Don’t Wake Me Up I Am A Communist

I am a communist. What I do not understand – I’m stupid – is how so many writers can zoom in on this kind of socialized abuse and never bring into the dialogue that while the journalism mixed with politics has so marginalized our cultures, we miss both, the forest and the trees. An obfuscation of the reality that a broad spectrum of young boys, and it looks like whenever we go anywhere, the mantra is We Don’t Abuse Boys Because We Are The Manly Men. Manly men have sex with boys and it doesn’t really matter what they so vociferously deny. The bottom line is that Homo sapiens society sees what it wants to see, refuses to acknowledge that for ALL of human history, your boys have been assigned the role of object. You can’t cover it all up.

One of every 17 boys has at some time been raped. Unwanted touching. HIV is not fragile, itself. We underestimate everything this side of agony. Penetration has a lot of family and brothers and sisters, and their husbands. It is deadly but not (almost) as deadly as the breaking down of the humanity of a child. I work in Appalachia with boys who have HIV. What does this mean – it means drugs, it means sex work, it means parent are left out of the loop. Addiction. Failure. Detention. No Nutrition. Chips.

You said whore.

Small children trail me down the street and they will bite your ankles. They say Gore Vidal had great ankles. I have no idea who said this or what it means, And no one to help. Teenagers face a society that is not only complicit in its own demise, exactly how Freudian is that. Post-Degregation, not redemption, works in the same manner a world of fetish camouflaging the reproduction of our second selves becoming the hybrid electron, everywhere at once. They are alone. Their aloneness It’s Hard In the Soil. I was born in a Portland, Michigan little whore subculture circus after circus. Every circus, we were there with Barbecue Ribs for Fat Fucks And Come On Down, Thelma Maye, it’s Dirt Bike Town and everyone knew you would anyway and then, to flee in the stark and middle of the night with the sound of the Intertate trucks growling of their isand of coffee and dirt and flee, after a while of this, my soul had already fled. Quick, grab your one bag and get on the bike because invading witches from Altoona (where is Altoona) Altoona is one of those mystic places where when they tell you to keep your fucking mouth shut, it might be good to that until such time because the shed in the backyard was getting too much attention. It was a dark and stormy night because it is always a dark and stormy night.

Zelda was not forgiven. Zelda, do you know what time it is. Time for the whores to come home, Daddy. DaddyZelda: You are not equipped to handle a passing of let alone the aloneness. Don’t even go there My mouth is filled with sores but this is only antibiotic time but I am afraid it could be MRSA-Again. I had heard of it, flesh-eating bacteria, and now what, perhaps an entire ideology of bacterial warfare. I would like a submarine. You can’t handle it, Mister Snowflake, we are your voices down here in your oblagottarota with the rest of these voices. You can’t handle a submarine. You can run the entire thing on one computer. The bitches with the guns wins. I was my own little dirt bike town. It was behind the parking lot. From which there was not a sound. Shhhh. You know. The Lost And Found.