The Dark Places Only Some Can Go

 

Women live with men who are "afflicted" with this philia for years and never know they are "that", even when they are actively or passively "practicing/acting on" their philia. So how is science, in a clinical setting, going to make a determination between "thinking" it and "doing it?" and harmless and harmful? Maybe, maybe, maybe, after the fact, you might be able to glimpse "state of mind", but that's a little late isn't it? what would be classified as active/engaged anyway? the pursuit of materials for viewing? the possession of those materials? the manufacture/creation of those materials? what materials included? maybe even articles of clothing, and lord don't get me started with the foot fetishes? can the clinicians tell the difference between accidentally exposed and intentionally exposed(aka exhibitionism), or accidently saw in an open curtain, or peeped on purpose? Or between, I just picked him up, he looked like he needed a ride, or I was cruising the strip for some action? Can they tell the difference between babysitting and grooming a family?

...anyway I agree it's a mental illness, doesn't mean I have to tolerate it, doesn't mean society has to tolerate it. It is still dangerous! sorry not sorry. NO!!

If anyone has ever had the stomach to watch interviews with these people(pedophiles), and what "science" is doing to try and solve the problem, and what gov. is doing to try to solve it, or keep it corralled, what the prison system is doing or not doing....It's a damn big problem, and no brain in a jar can fix it with his superior thought processes, waiting in the office for patients to funnel their way thru the prison system, and submit to clinical interventions and cognitive behavioral therapy, maybe some medication, and a group of men, who behave abnormally, who you can talk to about your abnormal behavior so it seems less abnormal. ? where you will be given sob stories, rationalizations, and excuses, for why this one ended up in his predicament (prison) and never ever find (or kill) the root of the problem buried in the family history which doesn't wash off! good job Very interesting story, here in FL in a homeless camp, there was a person who was having a "mental illness" issue and was beaten up brutally a few times, weeks apart, to try to get him to stop, and then when he would not stop, he was taken into the woods and BennyK'd. The camp is notorious for being a place where criminals can hide out, so, no the cops don't get called when people are bad...welcome to 2022.

Yeah, That Everlovin' Funky Goddamned Resurrection Rag

 

In ruby light of a crescent moon

Calm in the aftermath of doom

Vines twine round

The slice of a knife

Flowers, seeds

Traces of life

A wind from the west

Plays flute on the holes

Of ash blue craters

Melody rolls

The voice of the song

So strangely like you

When the moon was white

And the sky was still blue

Resurrection Rag

The voice of the moon

I've heard it before

I remember the tune

Twelve crimson stars

Shining bright overhead

They shall make music

To wake the dead

With breath in our bodies

We sing the refrain

With flesh on our bones

We feel softness and pain

With hope in our hearts

With trust in our eyes

We arise

We have risen

We arise

We have risen

We arise

Robert C. Christie Hunter (born Robert Burns; June 23, 1941 – September 23, 2019) was an American lyricist, singer-songwriter, translator, and poet, best known for his work with the Grateful Dead. Born near San Luis Obispo, California, Hunter spent some time in his childhood in foster homes, as a result of his father's abandoning his family, and took refuge in reading and writing. He attended the University of Connecticut for a year before returning to Palo Alto, where he became friends with Jerry Garcia. Garcia and Hunter began a collaboration that lasted through the remainder of Garcia's life.

In George R R Martin's novel Armageddon Rag, The Nazgûl sing very different lyrics at their reunion concert:

This is the day we've dreamed about

This is the land where flowers grow

And all my hopes I'm bringing

Oh, don't you hear the singing

And all my dreams I'm bringing

Well, can't you hear the singing

And all my pain I'm bringing

And I'm joining in that singing

They're playing the resurrection rag, oh

Playing that resurrection rag

Yeah, that everlovin' funky goddamned resurrection rag