Smash Street

Sex Trafficking in Eastern Europe is an epidemic. Families sell their children. Orphanages sell the children entrusted to them. The United Nations, for all of its efforts has had little to no influence or effect. The only way it's going to stop is to eliminate the poverty that can be both cause and effect. And that isn't going to happen. With political instability, sex trafficking will flourish. Even more than it is already flourishing. There are no easy answers, especially for the children that are the most fragile of the victims. Mitya was one of those children. Today, he is safe. This is his video that he spent days creating, and this is his poem. It is called SCARED IS WHY I WRITE THIS POEM.


 







 Испуганный поэтому я пишу это стихотворение: Митя (перевод) 

У меня есть плохие сны. 

В мечтах они продали меня. 

Они продали меня к мужчинам, которые трахали Митю. 

Кровь. Я боюсь. 

Не заставляй меня туда вернуться. 

Или я убью себя. 

Я мечтаю они находят меня. они 

взять меня туда в комнату. 

Я повешусь с веревкой. 

Тогда они найдут другого мальчика. 

Мне грустно за него. Он будет висеть 

Сам тоже. 

В комнате стоит плохой номер. Если вам 

получить дерьмо на них они будут бить вас. 

Так они заставляют вас принимать таблетки, и вы 

срать перед человеком, который наблюдает. 

Он следит за тобой дерьмо. Когда он уходит 

плохие люди бить вас. 

Посланный от моего мобильный







U R Yer Hands by Trent — hiv nights

From the moment U cum out of yer mama’s pussy there will B bosses who will tell U what U can do and what is not allowed and who and what U R… These people R adults… Adults want slaves… They R not always right… Sometimes adults R wrong… But they bilt the jails and they have the guns… So if you defy them and who want 2 B who U say U R then they will use their guns and U will go to jail or they will shoot U dead… That is how it works… What adults know is violence and stigma to control U… But U have something they cannot own… Something that builds and hammers and draws and clicks a camera shutter and puts together and creates… They can C the night as U push them out in front of U so U don’t trip and so U do not hit yer face on the walls… They see things… They know things… They know all yer secrets… They R yer weapons so U can fight… U R yer hands…  






tim barrus: hiv nights

after all these years, you call; what is it i am supposed to say/ i have instructed sorrow itself to go be a commodity as an adjunct to such shame and malcontents whose proverbs come from underground/ that some sleep-dust of summer storms be short and talk of  whispers and tongues by night if sack a venerated sin be a sin, then that is when jack is tied up by his own blue veins to exact a form of vengeance a little worse than sad and the blood of any enterprise/ we’ll purge and drain insurrection itself with yet a seal upon such a bond deeds shall be my own brother’s hell that stirs for this/ night of captivity night after night, by concave shores and death’s enforced ceremonies that for strange savages become food for crows themselves/the memory of it out in parking lots like the fishmonger is twice dead and twice apprehension in his taste for stars and a hell hole of assurances whose form, indeed, gives the charge escape/ we loved a few so runs the world away/ death by inches would be a sacrament/ venom keeps the canine’s clean, to be devoured is all there is, are you alone still you, like waves upon a pebbled shore, will leave this to my lover’s whore, bracelets for whom love wrought all in pursuit of nothing more than shadows and the wandering/ entreats by light what wealth of summers might join on last voyage of the voyages, but then, all the dark, and all the solitary poor, and suck bickering to live a life half dread that the world itself has always been sick to death of shame/ though injurious, inspires a conduct found only in desire and how it praises pain/ 

such light lit up is everything/ ignited/    






Tim Barrus: Going Under: HIV Nights

When I started writing HIV nights, I assumed that it wouldn’t be anything the Smash Street Boys want to be a part of. Being old and irrelevant and all. However, this video did give us some pause. Which is why we put them together. Le vids. Each video is a dialogue.

Even San Francisco seemed to pull me under. But that’s not reality for the Smash Street Boys, they’ve already been pulled under, and it’s not always an urban phenomenon. Some have lived in caves. Some in abandoned basements, some in parking garages on the run. On the run about describes it. But we are on the run from different things.

The margins have — most of the time — meant something that has to do with a geography, too. It’s hard to stay anonymous. It’s another identity, being no one. Being just don’t single me out.

I do not know what would compell them to want to be a part of a poetry, video project. Their call. We come from separate solar systems.

HIV nights is about, not a second-hand on a clock, but a time period when you didn’t know but you knew.

You knew.

It was in your blood. No one had to tell you. You had seen dozens die. My world was one of death after death after death. It was like being in a war because that was what we were essentially in the middle of. I do not know what going under means. As a video or anything else. They’re using multiple metaphors: one under water, and another under the ground.

It is not at night but it might be. Or night has yet to arrive and it’s coming. The other side of reality.

It was night that bore you along that black river you were in as languidly as you could make it. The scales we now measured your humanity with were sacred as a temple priest. The kind that used to do you when everyone had left the church. There were only scratches of light left. They liked it dark. When they took you to their rooms, their rooms were shadows. You could feel him in you. Pounding away at your bones of grief. Grunting their cum out into you. Scratches of the light clawing at whatever it was you had lost. You could not articulate it. The temple priests were dead themselves. Listens to my heart with a stethoscope cold against my tit of sleep that always sits rocking in the corners of an empty room. 

I would welcome any of them into this project. I see, with their antenna, everything is fine.









r u there: hiv nights

by trig

i am an animal in the wildreness.

i am restless and never fall asleep in the beds of tricks.

if the trick falls asleep then sometimes u can sneak away.

i am the kind of whore who can be quiet about it. the leaving.

with all the drugs of the night before in your teeth.

if they take u way out somewhere at night it might be so far away u do not really know where u r u only pretend.

u pretend a lot.

u r stupid. stupid. stupid. stupid./

u get in that car and u will go where the trick wants 2 go.

that is how it works. u look out the window a lot.

i know who 2 call 2 come het you and they will please come get me now. please.

they say go outside and look around for street signs, or stores, or go through the trick’s wallet to get his license and read the address.

tricks always hide the wallet.

i grab my stuff and go.

i do not really want 2 b there when the trick wakes up because they always think we stole stuff.

i find a place maybe even a bar and i light a cigarette.

come get me come get me.

r u there r u there r u there.

while u wait everyone is looking at u like u r dirt.

a whore.

snarling at the kids in here none of them has to do sex work.

they all have little rooms and no 1 fucks them while they r holding on.

what bangs around inside their heads what new thing will they buy tomorrow.

this is where i pray that when i wake up I will b dead.

i took the long way around and by now the trick i left will b up.

he will think about looking for me but the thought will vanish.

i am a sweet boy and if u sucked me u would know that.

i am a torrent of wing dust.

i am good inside my heart among a billowing cloud of blackbirds.

i am the whore in the convenience store holding my skinny bag tight.

when he drove me all the way out here and it is far, i always wonder what else will go wrong.

i am my face into the wind.

i am my bed on the floor in a corner of the room and I have washed all of it clean so there might be something waiting for me when i got home, something like my blanket of colored stars i could crawl into that was not the unclean salt.

his car smelled of sweaty children.

how could some kid’s dad do this 2 me.

there is a wolf dog in me and my bones.

i am just waiting 4 a ride.

r u there. please b there.

the wilderness will not let me go.




whore goes shopping: hiv nights

by Jordan

i was shopping because whores like to shop

all that money we have that grows on sex trees

you know

you know i was there to shoplift i need

a coat now why would a whore need a

coat

because it gets cold out there you know

it was an accident that i saw him you know

that kind of shock when you run into

someone that you know that you did not

expect to see

and there he was

i wish i could say he only beat me up

once but it would be a lie because he

beat me up twice

i got in that car twice and i knew right

away it was a mistake

i make them

i do not know his name he’s just

another trick but this one is

dangerous

he takes you out into the country

and he beats the fucking shit out of you

and he leaves you there

i think i did the second time because

in my head i was going to beat that

motherfucker up


you know revenge

in this nightmare dream i keep having

i beat him

up

but in reality he’s stronger that he looks

he was shopping with his wife and kid, the wife

is ordinary and so is the kid

as soon as he spotted me filming with my phone

he was out of there and i wanted to

warn the wife

but as soon as i saw her i knew

he beats her up too

wins family magazine father of the year

brand new car with my blood on

the seat

hey little girl

your time will come




Smash Street is a safe place for boys at-risk. The Smash Street Boys create art as a healing instrument.

They smash, mash, bash, and crash collage, video, photography, and multi-media.


 

It’s bleak.

We understand that. But it’s what we see, and we can’t white-wash it for you so you can feel better about your lives. The vision belongs to us. It is not your vision, and that is fine. Our ideas about the future are grim. Which does not mean that we are set out on some PR campaign to convince you because we’re not.

It’s simple. We’re about three things. You won’t get it. But it’s not important what you get or do not get.


GETTING AND STAYING OFF THE STREET: It’s about survival. The religious cranks want it to be about redemption. The social work bureaucrats want it to be about the paperwork and the rules. The parole officers want it to be about power. Law enforcement wants it to be about law enforcement.


Education wants it to be about the numbers at a graduation that isn’t going to happen. HIV/AIDS health care wants it to be about punishment. Drug dealers want it to be about addiction. And then, there’s homelessness. We understand the extent to which the normals and the suits hate us. The stalkers and the hate mail we receive on a daily basis testify to that.

There are a million and one institutions out there who would shape us into forms they recognize and can control. We do get that the culture perceives the adolescent male as in dire need of structures that contain him. Like detention. Like jail. Like the back of a police car at night when no one can see what they do to us. 

SAFE ZONE: A place where our abusers and stalkers and rapists can and haters cannot find us. Even if they do find us on the Internet — stalkers and haters are ubiquitous and ordinary — they cannot find us  outside that context. Just because they track down an address, or a list of them, does not mean we are there. A safe zone implies confidentiality. Some abusers will, given the opportunity, continue to abuse. Some abusers will, given the opportunity, continue to abuse when released from prison. A safe zone means we are safe from haters and relatives who are haters.

ART: Using art as a healing mechanism, and at the same time acquiring skills. We are also mentors to at-risk-kids around the planet in SHOW ME YOUR LIFE. Art is a reinterpretation of the world.

Smash Street is about a continuance. An endurance that helps us create an environment that is safe and allows us to thrive if that is even possible. Sometimes we are hopeful, and we believe it’s possible to thrive. But these are fleeting moments. We are not asking for you to approve. We are asking that we be allowed to rediscover our fundamental humanity. Free of suicide. Free of addiction. And free of the human beings who have, and given the opportunity, would hurt, humiliate, and exploit us. Our vision is one of dead bodies in the road.


Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948). 
Article 27.
 (1) Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.
 

Confidentiality. Forms of online surveillance often take place for “political, rather than security reasons in an arbitrary and covert manner," UN Special Rapporteur Frank La Rue argues,
 calling on governments to decriminalize defamation, do away with real-name registration systems -- including the parameters in Facebook's terms and conditions that allows governments to collect users' names and passwords -- and restrict rights only in the face of an imminent threat. 
Broad surveillance powers or the erosion of privacy online endanger anonymity's ability to protect dissenters and journalists and those using pseudonyms when they speak out (UN 2011 report).


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