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
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.
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
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.
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
i was shopping because whores like to shop
all that money we have that grows on sex trees
you know i was there to shoplift i need
a coat now why would a whore need a
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
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
you know revenge
in this nightmare dream i keep having
i beat him
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
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.