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When Russians go hungry, the entire world usually suffers and is at risk.

In the US, one hundred people a day are still dying from AIDS-related complications. In other countries, like Russia, that figure is more than ten times larger. It is a mistake to think that pressure cannot be brought to bear on such antediluvian and corrupt governments, but that pressure will not come from places like the Department of State because the Department of State feels like it can barely maintain the status quo. And they are right; they barely can maintain the status quo. Mainly, they’re incompetent.

They do not rock any boat.

So institutions such as UNICEF have their ass shown the door by the Russians because the Russians feel they can run their own country.

What the Russians run is a military machine. People are the fodder for it.

Hundreds of thousands of Russian children are going to die. Russian sociologists have said outright that such children (AIDS, homelessness) should not be allowed anywhere the Russian gene pool.

This is World War Two thinking. The argument over genetics goes way back to antisemitism. Eastern Europeans have historically been afraid of their own shadows. Multiply this a thousand times for Russians whose government is so utterly corrupt, it is now a group of organized thugs whose police state does their dirty work for them. No one needs communism to beat up anymore.

When people who know say that HIV is an issue of national security, they’re right. When Russians go hungry, the entire world usually suffers and is at risk.

The US Department of State sighs and throws up its burdened hands and says there are no answers.

This is disingenuous pig shit.

There is very definitely an American institution that could have a dramatic impact on the world stage in all of this.

They are known as Big Pharma.

If you are given a horse, do you look that horse in the mouth. No.

Drugs for Russian people (I did not say politicians or criminals) could go a long way toward the easing of restrictive thinking.

Yes, we all know that Big Pharma will sit on its corporate ass, and do nothing. HIV is not their fault. They need money because it is a money-generating machine. They go to the WTO (in the form of trade delegations run out of the Department of Commerce), and they file lawsuits against anyone who violates their pharmaceutical copyrights. There will be no lawsuits filed against the corrupt government of Russia because the idea of them making affordable pharmaceuticals is laughable. They not only do not give a fuck, but their policy of Let Them Die is a crime against humanity which Russian officials should be put on trial for in the Hague.

We did do that with Germany. It’s called Genocide.

The executives at Big Pharma should be next.

I suggest we burn these witches at the stake.

I promise to attend every burning, and I will bring the necessary gasoline. Or matches if no one has a match.

The Department of Commerce is run by the business community. They get very little oversight, and their agendas are frequently at odds with any administration they supposedly work with.

The Department of Commerce works with Big Pharma. It is a conflict of interest, but no one is at the Commerce building jumping hop and down that it stinks to high shit.

Where is the Gates Foundation.

They would have a very dramatic voice at Commerce.

But no.

The suits protect the suits.

In Germany, the suits had boots, and funny hats, and black, floor-length leather coats. In the States, the suits go by anonymity — they all wear the same thing. And they all work toward the same goal which is keep the status quo afloat.

We don’t need the Nazi party to throw stupid demonstrations in Illinois. We have the suits.

We try Serbs in the Hague. They’ve been very bad. We are now at LONG LAST trying corrupt government officials from African countries who have committed crimes against their own people, and the ones we haven’t tried, we’re looking for.

We don’t have to look too far for criminals who grease these international gears. They run pharmaceutical companies in New York.

THE ART & POETRY OF TRAFFICKED CHILDREN: A POEM ABOUT SURVIVAL.

WARNING! ALERT! If you are an undocumented minor out there who is considering getting off the street via the Salvation Army — WARNING.

They will not accept undocumented kids. They are taking security jpegs and turning those over to Immigration.

Do NOT go there.

You will be detained.

ADVERTENCIA! ALERTA! Si usted es un menor indocumentado por ahí que está considerando la posibilidad de salir de la calle a través del Ejército de Salvación - ADVERTENCIA.

No aceptan niños indocumentados. Están tomando jpegs de seguridad y girando a los mayores de Inmigración.

No vayas allí.

Va a ser detenidos.

AIDS in Tijuana

AIDS in Tijuana

Tijuana has become a war zone. There is no more tourism. Tourists have stopped coming. It is a narco-state within a narco-state. The poor cannot leave. They are caught in the middle. It’s been a good time for junkies. With the exception of those who have been murdered. IV drug use is sky fucking high.

So is HIV.

The issue of HIV/AIDS (and who is going to pay) is also framed with an intense focus on adolescents in Los Angeles who do sex work on the street. Many who have been returned to Tijuana (untreated), end up at Albergue Las Memorias.

I have seen thousands of hospices. This one is the poorest I have ever laid eyes on.

The Mexican hospice is very difficult to find. With access by way of a single dirt road, and hidden near the enclaves of large corporate manufactures, it is the only AIDS hospice in Tijuana.

When undocumented people are returned to Mexico who have HIV (more and more sex workers — specifically boys who work the streets in LA), they are met by a staff of volunteers and (what else) limited resources.

Albergue Las Memorias provides care and spiritual guidance to people living with AIDS. People from across the region come to this hospice because many hometown medical centers provide little or no specialized services for AIDS treatment. Others go to the purple painted home because many (most) have been rejected by family or seek refuge from the stigma that is associated with HIV/AIDS in Mexico. For many, the hospice is a home that provides love and dignity for people living with AIDS.

Facing the adversities that any hospice in Mexico will face, Las Memorias lives on limited resources to provide adequate medical treatments and proper therapies. The hospice is partially funded and monitored by the three levels of government, but because the local, state, and federal government funds fall short (complete understatement) to cover essential needs, donations of food, medicine and basic necessities are accepted from people on both side of the border.

If you are a kid with advanced HIV, (or even secretly think you are infected), and you are currently being detained in any US Immigration military detention center, and you are in the bureaucratic process of being returned to Mexico, this is where you can go to die. I am serious.

They even have a phone.

323-257-1056.

ведра крови Сергей (SHOW ME YOUR LIFE)

ведра крови Сергей
с какой тишине я могу помыть руки в крови.эпический
люди в черном. Перед грозой снега свидетеля
мой стирки и мытья и мои, я не могу получить мои руки
чистить. где кровь и грязь и снег палки в колее
грузовики сделать на дороге, ведущей на север в тюрьме
Шахта это ведро крови я стал. загрязнена.
Ничто еще раз. Чья кровь это? моя. моя.

 

Sergei buckets of blood
silence with which I can wash my hands in krovi.epichesky
men in black. Before the Storm Snow witness
my laundry and wash mine, I can not get my hands
clean. where blood and mud and snow sticks to the track
trucks do on the road leading north to the prison.
Mine is a bucket of blood I became. contaminated.
Nothing again. Whose blood is it? mine. mine.

Tim Barrus/ Russian Children with HIV

Russia still has babies being born with HIV. In fact, the numbers, already staggering, are skyrocketing.

I am hardly going to play a numbers game with the numbers of numbers you put forth as an argument in a blog almost no one reads, I am irrelevant, but the question is not how to become germane, the question is how do you accomplish any small submolecular change in the way any system works, while remaining still incased within the cellular wall of protein protection — what is protein protection. It’s what cellular construction comes packaged in. Our understanding of what the retrovirus HIV is remains relevant to what we perceive as numbers within the context of populations, and subpopulations. I have seen the terms pandemic and epidemic get thrown around like cryptic code. What is what. The reality is that we have enormous problems, not doing statistical analysis, but constructing computer models that follow design paradigms that reflect how, when, and where human beings procreate.

That and sex. How does any paradigm work when we have enormous difficulty interpreting human behavior in the first place.

We pretend we know.

Following the routes of world-wide disease is the province of the suits because the suits are trying mightily to protect their economic systems.

Most of which, at the moment, are under enormous strain.

The AIDS Grand Pubahs on Twitter (these would include US government programs) spill forth a lot of rahrahrah about how much progress has been made. I am sitting in the back seat of a speeding car traveling about a hundred miles an hour on an eight-lane highway in the backsteat tap-tap-tapping (as Rachel would say) on an iPhone into an email form that will be sent to this blog over the Internet. I note that where I write things now has become irrelevant. Then why do editors and publishers want to know where you were born. Oh, identity. Editors and publishers are employees of corporations that do not adapt fast enough. They are ephemeral.

Tim Barrus is not a writer who does not live in Samoa which indicates that Tim Barrus lives in Samoa. If wishes were fishes.

Progress is relative to the those who have progressed. I assure you, there is little to no ultra-ultruism goody-two-shoes in systems as complex as UNAIDS. AIDS is an economic disease. Take Russia. The not so few of us who don’t matter in terms of being relevant to what goes on in HIV in Russia today are rare as the numbers of activists go, but some of us actually exist. It is not uncommon to exist with extraordinary contradiction. Like CD-4 cells lurking down inside the blood-level marrow of the bone. We are the dogs downstairs. Junkyard dogs. You climb that fence or descend those stairs at your own peril. Often, the best best camouflage is the one you that allows you to move before you are seen. There is seen and then there is seen. The eyes might, indeed, see, but what the brain registers can be an entirely different animal.

The numbers found within the numbers of Russian HIV are the kind of numbers exploding within an explosion exploding within an explosion exploding within the ignition of a silent roar. The Russian dolls within the dolls within the dolls are called matryoshkas. Russian children with HIV grow up backwards. That spark American adolescents seem so frequently imbued with in Russian children with HIV just gets smaller and smaller and smaller. There are very few living things as small as a retrovirus. In fact, some retroviruses might simply be genetic material — whose mutations are capable of severing the genes found in the construction of DNA — that have been around for hundreds of thousands of years. Surviving as the doll within the doll in species of biological organisms, but whether or not a retrovirus is a life form, is open for debate. Most of science brings a POV to the particle physics conference table that does see a retrovirus as a life form. I am simply not convinced.

Homo sapiens are primates of the family Hominidae. There are over seven billion of them. Their bipedal locomotion has trampled the face of the planet for going on fifty thousand years. Christopher Hitches postulated that figure to be far longer, and he may have been right. Recorded history often going back as far as four thousand of those years. The scientific consensus is that the HIV retrovirus likely comes from chimps, our genetic relatives, who may (we do not really know, we surmise) have evolved some resistance to the viral ability to splice the biological reproduction of the proteins (read plural) necessary for CD4-cells that renew immune systems by eradicating invaders. Replication via mitosis and cytokinesis together which define the mitotic (M) phase of the cell cycle — much like any other cell and there are a few of them. HIV might be far older than we assume. It’s the genetic equivalent of Sigourney Weaver’s monster in Alien. Whose one and only purpose was to procreate. It could be a basic equation to all biological life. Who survives and who is allowed to die. It’s a selection process whether you believe in God or Crystals or big dicks carved from bugabuga wood found in Zimbabistan. It’s all the doll inside the doll inside the doll inside any metaphor that reaches for survival.

Genes are mutated easily. In fact, they mutate themselves. The human organism is an accident. But we can’t be in the universe alone.

Yes, we can.

We’re hybrids. There is not one scintilla of evidence that indicates earth has a sibling.

We have statistical analysis.

For example, a proton is made of two up quarks and one down quark. While the atomic nucleus o f helium-4 is composed of two protons and two neutrons. Composite particles include all hadrons, a group composed of baryons (e.g., protons and neutrons) and mesons (e.g., pions and kaons). These are the subroutines of what we refer to as the big bang. You don’t have to believe me, but given the size of the universe and it’s relationship to time, we are all still living in the big bang. The bang still bangs. And will continue to bang for a very long time. Until the point where time has no meaning at which juncture the universe will reproduce itself. It will collapse.

The universe is a mutant gene.

We are simply the bags of water that carry around the guys in charge, and those are the genes. They have survived millennia. The doll within the doll within the doll that constitutes what we know (very little) about the genetic structure of the retrovirus that has evolved a complexity camouflaged by what appears to be a simplicity that is, in fact, anything but simple. We don’t have the resources to know much about the virus or about our own behaviors, sexual and otherwise, but all of them relate to the release of both serotonin and dopamine, and the pleasure centers and the brain. Heroin addicts do not have good sex. It’s a neurological contradiction. People who have good sex are not usually IV drug users of opiates. We have two sides to our brains and they both multi-task, in fact, they invented it. But look at the construction. It appears to have many of the characteristics of mitosis itself.

Science would scream that appearances are coincidental.

Nothing is coincidental. Not even a culture that would produce the mechanics of a Sigmund Freud. The 19th-century was alive with both.

Stardust.

Sigourney Weaver’s monster was not defeated.

One of them fell into a vat of very hot shit.

But the rest of them are still out there. What protects us is the idea of distance.

As the idea of population density grew more compact, ideas themselves, creations of culture and biology, bumped up against each other. String theory suggests much the same for alternative universes. Everything evolves. Even entropy. Because the big bang is still flinging us outwardly toward nothing at all. God does play dice with the universe because he does not exist and cannot exist in the crap shoot that is nothing at all. But there must have been something before the big bang just like there must be something after nothing at all. Not time and distance. Time will not be relevant because there will be no mass inherent to the thing. This will be the end of the species known as chromosomes and genes. Or will it. Contraction within the body of the human animal commonly does just that; contracts and inflates every time your heart beats yet another beat.

It’s all coincidence.

Nothing is a coincidence.

It is not statistically possible.

There will always (always being relative) be geographic elements elemental to the inflation and contraction of disease.

Here’s another contradiction to the HIV pandemic. Most humans with HIV do not know they have it. That renders most computer programs projecting models of the disease irrelevant. The thing just unfolds any way you look cross-eyed.

South Africa begins a contraction. Russia mushrooms.

And now denial. South African government for a while there went through a stage where they denied the disease was as infectious as it most certainly was. But today they MIGHT (there has not been enough time to start cheer-leading the troops) be making what is called progress only because they defied Big Pharma in the US and made such a broad effort to reach into the most disenfranchised communities, while simultaneously cultures such as the Russian culture go out of their way to avoid and leave out the very same people.

Sex and drugs. They are not contradictions. They are the same thing.

The doll within the doll within the doll has no real stomach as we have come to think of what the stomach is. The doll is pregnant with itself.

The dolls just keep getting smaller.

The disenfranchised are all the smaller dolls. But this is where the action is. The Russians are accustomed to thinking big is better. They are wrong about a lot of things. I would argue that we could learn a lot by understanding how both the disenfranchised and the smaller work.

Dinosaurs died. Mammals lived.

We ARE alone in the universe.

There are too many variations in the equations of the statistics because the statistics are mutations.

There will always be an AIDS virus.

The backslapping is premature.

Russian sociologists have put forth the idea that Russian children with HIV are so defective that they should not be allowed anywhere the gene pool. This despite the fact that babies with HIV in Russia are a dime a dozen.

Russian culture’s response to most things is to quarantine within the context of an institution. It is an institutional culture with institutions that do not work. This is not news. There is no more dangerous culture to the planet than Russian culture. They own enough weapons to explode Mars.

I have a theory on monitoring the Russians and it’s not trust and verify. It’s what do the potatoes look like.

Last year was the first year that the population of the planet ate more than it grew as food. This cannot be sustained.

It will expand and contract.

Go to Russia. In a good year, the potatoes are big, and healthy, and there are a lot of them.

In bad years, Russians fight over potatoes crawling with worms. I have seen this.

When the Russian people are hungry, it becomes very dangerous for the world. History does repeat itself.

Hunger has been what has mainly compelled the species. That and sex have gotten us to where we are.

The Russian people hide their HIV children in institutions. There are going to be more of them. Both institutions and children with HIV.

The adoption rate didn’t really make a dent because Russians have always been mean about who could be allowed to walk away. The presence of the United Nations via UNICEF kept a lot of kids alive. But the Russians had an answer for that, too. UNICEF gets kicked in the ass. When an adolescent in Russia who has spent all of his life institutionalized turns sixteen, he is shown the street. He is literally kicked out the door. To fend for himself. It’s shocking but not all that shocking. Personally, I would be very interested in studying his blood. I do wonder how it is so many of these children with HIV get to live to even be sixteen.

A few have made it out. From the rat holes underground they were living in. The Russian clampdown is, indeed, a clampdown on children being allowed to immigrate. It will ebb and flow.

There will always be variations to the cure. And some kids will make it out, and some will not. I would suggest we study, too, that phenomenon, and arrive at a few conclusions as to how it might affect us all. But is that a question.

Yes.

Why. Because it is perfectly logical to conclude that if there ever is the approximation of a cure, it will go to the people who own the resources. AIDS is an economic illness of particle physics. Whenever what could pass for a cure arrives, it will be the rich who get it first. Especially in Russia.

But is it necessary for the system to contain those who buck the status quo.

You mean sneak in there and go get as many of those children as you can.

The US Department of State will have a cow.

Yes.

Why. Why bring sick Russian children to America.

Because sometimes the only way out is exactly that. And if you can’t get out, divide, endure. No one is better at enduring than the Russians. Russia IS the reason why there IS a status quo. We not only do not trust them, we suspect they are not really human.

They are. I have met their children — HIV and otherwise — and I know it to be so. I have seen them walk into the homes of American families, and wake up on what we call a brand new year, and know that they are home.

But why do we always need a defiance of the status quo.

To find a way out. It’s in our genetic makeup to want to know. It’s how we got here in the first place. We are mutations and we have evolved. Forget letting the New Year in like an inebriated fool. Find another way. Out is the direction we need to go. One doll inside the stomachs of the other dolls at a time.

Tim Barrus

Enfance Gulag by Immanuil. Poetry: Tim Barrus. SHOW ME YOUR LIFE.

Enfance Gulag by Immanuil

Poetry: Tim Barrus

Tim Barrus: Enfance Goulag

nor iron bars a cage/ minds innocent, and quiet take that for an hermitage/ of children who have done sex work all know what a whore and camera is/ shriller throats cut your soul is free/ find what animal as naked as the one pierced to his darkness nonetheless/ silenced to feed upon the moons we drag behind the labyrinthine concrete corridors/ all punishments crash against the tombs of coughing boys whose tuberculosis wings sing correctional drying of the throat/ their cells, and narrow rooms/ cannot now be an escape by fucking with the hangman/ and facing all your shrunken walls the men arrive to sell you to the bone-house/ where the trays of heavy bread grow more ragged than the shit you shit upon their cocks that fuck you in the ass at the cheap motel/ cameras can tell the story of it, boy/ but reveal no sun anywhere you might either go to or get pulled to when all trafficked burials become a blur of wounds sliced through you in yet another harvest of the scythes/

My visit to a Russian Orphanage. Sales to Traffickers Only. NO LIGHT - THE ART OF TRAFFICKED CHILDREN.

My visit to a Russian Orphanage. Sales to Traffickers Only.

 

The Art of Trafficked Children

Chair and Teeth by Dmitry (12)

Dmitry is twelve-years-old. He has spent the past year being trafficked on the boy meat market. He describes his life as growing up in a school where children lived with many other children. The adults in this place sold him. He says he knows he is a good boy because he always does what adults tell him to do. He says men hurt him. When pressed to go to a place where he can describe what these men did to him, all he can do is cry and rub his eyes with his fists. The art he makes is mixed media, usually not more than a couple of colors, usually dark, and he calls this particular piece: the teeth and chair room. The chair in the corner of the room appears to have been shit on. Dmitry explains that he was not always able to leave the room to go to the bathroom. He looks at the floor and is ashamed. There appears to be something like a bird on the back of the chair. Dmitry is flying away, although he is invisible. Dmitry is not sure he actually exists. This is post-traumatic syndrome trauma disassociating from the reality of his history. There are what appear to be teeth at the bottom of the piece. But the teeth also look like a fence. To the left of the chair there appears to be a raised arm and hand. The overall effect is prison-like. If you follow the lines, it looks something like a box. If you follow the lines to the right side of the art, you arrive at something that appears to be dark and fluid. As if something bad or monstrous (like a sea of blood) is leaking into the room. Dmitry is not sure what exists beyond the room. It might be freedom. Or it might not be freedom. It could be chaos. He is fearful and anxious. Immediately to the right of the chair sort of on the wall is what could be interpreted as a white-like, diffuse bird figure rising from what seems like material. Like a diaper. Dmitry is wearing a diaper as he cannot control his bowels. Under the diaper in the art there appears to be fluid that runs down the wall and the floor. The colors are a brownish yellow like shit and pee. Dmitry is being tested for HIV, and after some therapy is being placed in a family that speaks his native tongue.

 

“The boys were in the prison. Men came to buy them. They went with the men. He did me in my mouth. My mouth and my throat hurts so much. I will grow big and strong and very strong. Then I will kill him with a gun and an airplane.”

Lev has oral gonorrhea. He is being tested for HIV. The figure on the left appears to have no mouth. As if he us denying us that part of his body. If we can’t see him, we can’t hurt him. Lev appears to be developmentally delayed. He has nightmares and is addicted to sniffing glue.

 

Killer Shark

"People only want to kill you. I am already dead. I wish I was"

 

Infant, Immanuil, abandoned by parents HIV IV drug-users. Lived in subway tunnels with a group of other boys; the older ones who raped him repeatedly.

Each one of the larger urban subway systems has as many as fifty thousand children living there. They are often roving gangs of boys. IV drug-use, sex work epidemic. HIV rampant. None of these boys receives medical treatment.

But I can’t blame the medical community here.

These boys usually die by the age of sixteen. Sixteen is old. Russian social science academics have articulated that it is better for them to die than to propagate their genes.

I am not sure that their genes are not being propagated. There are girls in this scene, but they are marginal to it. It’s beyond tragic.

The issue of boys doing sex work is a heated argument. Mainstream Russian culture does not believe it. The boys themselves do not like talking about it.

This art is the prelude to this child being able to talk about it. The history of rape comes from other boys.

I note there is no gender in any of his art. He has castrated what he creates.

Immanuil refuses any and all physical examination. I could drug him and get it done, but I do not know that I will make that investment. I am conflicted by what is history and what is now. And what is possible.

I am not asking anything from anyone. I am only trying to understand it. 

The only way any contact has been made with this boy is through his art. Stick figures and robots reflect a POV that sees the human form as stiff, unemotional, cyborg-like, mechanical chaos. And yet I am not sure he is expressing human beings as being autonomous because they are all so lumped together; especially on the left side with the right side being mainly blank. Suggesting the concentration of humanity in a subway system. The figures are impersonal; and the affect of the child himself is defeated. “You can rape me,” he says. “I don’t care. I am dead anyway.”

No one wants this child.

I do not know that I can integrate him into Smash Street and/or Show Me Your Life. I do not know that I have the resources to meet what he needs.

I would devise a treatment plan that would employ technology, and I do not have the technology. My technology is spread thin as it is.

This child is not ready for a family. He’s an animal. He’s feral. But is any child really just an animal.

I do not know the answer to that question.

What I know is that children are expendable. That conclusion IS based on a paradigm where no one wants to get involved with THIS child.

I have been reflective.

“I’m dead anyway.” His eyes are dull and he seems to peer right through you.

“So, what you are saying is that you have given up hope that things can get better,” I respond with.

Nods. “No one will help me. I am going to kill myself.”

My turn to nod.

But I know this: Children can be bribed.

“Things getting better” is relative.

If it was up to me (it isn’t), I would find him a peer mentor. One who already had computer skills.

I would get both of them MacBook Pros. Then, I would go to work in a big hurry.

I would only do it with intense counseling for the peer mentor who would have to realize his new buddy MIGHT kill himself.

You could not hide any of this. It would require complete transparency between the boys.

I would use that 8GB 1600MHz memory to facilitate this child to create a gallery of his art. A gallery designed so that HE can see (what other people might see would be irrelevant) that he is step-by-tenuous-step humanizing himself.

He would be surrounded by peers and I do not think he could NOT form relationships.

His machines would be come people.

At first, probably angry people. This kid is going to be angry. Everyone has abandoned him.

And now me. That 15-inch Retina display would pull in other boys. Other boys I would SET UP (you have to begin somewhere and creating situations for children to succeed might be artificial but to kick this kid toward survival, I would not hesitate to create an artifice if he was among peers who wanted to know him) to want to know him. To want to know him is something I would build on a day to day basis.

I am NOT the point.

People always think that I am the point or they are the point. It only pisses me off. The kid is the point.

People stuck in their mainstream paradigms will NEVER get it. The POINT is that it would be the other boys who would not abandon him.

I am only there to create and reflect.

It would be not unlike high risk surgery.

In order to do high risk surgery, you have to have the surgical instruments. 

I do not have what it would take (and either does anyone else) to keep this kid alive.

It would have to be through his art. People will say WHY because they do not understand pediatric suicide.

How many times could you be raped.

Your STORY would be both your life and your art and you would be compelled to invent new ways to tell it.

There is NO WAY this new technology does not do that. It does do that. It gives the kid a stage.

This would be well beyond unconditional positive regard. It would require some sweat. His barely hanging on ART is all he has, and his grasp of that is tenuous at best.

If all the stick figures get crushed into one tiny part of the page he makes this art on, it will finally crush him. My first strategy would be to facilitate him to SPREAD IT OUT.

I do not think it can be done. I do not have the technology to bring one boy into the artistic realm of the other. And what will happen is that Immanuil will start rejecting them as they have almost nothing in common. I think they would hang with him longer. But Immanuil doesn’t have “longer” to give. I give it two days. Then, he will begin to go numb and he will distance. I am not stupid enough not to understand my own behavior will not affect this. It will. If I pull away from him, that will be it. He will have shows US he was right.

This isn’t quite a rant. But almost. It’s also selfish. I would love to keep an ongoing record as to what could be done with a child who has been (the kid is correct) essentially abandoned by every living human he has ever met. My attitude is “IT CAN BE DONE” but I am not sure it can be done because there is such a thing called HISTORY, and this has nothing to do with resources. And what has gone down in the past (abandonment) is what is going to go down today. Why does history have to repeat itself. Why can’t we reinvent our futures and ourselves.

I have written: You are your history.

I have just not wanted to believe it. I want existence to be something filled with possibility; not dead end roads.

Why does history have to dictate what the future is going to be.

The timeline with this kid is going to be very much here and now. I am either going to make the effort to connect to him or I am not. It’s on me. Not him. He has already decided not to be among us.

I could change his mind.

How arrogant is that.

It’s not about resources. It’s about two human beings. Him and me.

Tim Barrus/ Sur la route avec les garcons de la rue Smash (SHOW ME YOUR LIFE)

Smash Street/ Show Me Your Life: Your assignment is to take your cameras, and walk around the environment. What can you tell me about what your life has been about. The ordinary is not, in fact, ordinary at all. It depends on what kind of filters you have a tendency to wear. You have posed the question: BUT what if we cannot return to where we are from. What if that is now impossible…

No one can return to where they are from. Time is a lover from discontent. Looking back however far you want to take it inherently contains a series of filters. We never see what was really there anymore than we have lived lives that were not fundamentally about hanging on as hard as we can. But the filters themselves were never anything neurologically designed to grasp as in forever. All of it is living at the edge. So maybe that is what I suggest you document today. It’s not for Hollywood. It’s not for your WalMart audience waiting in line with your mouthwash. It’s not an art film for pretentious, spolied college students. It’s not Pretty Boy Chatty Kathy on the street corner raging with the hoes or maybe it is. Whores or no whores we are the whores. Who exactly wants to remember back to a universe of faceless faces with their cars and their cocks in our mouths. Swallowing entire highways of their traffic. Who wants to return to the cum motels and some trick’s vomit on the floor. Go get out there and tell me what all of it was like. I want you to fuck me in the ass with a chorus of your images plunging straight to shit and hell. Strip down the loneliness, and eat her pussy out praying to suck and titty down, down, down upon your Jesus knees. I want to look at poetry. I want to see you seize it with your motherfucker fists.

Show me your life.

certaines parties de la ville sont sombres et nous vivons, il/ certaines parties de la ville sont vaincus, et nous étions nés/ certaines parties de la ville sont battus morts de la maladie, et nous avons traversé rendre/ certaines parties de la ville se prêtent au travail du sexe, et nous avons parcouru les rues thouse/ certaines parties de la ville lutte avec des aiguilles dans les veines, et nous avons hoché la tête dans les voitures il/ certaines parties de la ville sont épais avec de jolis garçons atteints du sida, et qui serait être nous/ certaines parties de la ville sont des endroits que vous ne pouvez jamais retourner, et nous sommes retournés à nouveau/

tim barrus

Tim Barrus/ NO LIGHT: THE STORY OF TRAFFICKED BOYS (Film Proposal)

 

If adults won’t create work that deals with the issue of child trafficking and HIV, then the kids will just have to do it.

I would like to develop the kind of project that would be a sustaining source of income for SHOW ME YOUR LIFE to continue into the future.

I propose we produce an Academy Award-winning two-hour feature film produced in a documentary fashion but one which allows us to tell the following story.

I suggest we produce this film, film it, market it, and sell the rights. It could provide an income for years.

Scenes are outlined visually: http://le-too.tumblr.com

NO LIGHT: THE STORY OF TRAFFICKED BOYS

EXT: We see the slums of Kolkata. We see a young boy with an adult male riding in a yellow cab through the streets of Kolkata to the Airport. We see Miami International Airport where the man and the boy get off the plane and are greeted by other men. The boy — Nabarun — looks very scared.

This film would be shot from the perspective of the child. While adults move in and out of scenes, they do not speak, and they are not central to the theme or any of the dialogue. There is a good guy, and there is a bad guy. Both men have similar appearances. We see them, but we do not hear them speak.

No one knows their real names. The boys call one RUSH — who traffics kids. The other is FAGAN who takes in boys running from RUSH

The film would be filmed the way kids see it. In fact, in many scenes we actually SEE kids filming what is going on. They would represent the children in Show Me Your life. The children at risk that Show me Your Life is about, would make this film. They would make the costumes. They would make the art. They would set the scenes. They would edit the film. And they would film it.

This would give them marketable skills.

Each step would be supervised by me.

After Nabarun is seen walking through Miami International, we cut to a scene where Nabarun is having sex with a boy his age, Tristan.

The sex is in the shadows and simulated. There is no communication between the boys. Only sex.

Shots and shadows can be suggestions. No children or animals will be hurt making this film.

The boys are surrounded by men who are sitting and watching this show and masturbating (simulated). We cut to closeups of RUSH (looks like Daniel Day Lewis) who is observant as he has set this up to extract payment from the men watching two boys having sex.

I am informed that many men who are involved in this world never have sex with children. But they pay to watch it.

EXT: Cut to Tristan being thrown out of a car and back out onto the street where he came from. Tristan is a child prostitute. Nabarun is trafficked. The difference exists only in semantics.

We cut to Tristan and Fagan (looks like Mark Strong) walking to the safe house where over a dozen boys in “the life” live.

There is dialogue involving HIV.

Cut to scene of just the boys at the safe house. We see them playing football (soccer) in the park across the street from where they live in a very crowded house. We see local boys bullying them and calling them faggots. The boys leave the park and retreat into their rooms.

Dialogue: how can we kidnap Nabarun and get him to safety.

Cut to scene where boys are learning to speak Bengali via the Internet.

INT: Cut to sex scene between Tristan and Nabarun and surrounded by the same men. Only this time Tristan is whispering to Nabarun in Bengali.

EXT: cut to scene where the two boys, still naked, have fled, and are now in the back of a pickup truck being driven by Fagan into the night. We see RUSH chasing a pack of boys on skateboards who elude him and lead him on a wild goose chase.

INT: Tristan and Nabarun are packing backpacks. They are at risk of retaliation, and they know it. Their plan is to live rough in Ft. Lauderdale on the run where many American runaways survive.

EXT: We see them camping in ditches and hitch-hiking.

Cut to a scene of the two boys doing sex work in Ft. Lauderdale. We see Tristan getting into cars.

While Tristan is doing sex work, Nabarun is arrested and taken to detention at the Broward County Sheriff’s Department where he comitts suicide by hanging.

Cut to:

INT: HIV clinic. Tristan is diagnosed with HIV.

Ext: We last see Tristan sitting on the Ft. Lauderdale beach alone at sunrise.

The final scene follows RUSH as he takes another child from Kolkata. The final image is of a Kalkota yellow cab leaving for the airport.

Budget 2.5 million.

One million: to construct a studio to shoot interior scenes, to do post-production, and to train kids in video and film production.

One million: principle photography, Kolkata, NC, Florida.

$500,000: entry fees for Sundance, Kolkata International Film Festival, New York Film Festival. Toronto Film Festival, and Cannes Film Festival, France. Marketing, travel, and distribution costs.

All profits and residuals would be paid to Real Stories Gallery and would be earmarked to keep Show Me Your Life alive.

Tim Barrus

Tim Barrus (Creative Director, Smash Street Boys/ Show Me Your Life, Real Stories Gallery Foundation): l'invisible

l'invisible

i rarely cry/ even holding the dead ones i cannot cry/ i do scream though/ loudly/ there’s a train that charges headlong and fast somewhere in my head as it shakes the earth with the deep thunder of a thousand horses beating up the ground/ and the sound of the train is so loud you cannot hear either screaming or any music plugged into your brain/ but the real reason you cannot hear those sounds has nothing to do with the train of black coal headed for god knows where/ it is because i am invisible/



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