return to your childhood
and kick out the bottom
dont mistake changing
headlines for changes
if you want freedom
dont mistake circles
for revolutions
think in terms of living
and know
you are dying
& wonder why
if you want a revolution
return to your childhood and kick out the bottom dont mistake changing headlines for changes if you want freedom dont mistake circles for revolutions think in terms of living and know you are dying & wonder why
0 Comments
"Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass. Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy." "Gary Snyder lives in the country. He wakes up in the morning and listens to birds. We live in the city." - Kathleen Wood
all i want to do is make poetry famous all i want to do is burn my initials into the sun all i want to do is read poetry from the middle of a burning building standing in the fast lane of the freeway falling from the top of the Empire State Building the literary world sucks dead dog dick i'd rather be Richard Speck than Gary Snyder i'd rather ride a rocketship to hell than a Volvo to Bolinas i'd rather sell arms to the Martians than wait sullenly for a letter from some diseased clown with a three-piece mind telling me that i've won a bullet-proof pair of rose colored glasses for my poem "Autumn in the Spring" i want to be hated by everyone who teaches for a living i want people to hear my poetry and get headaches i want people to hear my poetry and vomit i want people to hear my poetry and weep, scream, disappear, start bleeding, eat their television sets, beat each other to death with swords and go out and get riotously drunk on someone else's money this ain't no party this ain't no disco this ain't foolin' a grab-bag of clever wordplay and sensitive thoughts and gracious theories about how many ambiguities can dance in the head of a machine gun this ain't no genteel evening over cappuccino and bullshit this ain't no life-affirming our days have meaning as we watch the flowers breathe through our souls and fall desperately in love this ain't no letter-press, hand-me-down, wimpy beatnik festival of bitching about the broken rainbow it is a carnival of dread it is a savage sideshow about to move to the main arena it is terror and wild beauty walking hand-in-hand down a bombed out road as missiles scream, while a sky the color of arterial blood blinks on and off like the lights on Broadway after the last junkie's death of AIDS i come not to bury poetry but to blow it up not to dandle it on my knee like a retarded child with beautiful eyes but throw it off a cliff into icy seas and see if the motherfucker can swim for its life because love is an excellent thing surely we need it but, my friends... there is so much hate These Days that hatred is just love with a chip on its shoulder a chip as big as the Ritz and heavier than all the bills I'll never pay because they're after us they're selling radioactive charm bracelets and breakfast cereals that lower your IQ by 50 points per mouthful we got politicians who think that starting World War III would be a good career move we got beautiful women with eyes like wet stones peering out at us from the pages of glossy magazines promising that they'll fuck us till we shoot blood if we'll just buy one of these beautiful switchblade knives I've got mine but that was then
NOW i am, and do not expect tomorrow or yesterday today. instead i write in exstacy and when someone stops to say "Hey, that's not true!" i yell backwards, "For who...... and fuck rhyme." i have a city to cover with lines with textured words & the sweaty brick-flesh images of a drunken tied-up whorehouse cowtown sprawling and brawling on its back. |