“Author and Timcast contributor Shane Cashman recently wrote about traveling to Ohio to work with groups seeking to expose individuals suspected of targeting and sexually assaulting minors. The experience was eye-opening, shocking and dispiriting, he says, but provided great insight into the minds of child predators.
Jimmy and Americans’ Comedian Kurt Metzger talk to Cashman about how the predators were captured and what he learned about their psychology.”
Yeah…
…”Pedophilia is a symptom of head injury”…
…”Pedophilia is tied to being abused”…
…”Pedophilia leads to anger, drug abuse, violence, mental illness and suicide”…
…”Pedophilia destroys children”…
I believe I recognized a bit of dehumanizing and threatening hate speech in there, as well…”experiment on them; I don’t care about their well being”…discussion of a murder case…
While this almost certainly violates YouStooges terms of service…they wont likely do anything about it…even if you bothered to report it.
We Are Living In The Fucking Dark Ages.
Just honest advice here, because I genuinely give a damn…
Don’t ever meet up with anyone for sex, who claims to be under eighteen years old…There are people out there who make sport of ruining lives…It’s only a matter of time before you run into one of them.
Hold your head up…Understand who you are, and the circumstances you find yourself in as relates to culture and history…
“Briahna Joy Gray and Amber Duke discuss Elon Musk’s message for advertisers pulling out of X. #socialmedia”
You get no points for this, SchemeOn Bluff…Your platform is still censorship crazed, and rotten at its core.
You’ve done nothing of substance, to turn twitter into a free speech platform…You haven’t even rolled things back to where they were three years ago.
This display of yours is nothing more than hollow virtue signaling.
“Go f**k yourself,” Elon Musk tells advertisers who left X
“Billionaire Elon Musk told advertisers who have fled his social media platform X over antisemitic content to “Go f**k yourself” during an interview at a New York Times DealBook Summit on Wednesday.
Musk has faced a torrent of criticism ever since he agreed with one X user who falsely claimed Jewish people were stoking hatred against white people. He has since apologized for what he called his “dumbest ever social media post.”
A slew of brands, including Disney and Apple, decided to stop advertising on the platform earlier this month.”
‘Go F*** Yourself’ Elon BLOWS UP At Advertisers
“Krystal and Saagar discuss Elon Musk’s emotional tirade against advertisers at the Dealbook summit.”
What is killing twitter, is your scumbag employees.
“Julie Green is a false prophet for Trump. Why do I care what people were saying in 2020 I hear you asking. Because she didn’t stop after her obvious failures in 2020. She’s still going strong. Trying to pretend she didn’t say exactly what she said. And I’m eating it up.”
I recall using Freenet for a bit. I wasn’t all that impressed at the time. It took a very long time to download anything…But then, I was on dial up at the time.
Naturally, given the way I [and people like myself] have been badly treated online, I’ve often wished for a venue where my words and contributions existed beyond the reach of censorship.
I don’t even care so much, if people ridicule, rebuke or even refute what I have to say…It’s the fact that some people think they have the right to absolutely wipe out what I have to say, and pretend that my true voice and life does not exist, that I cannot and will not abide by.
The mind must not be allowed to decide things beforehand theoretically. That is none of its business: it is a faculty of perception and expression, not an organ of action. The true ‘will’ is the being itself, the central integrity – which cannot remain conscious or manifest without surface flexibility. I saw again this evening, for example, that one cannot absolutely exclude slight amorousness with certain of the boys: there are times when it is not only expected, wanted, called for, but exactly and immediately expresses a purely non-mental relation. Then its perfect lightness and transparency is sweet and charming for both parties. The only thing is, never to force either refusal or response – to be truly perceptive, neither theoretical nor perverse. – The lightest possible touch, no mental pursuit, or it becomes falsified. – Direct response to charm, direct expression of delight in it, or the tenderness it brings. Quicksilver must not be turned to lead.
Much of my fatigue no doubt comes precisely from mental tautness. I felt refreshed after playing with Raju and his friends in the Hostel – forgetting all intentions! But I lift myself into it partly by using my imagination, so it does not last. There must be much greater psychic reserve to experience a spontaneous charm, a lingering subtle fragrance.
It is no good questioning the material (“coercing nature”): but it must be entirely used – towards true perceptiveness, true imaginative experience and subtlety.
You must learn Hindi. What charming little conversations one might have with these boys. I could not follow Raju’s account today of how he lost six rupees gambling – no doubt at the fairytale game I saw children playing on Sunday in the lanes – with elaborate coloured shapes, green, yellow, red, pasted on a ground of paper, and dice an inch square with the same forms on their faces. Alain and Reymond came this evening. I seem to have no use for the society of grown-ups. But to enjoy that of children again I must lose all obstinate mental tensibility, recover floweriness, imaginatio, weight and logic, heavy like a rose, that I want, now, in poetry – fusion of creative intellect and perceptive imagination. The continuity of these children is a flight, or a perpetual transformation.
Don’t confuse this with the maturer conscious love that has never existed for me, though I can so well imagine it.
One must entirely give way, for example, to Raju, concentrate on the child in him.
(29.Xl.46):
Raju: sweet, golden, smiling, in the sun. He is simply a delightful, uncomplicated sturdy animal, robust flower. Re-action to this is simple and direct, and the more I let it be, at its own natural level, the simpler will be his response. All mental rules, discipline, entanglements simply irrelevant – stupid, darkening here. Yet any kind of seeking or fostering would be equally wrong: the detachment of my imagination must be freer and more resourceful than his animal detachment. If I don’t infringe it (as simple sensuality does not) he is fond of me, a charming, kindly friend, with the simple, robust, childlike Nepali loyalty. Yet this detachment, of course, is one with his charm, an uninfringability: it is the very lustre of his body, at once the strength I feel when he playfully wrestles with me and its flowery fusion of richness and simplicity. This is why pure sensuality is necessarily violent: it must spark across this bottomless gulf and make of it a current – then irresistible. The current, the interchange, in love is, as D. H. Lawrence might say, the very flow of otherness, but directed, unilinear-something elemental that is tangled, dispersed, doused under ash, by all attempts at unity in the mind, or mentalisations of the possibility of unity. Raju’s wrestling is a direct and pure instinct, directly expresses the sweet and pungent freshness of virginity. M., at fifteen, is already mentally surrendered to the need of enjoyment.
It is by this purity, its inaccessibility, that loveliness, even the simplest charm, is a symbol of the Infinite Divine Beauty – pure Transcendence.
Until moments of simple, genuine, unmediated sensuality arise with him, all relation with Raju must be the pure, unsought flicker, interplay, of keen electric forces (sensuality, imagination) not reaching out, but ever true to themselves, nascent, virginal, running and seizing when they do, suddenly, incalculably, like fire, purely out of their own immediacy, without qualification. – Re-integration of simple sensuality riddled, desiccated by the mind.
(27.I.47):
As for pederasty, of course it has nothing to do with morality, is purely a matter of taste, of sensibility. Indeed, sexuality altogether does not in itself belong to the moral domain: all that concerns morality here, as elsewhere, is selfishness or cruelty.
(11.II.47):
Boccaccio’s drama. M. came, we were naked on my couch on the floor. I had garlanded him, the red and white flowers very pretty against his dark skin. (At this, when I was doing it gravely, he seemed a little dismayed – and to see that I showed, until then, no sign of excitement.)
He was waiting, first, for me to manifest my intention. I had all imagined subtle and slow – but that’s not it, at his age (fourteen). Finally, I made him sleep – this great body so beautifully slender, but I had thought – only of the fellate-á-double. And my excitement was so cerebral that it dried out the nerves a bit. Seeing me doubtful and not understanding, he sat down with his thighs on my thighs, rising so that I could step underneath. I would tease him, then wanted him to excite me a little more first. Finally, he assumed that I did not like this posture and lay down on my face. – The door rattles. At least two there. M. got up in a hurry, quickly began to get dressed. I said: “Who is it? I have work.” I also dressed myself a little, tried to put things in order. M. was escaping on the verandah outside. One of the voices said “It’s Raju” – a very pretty, very slender boy who I had often (and more often in vain) asked to come and visit me – brother of an older boy in whose eyes I am suspect, but who, during the last three or four days, has been more amiable.
So I opened a notebook in my hand. The other was also from the South Hostel: I barely know him and don’t find him pleasant. They explained that there is a sammelan of poets which some of the boys attend. They only stayed for almost minutes. As he left, he raised his hand so I wouldn’t kiss his cheek.
I looked for M., speaking to him softly. He only appeared after a few minutes. I was beginning to think that maybe he would have slipped away along the ledge of the wall upstairs… not quite likely. As soon as he entered the room, he rushed towards the door, opened it, discovered Raju listening, seized him, twisted his hand. Gently, I made him desist, saying that I love the little one. I explained that we were reading (I had only imagined, a little earlier, that we might one day try to read some of the Sonnets of Shakespeare that I had opened this evening). M. asked me to give him “this book”. Walked in again, grabbed any book. I wanted him to stay, he refused. I asked him for forgiveness: I did not know they would come. He insisted on leaving quickly and said of Raju: “You do not know what he is”. – It is true that he is quarrelsome, perhaps mischievous; and he has a little white “cast” in his right eye. His companion also has a squint in the left eye. I asked M. to come around midnight. Going down the stairs he said “Surely” – but of course I doubt it.
Having written this, I will discreetly look for it. – Although I had invited little V. (who had come around six o’clock) for eight o’clock (he was a good ‘Cupid’ today).
I found M. alone in his room studying. He was very nice: It would be very difficult for him to come at midnight, but he will come another evening. I explained to him that I was walking slowly because I had thought he might stay one or two hours.
I made him learn a little English. He didn’t want me to come upstairs when he went to bed.
(16.II.47):
Raju, last evening and again this morning. Our best relation restored. I told him again how dear he is to me. When he got up to go, he paused a little, his eyes shining, with the indescribably sweet and simple look he has at such moments, and I understood that I could kiss him truly and sweetly. – “How many rupees have you got?” (I had asked: “What can l give you, what can I do for you?”)
As I passed in the rickshaw, Piyare on his balcony with another, smaller boy, half laughing, half ruefully, I made the gesture “‘Alas, what is to be done?” and, half mocking, he imitated it.
S. seemed in a very subtle way, today, more mature – a new suggestion, especially in the line of his mouth. He says that yesterday he felt “very amorous”.
And how could one ever, in any language not of a Hindu or Sufi legend, describe the walk back all the way to Rajghat through the lanes? – the Sikh boy at Gudaulia; Hari Prasad, Devi Prasad at the fine-brass shop; one or two more in that lane; the strange Gujarati (fifteen) at his shop a little further, with turquoise jewels hanging from the border of his ear (I really must draw and paint such perfect, almost legendary, types). Yet indeed it is a little consciously extravagant, not quite true. I overheard someone refer to me as “Prem Sahib” (Man of Love; ed.). But indeed, with the strange Tamil sadhu at Dasaswamedh, and everyone who spoke to me, I felt such free and rich affection and in no way modified the frankness of my worship and delight, nor did any boy, even in the open lane, resist my kisses.
(28.II.47):
Fever. Raju stayed on after the others had gone (Moti had been singing evening ragas) and when he got up to leave came and very sweetly kissed me as I lay on the chauki, telling me that I should put up the mosquito-net. The quality of simple, cool, lucid, masculine independence in this child is quite lovely.
THE CHILD by Lewis Thompson
Entered, one lucid morning of Spring winds,
Eros, the Child, dark, in an Indian guise.
Wanton, beneath my doubtful, daring hands,
What simple, maddening fragrances arise!
From your calm smile the eagle and the tiger,
Have learned their elegance, their pride, their rage;
From your two eyes the Night, the Sphinx, the Augur,
Their depthless, hallucinating gaze.
Single like water is your innocence,
White honey, sameness ravishing the tongue,
At its most secret, shadowed, sinuous,
Glinting the sharpest gleam, the keenest fang.
Drunk with the nectar of your mouth, your breath, your name,
By your harsh magic mad, mad and at peace,
Borne by the venomed wave of golden flame,
We shipwreck on your timeless Paradise.
Borne by the venomed wave of golden flame,
We shipwreck on your timeless Paradise.
“∎ George Santos lashes out against colleagues.
∎ Things in Florida are getting even worse.
∎ KY’s Dem. Gov. Beshear says anti-trans ads run against him backfired.
∎ Students in Seattle and Florida stand up for LGBTQ rights.
∎ The Netherlands swings right.
∎ The Pope shows off his right hook and his left hook.
∎ The Russians are coming for LGBTQ journalist Masha Gessen and others.
∎ A Roman Emperor is found to have been an Empress.
∎ Review of Bradley Cooper’s “Maestro” about Leonard Bernstein.
∎ Rita Mae Brown’s “Rubyfruit Jungle” turns 50.”
Our Love Frontier 