now here’s the house God lives, you see the Self in. It’s awesomely deep, wrapped around with nothingness, where the engines of the universe play. You are a copter upon yourself, brooding wings of infinity. It lasts an hour or a day, until it turns off no more. I arrive at thought the master of the plan. I think upon myself in large ways. I go there: I don’t handle thought for a little while.
But Silent Mind don’t ride my days. I’ve stumbled upon it a time or two. We have to be clear we were formin’ enlightenment. Have you ever had that thought? Grapple with it now. Do you know it’s there what we arrive to next in our identity plan? Hey kids this is not enlightenment. We’re becoming something you see, and we need Silent Mind to get there, a formless identity we shoulder to Supermind, the God inside. An overhead kingdom sits there, and this is the fullness of ourself, God identity, at this stage of the game. You can imagine more.
So where does Silence put us? Right slap dab in the middle of it. And then? We plant our feet on planet Earth, and Supermind comes down to meet us at the ascending pole of our effort. Then we’re cosmic complete, bigger than the cosmos, not in size in weight. We are the springboards of the universe. The universe comes from us. I’ve been there once. I’m not just makin’ up plans.
Did I have to say all this to get your head straight on Silence? I don’t think you understand me. I’m bleeding concepts in the room, like cosmic means somethin’. Where do you go on Silence? A round chair, and so many people just sit there. Who wants to go higher? Bliss is satisfied. Do you want to go higher? Ramana Maharshi didn’t. We all do eventually. When you learn about it it’s there, a belief castle. Before that no one’s ever heard about it. I’m taking you there, balloons overhead, Somethin’s up there you know. It’s the origin of the universe. Said it all.
Don’t forget your ambition for thought. You wanna get into the Silence. You wanna dip your head into the Silence. Catch it, you’re gonna hit the ground of the universe a hat infinity. Now that red apple pierces your skull vibratory nature. You hum big church all around your brow. It’s so comfortable there and smooth. No I with its busy notions disturbs that room, not a thought one. You’re reside in silence. This is awesomely big. You can’t figure it out from here. It’s totally other being inside a body here on Earth.
You last awhile, and then the cosmos lapses into itself. You’re there yet? You will be once. You’ll get there soon. It’s every death journey’s hand. We take off the ego you know and get down to science. It’s what we do there. It comes along to take us to Heaven and beyond, and you think it’s a stranger? We’ve sauced this out so many times, death, upon death, upon death. We’re there now underneath it all. It’s raw, basic awareness, cosmic size.
Now why have I shown this to you? You think AI will get you there? Where do we put Silence on? In our own room, a listen to ourself, no bowls of media present. Do you know how precious this is, guided by your own mind? It’s stage one. Come on mountain let’s go.
Now in the vibration room each vibration opens a little central veeter that respond directly to sunlight. Okay, okay, okay, look I get it. Almost reaction, because I’m slaying. You don’t know this stuff. It looks easy, if you vie for it, but let’s face it this is tops that a human could do, your golden Mars, but they lost this and ruined their civilization. How hard it is, you got nothin’ harder in human.
To know directly, what do we see? Obviously it’s not videos. It’s contemplation’s circle, there in your room, when you’re filmin’ God. Where do we begin? The first photo please. A beggar down and out on reality’s pole. You see from there what God looks like, and He would not be tall and kind. He would be a braggart in His room. We don’t stop the vision there. That man don’t see straight. He has eyes of sufferin’.
Lift God up from there. Are you okay with what He does to people? Are you okay with this vice? I couldn’t back up to you God. I couldn’t stand in His way. The significance of beggars breathes awhile. We can’t get at it there. We can’t even try. Let’s beanpole reality, and it gets bigger all the time. Let’s do something about it. Let’s see God there addressing Himself.
Is that okay? We’ll be building a teenager. We’re gonna get him all soft in his room to carry the day. We’re gonna wean him some, from do this for him do that, so he can carry the divine. We will be gentle with him and put him on his own attention, where he needs to be more than computers handles and where the cellphone rides. This is not ice cream and cake. We will pill him with just enough books to get his writing going. He’s a poet of the divine, gets whole poems from the inner voice. We were surprised as he was.
Now we have a responsibility to see this through. My consciousness opened his. We’re everlastin’. That means we give this boy a good shot to grace him with infinity and keep his eyes on God, not the stuff in his room. I’m right there by ‘im, holdin’ his hand. A Green Beret on duty, I’m a sergeant sometimes, but I’m not mean. I can certainly improve. Now let’s stand down the poem I’m giving you. It means somethin’ to the order of the day. God bless you.
Yawn as you snap them Gods. They wouldn’t know what to do with Themselves free. We see Them bound to our lives in cosmic grooves of fate. They are larger than time. They can’t get out of this. We are prisoners in Their room. They study us. They can’t seem to get us right. We’re a whirlwind in a thunderstorm, and They are stillness and delight, and They control themselves with might. The clash of Speakers we hear overhead, They’re around about us now.
We are cosmic poles in Their existence. Hear Them call our name. Hear Them be there for us to change our natures into man. If you don’t think you’re an animal look back now, where you meet nature in a click that eats up all of nature’s stores, and then you go to war. You’re a forest dweller in the nature of your desires. You can’t see past get up and go. The Gods are there on our tops, guiding us to better cages. They do not know the freedom of the Infinite. In a paradox of know, They stumble upon the Infinite and stretch it to tin cans.
The Gods they wore, the bright and start of old. They can’t seem to find the Infinite all their knowledge bore. They cut us in creeds of certain flesh. Religion bore that name. The Gods have bound us to this. They are a soliloquy on our tops, giving us lore. I can’t find this improving our lives. They are a reason against the Snake, but where they find you biting, They are blind to heal you. They just make you stop. They don’t know the deeper reasons of life’s coil.
They are not there you see here on life’s base encased in matter. They see us from afar up close. They do not understand the knot and waste. They live out Their lives in splendid heavens, traveling toward infinity, the kingdom of God, all righteousness and wrath. They sip with us awhile foundering on compassion. They are brave and strong and know not the poison of the fall. Evil is not on Their lists. It baffles Them and us. They chase it out of night. They battle it with Their spears and helmets on the patchwork of the universe.
We are Their hope and promise to principle evil and grab it by the horns, a victory for starry Earth. A seer in his wisdom has gift the Gods to us, else we would fall into the Void. This is not our fate, but we are beyond the Gods on our journey home. They are a regulation and a might to keep us from starring ourselves, to keep us from getting bigger than our lists, to keep us from operating on ourselves where They are concerned. They are both a help and a hindrance. We need Them. No we don’t. They help us get hold of ourselves. They keep us from going home.
We just changed fate and the world, without Their interference, where They languish on land. We’re here. They’re not. Beyond space and time we write our lists. The Gods can’t go there, unless they do as one of us. That’s a starry role, fraught with peril, fraught with mercy. This is an endeavor for the Gods only if They want to go beyond Their starry heaven. We don’t see Them do that none time soon. The Earth’s great spiritualization will see Them incarnate here. It’s a vehicle of Supermind.
The tallest bond, this is the engine we’ve all been waiting for. It’s bigger than the sky. It’s our next step above, beyond the Gods. These are our evolutionary springs and their destination. We have broke the bounds of the universe and come to universal cause. No cosmic God can figure this. This is a whole other ballgame. These are universal bonds the conditions of the universe find us in. They prefigure us to a certain stage. This is starry night, and the Gods are our guides the conditions of the universe impose. This is our starry prison.
A nursery rhyme is this. We live on high, who we are above the universe, our next prefigured destiny. The Gods are aware of this. They are not our goads there. They hinder us and move us in Their direction. This is a starry configuration we are lost in. Greater home is ours. Can you save the Gods? I wouldn’t even find you there. The Gods are cosmic hierarchies permanent in Their heavens, and They love it here, all-powerful Beings with worlds to play. We applaud Them and move on.
Can you see this? It’s what we’re doin’ on planet Earth. We will bring our higher selves here to inhabit bodies on physical Earth, our bodies, in evolution’s slow curve. Who we are on high will be who we are down below, the monumental change hidden in the size of Earth. We will get there, and existence will have its heaven right here. Will you notice this in your room? It’s starting on our tops now, and here I am showin’ it to yah in sudden starts. Greatness lies wait. Okay, global consciousness, and we’ve found our solution to the room, present Supermind.
These are the high stakes. We’re in the water now. Who we gonna tell? Come on kids let’s go. We have a world to feel. Keeps yah on your toes. This is the most important thing to hold onto to: challenge the window. We don’t beg each other’s fences. Here everybody that’s a whole Earth. The lesson in the window: through a big difference we see it all.
Bring in a new game. How was Earth made? It has a special core, the universal core. How do we evolve what do we evolve? We can hack other Minds. Clarity Grace is not just a name. It’s an power, one of a kind for Earth. Kings are not just patriots. They’re criminals in their own kind. We should put some cushions under the Earth. We just dream of a perfect life. [the above verse Nithish’s muse, my 12-year-old grandson, what he heard right where mine left off, ending this poem. He’s named his new Beagle puppy Clarity Grace.]
The universe has hit me, and we saw it happen the universe of Nithish, not quite done. You’ve gotta figure we’ve got a friend with some God, the cosmic hierarchies Mother and Sri Aurobindo. You’ve got to figure we’re in liaison with some God. It’s the mailman in a blue truck open to Supermind at every pole.
Will AI better or ruin us? Will it take over or replace us? We go to things unmistakenly horrible. At bottom we blame ourselves. What’s the highest good have to do with it? That’s the poem. It will challenge your sense of good. It will blow the world out from under your feet, and I’m just talking read it. Who owns the official compound? The Helicopters. I’m a first provider.
My must suggested the subject, and I made the shot and developed it
Original Sin
In a sunny corner of remote earth
the bite of it all
challenged orthodoxy.
This was in Nature’s plan.
Green-gold it moved.
This conducted harmony
operating on discords –
not a packaged plan,
neither from the stars.
It brought in cities beyond the universe.
We bask in its revelry –
a riot of God
on lone isles of trust.
Wonderful it wore shoes.
Naked impulse did not light its lamp.
A renegade,
it brought all to bear on noontide.
Light held its room.
Yes, we sing in darkness’ lair.
We deliver anthems
without knowing on which we rest.
It came to us unclothed,
and we saw naught but sin.
What distance orthodoxy
from all that abounds in this place.
This poem came complete via the inner voice while I was sitting and waiting for a room darshan on Mother’s birthday at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in 2015. It was originally posted in the old blog of Douglas and I, The Chipmunk Press. It bears mentioning that I went to the Samadhi the next day after writing the poem and inwardly asked where I should put the poem, and I heard my muse answer:
To the question in Sri Aurobindo's room:
are you there?"
I’m sorry, but you’ll have to sign into Internet Archive to see this video.
This video was taken down from YouTube after 7 years up, which happened on October 31, 2022, and I’ve updated the post accordingly. I contested it, and they reviewed the video and removed the strike against me for violating their terms and policy, saying the violation wasn’t as severe as they thought. Their policy, along with that of all the major social media companies, keeps getting narrower in terms of what you can post. When I posted it the terms were more favorable to art depicting violence, if its intentions were to stop it.
Luckily, I posted this at that same time at Internet Archive, but they immediately made it so you have to sign in to view the video, and they later put it in their deemphasized collections, but it’s still up.
In a few years, the visible net will be controlled like television, and even private websites will be censored, but first it will be the big social media companies that will do it, are doing that now, and it will take longer to take down or control the content on privately owned websites, and so we at Harm’s End are in the process of making our own website to put up our stuff, as many of our posts call for social change, and anything that truly does that is radical and would offend somebody.
I made this video in 2015, not long after the Paris terrorist attacks Islamic State did. It was taken down from Dailymotion within 24 hours, a French social media site, the first place I posted it, and I’ve said how the Internet is becoming as constrained as TV, but I haven’t told you what few people know about social change. You can protest all you want, and you might score some concessions on the part of power, but you won’t bring real change unless you discover the most basic operating ideas that power operates under and work the change from there, at the same time presenting the ideas of truth, truth being simply what’s going on, the reality of the situation, or, I might say, the reality most in line with truth, and in this video I do. The reality of that, using ideas more true to reality to bring social change, plays out in long, slow years, is not in any way immediate, and here’s a truth you can take to the bank, not the ones that control society and enslave us to that control, the bank of context, and so I will tell you this certain truth, which is that truth eventually wills out.
It’s all important also the vehicle of truth you use, and the one closest to the spirit of any situation is art, inspired art from whatever muse runs that course, here the muse of poetry, song, and, let me introduce a contemporary one, because inspiration ever adapts, the muse of video and movie making. The revolution will not be televised, but it will be featured in art. Now, I really resisted including terrible violence, gore, knowing my video would get banned, art or not, but my muse was insistent on including the worst that Islamic State put out, telling on itself I might add. I followed my inspiration, but I must tell you, and keep telling you, sadly, that inspired art that shows us in the bloody, gory, thick of things is increasingly being censored from the net. Now after so many years, and most people forgetting what ISIS looks like and did, I can see the wisdom of my muse insisting on the gore, but tell me people of the day, all ye people of any faith, can you? And let me ask you: how can we change evil in the world to good if we can’t even see it? And let me inform you: evil can only be defeated for good in its own blood-stained, gory den. Now, do I have your attention?
Harm's End 