nicht entrinnen (mit howl)
Von: ellendol · 17.01.2005 um 23:19:15 Uhr
heute übrigens, soviel zeit muss sein, partout nicht entrinnen können - türmte sich vor mir auf als berg - und ich dachte; hui - den muss ich besteigen.
lachen über obsession - gesundheitszuträglich.
gefahr erkannt - gefahr gebannt mitnichten.
großes bastardos schweigt weiter so widerlich wie bemerkenswert - wie besteigungswürdig vor sich hin. lechz.
all hail to the unerreichbaren. ohne sie währe ich promiskuitiv.
*pfeiffend ausatme*
und hoffentlich bald mal wieder ein hail der machinery of night.
___________________________________________
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, ...
[...] the Howl by Alan Ginsberg.
heute übrigens, soviel zeit muss sein, partout nicht entrinnen können - türmte sich vor mir auf als berg - und ich dachte; hui - den muss ich besteigen.
lachen über obsession - gesundheitszuträglich.
gefahr erkannt - gefahr gebannt mitnichten.
großes bastardos schweigt weiter so widerlich wie bemerkenswert - wie besteigungswürdig vor sich hin. lechz.
all hail to the unerreichbaren. ohne sie währe ich promiskuitiv.
*pfeiffend ausatme*
und hoffentlich bald mal wieder ein hail der machinery of night.
___________________________________________
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, ...
[...] the Howl by Alan Ginsberg.
RAS - 2005/07/11 15:01
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