my old voice

so i found what's been bugging me for days

i need something larger than myself. i need to lose all that makes me who i am on a pathway to something i love and cherish so dearly that i wouldn't mind becoming a bleak spot on its progress. something inhuman something bigger than my fears and boredom something that i would love with my nails in the stone and my face dripping with tears i need something i would waste myself fot a glimpse of its coming something that would make me feel blessed and proud to be a part of something that would take this vacant life and give a different sense of belonging

something that would carve out devotion and simplicity out of this egotistical individual being of mine

something that would give me a purpose a way to lead

what--i can not tell. love tends to do all of that i suppose but i wish for something different. a cause. a center.

a song or a story.

the shark incident

my original plan was to post sad eyed lady here and talk about that, about how misconceptions of love happen and how youthul desire may or may not be mistaken for love and all that--BUT-- then i blasted in my zeps and dear god have they turned the entire mood around.

see i was a good music virgin till that holy day of my first zeppelin song. i soaked all those songs in like a spong--crazily obsessed with them--and things have changed ever since. though i forget about them once in a while i always go back to them. they're like you first lover whom you love and cherish but don't hold on to crazily--yet always come back to when you need who really knows you.

so tonight it's all about those lovely golden curls and swaying hips and double-neck insane guitars and bleeding hands and angelic midnight riders.

ps: i am leaving sunday morning to spend a few days outta town. i'm gonna try to post a little tomorrow but if i can't--well--then i'll see you when i see you.



edit: hahaha that video looks huge.

when i learnt how my time had been wasted

so it's officially the last day of work!

in a minute (after i'm done with this post, that is) i'm gonna take care of a few last minute tasks and then it should be freedom. we're probably gonna head out to my grandma this weekend, or on the first few days of next week.

but before that--i met up with a good friend of mine the other day. a girl whose visions and desires are far far different than mine --i've known her for about 3 years now. we had had a very enlightening conversation a couple of weeks ago--when i had asked her about somethingi heard and we had figured out that we have been both lied to on the matter. me especially--i knew people would talk behind your back or misintrepret your words but dear god i never though people would so bluntly and openly and pathetically lie.

i mean let's face--we all talk about people and we all carry on what we heard from someone to someone entirely different--girls, boys, young, old--everybody does it. and i'm fine with it, i mean, i'll try to be as true and brave as i can but even i slip from time to time. which in itself will turn out to be a nightmare if you get obsessed with the whole unsecrecy thing. but that certainly doesn't mean you get to go around and bash people all you want. my personal scale works as this--if i can't say it to someone's face, then i don't say it behind their back. and if i can't say it to their faces that means mostly either i'm wrong or that i'm overdramatizing the whole deal. and to this day it worked out fine with me, i managed to keep my head light and my heart proud.

anyway--never before in my life though i had noticed that people lie the way a person i know does. it's funny, and sad, and really weird. you know the whole systematic misunderstanding deal of that horrid freedman, well, i think that could apply to me and people who lie like that. it makes you wonder how their brain works--and boy how deadly scared they must be to live their own lives--sad, broken, empty with all the shortcomings of their talents--to actually just randomly create something entirely unrealistic.

now i'm not saying these to be mean--i'm just genuinely confused. it should be a very unhappy life to wanna escape the way they do.

for i have said here before, i think you lie only and only when you're afraid. it's as simple as that.

then this song came up on my ipod while i was walking out of the subway station and i remembered how great of a song it was:



Led Zeppelin Plaza Hotel,New York June 1977

Guitar Man | MySpace Video

sticks and stones

has it not been ages my dearest friends?

truth of the matter is i'm sorta getting better, my throat is still unpleasantly itchy but you gotta suck it up at some point. and the more memories pile up the fewer incentives i find to write about them.

let's start with the simpler ones--the events. last weekend was fun. i hung out with the delegation squad randomly touring town (well random for me-the whole schedule was in fact pretty strict). we went through some wonderful sights--mosques and bazaars and all the touristy stuff--and one especially that had been first built as a cathedral then became a mosque then a museum, was quite breathtaking. i walked around with one of my newly made lovely friends, and we had a blast. daily life feels awfully simple and unimpressive after you walk through beneath those hundreds of years old ceilings.

before that--the girls with curls was back so I had a lovely dinner with her and a few other friends. other than that it's been mostly all work--and for the last few days i was too sick to do anything of worth. though I did take my wonderful friends to my campus--we rolled down the notorious hill with the most beautiful view at our feet, then walked around in pitch black of the night, accompanied by a few friends on four feet--and what can i say, i miss the place. it was like walking through my own back yard. i looked at the benches wishing it was 8 am on a friday morning and i had a book in my hands.

my moods have been a little low for the past few days--first the illness, then the obligatory cancellation of a trip that i was very excited about, and i kinda have this feeling of wanting to just pull back on everything. i feel like avoiding any kind of scenes or anyone involving in scenes, i just wanna sit back and relax and feel like the way i do at the benches with the crows. i can't seem to read and i can't seem to write, i sometimes get mad or envious, or just lazy--but whatever it is i'm not exactly at the top of game.

but either way i can't say anything's been bad, it's just a phase i guess. i don't even listen to music that much. i feel needless of an aim. i could be tired too i guess. my head's not straight.

anyhow take care. i'll be around.

not a second time

as you see we're back on the old look. truth is i've been meaning to write--first i didn't have enough time and now i'm getting (already am actually) terribly ill. my ehad feels a ton my lungs are tired there is a spot where i think the tube attaches to the lungs kinda hurt. add endless hours of work to that and i'm kinda grumpy. plus i was planning that trip which now is not gonna happen but oh well.

i'm gonna try to get better soon and get back on the tracks and post here. a sound head is found on a sounf body they say. i seem to agree.

be well lovers.

what i thought of you now

funny thing this sleep deprivation is. remembered what a lovely song street of dreams was with that manly mr rose growl

"he was gruff, a mass of bristling hair, don't give a damn attitude, a confident hunter"

ah finally that holy day friday.

just made to the end of the week--and the end of another month's work. the delegation that had been in town is taking off on sunday, i'll be hanging out with them in the morning doing a city tour, then will be heading to my aunt for a family iftar (which in itself putting every religious holy mumbo jumbo aside is a very spiritual and loving thing--the way you wait for the warm pide and the butter, the way you watch about 12 plates being filled and refilled, everyone at the table, older boys usually pouring out the drinks, rest goofing around, cathcing up and all--cozy family gathering). i never realized i actually liked those crap so much, till this year plans changed and my grandma's annual one got cancelled, and all of a sudden it all seemed terribly sad.

then sunday will be visiting a friend over at one of the islands, which i'm thinking will be a great event, a very mixed group of people will be involved. the girl with the curls is back home, and i'll be seeing her lovely face again and the act of eating ice cream with her which seemed so distant and impossible when she was gone will happen, hopefully, and two lovely friends from work who are just slowly grasping the myserious turkish world and my in between cultural confusion will also join us--and a third one too actually whom i just met today, who from the moment you see her reminds of some woodstock traveler, and who have proven me in thinking so by telling us how she took off at 5 30 in the morning and walked around town on her own, in back alleys and all--so that all should be fun. we'll see.

don't think i'm slacking off on the sixties week. my computer at home is now finally a senior citizen, poor things takes 5 hours to just get turned on, so i usually end up not waiting for it after i come home from work, beat and tired. but that doesn't mean i haven't been thinking about it, especially with occasional the doors tracks, smiling to myself on the bus thinking there is a certain way to see beauty and whatnot and noticing newer details in taking woodstock like how lang and the gang always pays cash (which i'd like to take as a reaction towards the evil banking world--cash is easy and decisive and it rarely ever bites you in the ass). but most of all i've been thinking about the way the fifties evolved to be the sixties, or more precisely how anything evolves into anything--you know, people, movements, revolutions etc. and that wilentz book excerpt which i enjoyed so dearly has also contributed to that one way or the other.

truth of the matter is i came down with a decision, but i won't share that for now--for i am saving that one for the big finale (i'm guessing, on monday, i won't have time on weekend to do so).

anywho--what i wanted to talk about today was something--well, someone--i wanted to talk about ever since the idea of the sixties popped into my head--or more accurately someone i wanted to talk about for ages since the first day i heard him roar "a red-headed woman..." in the most beautiful way (that line--though one of the most powerful lines of my life--i only have a vague notion on the words, they are not really clear to me) so the sweet, tough man of my inspirational pool: dave van ronk.

i met him through dylan, lemme get that out first. first time i saw him was on no direction home but i'd like to think that we've grown on each other over time. as i do often i had heard about him a few times, peeking my interest, and one day finally got my hands on one of his albums. then on another one. and my admiration for the man just grew.

now i don't know much about the background of his songs--i know that he usually arranges traditional tunes, i've seen him do a few covers (including buckets of rain)but van ronk's voice is so magical, otherworldy and beautiful that he is one of those--hang on, the only one, in fact--that could make me possibly not worry or care too much about what the words are about. and that is saying a lot for a poet wannabe like me. his tone is soft and grand, bluesy and cheerful, fatherly and flaming at the same time and he has this talent of mastering the songs so differently that you feel like they all of sudden have a reason to exist.

but besides that heavenly voice there is this warm humanity in dave van ronk that just gets to you. there is a feeling of safety and affection not only in his tone but also in his appearance--i do really wish i had known about him before he passed away in 2002, i mean i love and listen and read a lotta people who are dead and buried, but i do honestly and truly wish that in some different plot of events i could have known about him sooner and that we could have met.

dylan describes him as the "big surly guy" who looked like "he'd come from the Russian embassy"--which is different that the feeling i got from van ronk, but also amusing, considering anything involving the word "russian" in it makes me giggle--and i kinda know exactly what dylan means when he says that. then again he met the guy, hung out with him, played with him whereas i did none of the above. so i don't really get a say on that.

anyhow, if you like music, you should listen to dave van ronk. if you play music, you have to listen to dave van ronk. but overall if you're looking for another reason why and how people exist, and looking for something to warm up the pit of your stomach--if you enjoy humanity and what it has to offer--then i say give him a try. don't see it solely as a sixties thing. think of it on its own.

anyways i got way too excited over this one. i had posted wanderin' here before and mentioned it a couple of times so i honestly don't think i need to do so again. but i'll try to add a few songs when i get home. i'll post here the review i wrote on him months ago, a few weeks after the first time i had heard his just dave van ronk.

http://whatthedeadpoetsaid.blogspot.com/2010/05/traditional-tunes-part-i-just-dave-van.html

so keep on wanderin' lovers. i'll be back.

rocks off

so before i leave work few things that happened--a lovely teacher of my sent me a great dylan link, i amazed my coworkers with my ability to get distrated, i ate such good chicken meat and finally am getting ready to go meet with a few of the girls in honor of the return of the girls with the curls.

don't think i'll be home till later, and tomorrow will be super hectic at work so don't wait up. but i will catch up sooner or later, and i'm thinking dave van ronk, ken kesey and allen ginsberg still deserve a mention before the sixties week goes out.

if you ask the question then you probably won't understand the answer

so continuing to my lovely 60s lists--i decided to take an item or a theme on every post. think of it as "my fave 60s events-items-people-music-etc" list.

so what's on the menu today? well, the lovely fierce scary glorious hells angels, of course.

as you all know hells angels are a group of motorcycle freaks--very dangerous very violent very enraged. but all the same, all that leather and macho man appeal is kinda--well--appealing. not that i support violence or anything, but i kinda find them interesting (and oh man and that they are)to learn about.

esp their portrayal in Wolfe's wonderful tale (Electric Kool Aid Acid Test)was just magnificent. the way everyone got freaked out when they showed up--how everyone was just uneasy and tense about their existence, and a bunch of colorful acitivities they took part in (won't go into details here, just in case), but the best part was how they accepted--gosh, was it mountain girl--that should be the name, mountain girl--because she won't take any bullshit from anyone. i thought that was pretty cool.

so apparently they are still around as a gang, but i personally don't hear much about them nowadays. which could be due to their reputation of blood and tears, and the Rolling Stones concert incident in which they were hired as security people (i know, wonder who was that genious who thought of that) and ended up stabbing a kid to death because he tried to come up to stage with a gun. that should be at the end of the sixties, if i'm not wrong, and the more the major scene dissolved, the lesser known its actors became. so the hells angels legend soon became somewhat milder, yet still even today they are considered to be--for some, at least-- a form of an "organized crime" gang.

as i said--they weren't exactly the nicest people that walked the earth but i'm not exactly sure if they were entirely devils on the loose. as their motto state "when we do good noone remembers, when we do bad noone forgets"-- it kinda is true. i tend to think of them as more of free highway spirits with beautiful rides rather than a gang of sons of bitches who want nothing but tearing people apart. i'm sure they have done lotsa bad things, but let's face it, who hasn't? (ok maybe theirs were on a bigger scale but oh well)

long story short i like them and i am kinda fascinated by them. i don't think they have the same spirit they had in the 60s nowadays but still i think they're kinda cool. not to mention that those lovely harleys are sweet. there's a harley davidson store on my way home which i drool at every single pass. and let's face it, what gives a man a charisma boost better than a lovely harley?

anywho--here's a picture of mick and the angels at that infamous concert:




peace out, lovers.

let me through

don't get me wrong i am dying to smother you with all my lovely sixties gems but work has been borderline crazy, so i'm hoping i'll have a chance to post when i get home

revolution now spinning now now invisible

needless to say I love the sixties. I do truly believe the times that were changing (says the man who has changed even more than the times) were different than the changes we go through everyday. I do believe that more good than bad came out of it. I do believe that people really believed in what they fought for.

but revolution is tricky business. it tends to spin out of control, forget its roots, crash and burn its followers and betray the very essence that it had risen out of. every revolution follows the same path-- for revolution as the poet believes is the explosion of desires and feelings--and explosions do not last forever. the minute revolution becomes regulation, it loses its beat.

whether or not the revolution of the sixties worked out is another discussion for another post, but tonight I’m gonna talk about a little piece of that revolution—the part to me which resembles the most "revolution" as a concept. sure loving mother nature and denying anyone over 30 is a way to go, but when you come down to really wanting a change, these guys were the real deal. they are one of my favorite things of the sixties, and they are not talked about that much. so I thought I’d kick of the week of sixties with them—the diggers.



the diggers were what the radical left stood for in those days. they hated and rejected all sorts of private property and loathed the use of money (I know, my heroes). they cooked free meals, feeding the flock of kids sunbathing in the streets of san fransisco; opened up shops that you can give and take as you like for free, they gave people housing and shelter, medical care, they organized free concerts and theater performances. they were also against the ‘hippie’ sensation, warning the nation against a spreading, seemingly revolutionary but just as dangerous conformity.

they were to me the true children of the revolution that was needed. don’t get me wrong, they were radicals—their free meals came usually from stolen products or bullied butchers, they did what they could to get what they needed. they weren’t all peace love and music. there was a real flame in the pit. still, what they wanted, what they worked for—to me, that is—was the real deal. they wanted to stop any and all sort of societal consciousness, and that soon included the hippie movement that spread like wildfire over the kids. they were anarchic and after absolute freedom. hippies to them were a product of the media. dylan was still working for ‘maggie’s farm’. none of them so called counterculture icons were relevant.

I had a chance to read some of their sheets that had been published throughout the sixties. at first, I took them to be some sort of providers for the community, but they were in fact a very intellectual, idealistic group of activists. their papers include spiteful remarks not only about people like dylan and ginsberg who were hailed to be the upcomers and messiahs of the hippie ‘please force’ (my fave term from taking woodstock), but also about the flower mindset of the sixties.

“Forget the war in vietnam” begins one of their declarations, “flowers are lovely.”

so to me, the music of the sixties, the colors, the love, the drugs, the beauty are all parts of a bigger picture, but not the picture of a revolution. it’s certainly a great deal when 500 000 people gather around on empty fields to love their neighbors but they never really chose to change the storylines.Instead, they existed in some far away fantasy land that was bound to be destroyed. the diggers on the other hand were what stands at the heart of what you call a revolution—intensity, desire to change, and the balls to do so.

I’ll be posting some of their sheets here—hoping that I’m not crossing any copyrights lines on this one. I found these on a lovely diggers website with a wonderful archive and believe they should be shared. they are not that far off from where we stand now.

read them if you can, and then let me know if you wanna “start a religion...or plan a murder.”

but the kids are all right

whaddayaknow--apparently we are in the glorious dates of the lovely woodstock. so guess what? i think i may have some woodstock goodies on this blog for 2 more days. so technically, without knowing about it, i watched taking woodstock on a perfect day.

so peace, man.

for a few days at least.





edit: you may have noticed the perky new template--don't freak out, it's just to get ourselves in the mood. it'll change once we're done celebrating the wonder that is the 60s.

edit #2: on a second note, how about we turn this into 60s week? if you guys wanna add stuff, that'll be fine too.

"maybe even dylan"

so did everything i wanted to do tonight--even managed to take a baby nap. still feeling tired and outworn but oh well. there's still one more day left of this precious weekend.

watched that bundle of joy of a movie taking woodstock. it's not a life altering movie but it's cute--and if you have any interest in the time period like i do (though i had in my drunken state once declared that the 60s flower power did nothing but "taking all that (which was the anti material loving drug induced way of seeing life of the 50s) and turned it into nothing but sex drugs and hair") it's a fun couple of hours to spend.

first off--obviously, there is the essence of that flowery, rainbow colored, love- peace-music philosophy that gets to you. crazy people sliding down the hill only to end up in a puddle of mud, making love randomly in the bushes, taking their clothes off without fear (forget your underwear! we are free!) and the constant gazing up to the fields and the soft sounds and the acid trips and the good music and the general vibe of the whole love your neighbour love your animal love your earth deal--not to mention the incredible uproaring of the human spirit against the war--it's all not just fun and also in a charmingly unrealistic way, moving. it gets to you. or it got to me at least--as it always does.

second there's the little hints that make the movie tasty for us the 60s buffs. like the wonderful unexpected and lovingly resentful yet at the same time mocking mentioning of dylan's absence. the hopeful "maybe even dylan" remard and that legandary dude standing with a card that reads "bob dylan- please show up" among the crowd makes you smile. not to mention that they are priceless details to someone like me who knows dylan's place in the 60s (though my dylan fanaticism for example almost holds the 70s above the 60s)and the expectations and the politics of his existence. it's not just historically relevant and smile-worthy but also cherishable from the dylan angle. because no matter how much of a product of the times he was or how the times were the product of him, dylan always stands out of context--never belonging to a place or to a time to such an extent that you soon give up on seeing him on a real time scale. but when his name comes up like the way it does in taking woodstock or the lovely electric kool aid acid test it reminds you that he as a person one time or another existed on a very daily basis.

and also the very cunning hilarious line of the movie--that can be picked up by someone who knows a thing or two about woodstock "it's august--it never rains in august" was a blast.

and then there was the music. say what you want about the 60s but god i bluntly declare that there had never been a decade that could top that one when it comes to its tunes. when maggie mcgill blasted in i was just thrilled. or when the song that you will listen to when and if you get to the end of the post started up--reminding me how good of a song it really was--i vowed to myself to make myself a tasty 60s playlist tonight (which was exactly what i did-- soft parade is on as we speak).

anywho as you see i always get excited when i speak about something i like. but here's a snippet that is far more enjoyable than my ramblings--fare thee well lovers!

you probably didn't think i did

so what's in store on this deadly cooked up saturday--me in my unexpectedly good mood, taking woodstock then some devils. and this lovely song which despite its complicated setting always makes me incredibly cheerful--


Joan baez love is a four letter word
Yükleyen lesaffreux. - Öne çıkan müzik videolarını izleyin.

made of paper

darlings

i'm done with my first cup of tea and soon would head downstairs to fetch more-- have my radio on and the windows are open wide but little air comes in. the heat sweeps whatever remains of the daily struggles. it's impossible to feel enthusiastic about any thing in this damn weather.

anywho-- i'm hoping the tea soon would wake me up but who knows, if not you guys just have to put up with my weary ramblings. truth is i don't really have anything major to talk about--except this sudden mood swing i got this afternoon. i felt a little drowsy and depressed in the morning, work had been hell for the last two days with one too many hours every evening, it had been painful to come home in traffic and heat, my body was giving up and my nerves weren't exactly holding their end of the bargain.

adding all to that was the ragged working man crouching by the sidewalk with a worn out plastic plate in his hand having his iftar dinner who in between all my tears made them even flow faster last night while i was trying to make it home

then this morning was pretty much gloomy and all. but work was slightly better and by later this evening i was too busy with sorting out profiles and preparing name tags and arranging proper lists and all that i got sidetracked and lost all about my heavy feelings and uneasiness and instead was filled with warm feelings of home and accomplishment. then i got the chance to do something i hadn't done in a while--sit around at the bus stop for some time and read until the bus arrives. i know it sounds lame but it just lit up my entire day. everything turned cheerful all of a sudden. 30 pages of my good man fyodor and the world is a better place.

i wish i could tell you more but i can't really do so with this weather--you can't even be an observant in this heat let alone a story teller. so i think i'm gonna take my leave now read a little more and then go to bed. if i don't melt into a puddle first.

keep cool.

bang bang, shoot shoot

is it me or do normal people too wonder randomly about meanings of beatles songs?

anywho i will try to get back to you guys tonight but with this state of exhaustion i am not making any promises.

...

"I’ve given up the game, I’ve got to leave
The pot of gold is only make-believe
The treasure can’t be found by men who search
Whose gods are dead and whose queens are in the church"

in response to...

...comrade in name asks "how does those storms and waves suddenly just grows quiet" and that is a very good question but i think one similar to "how does a poet just go on living in one ordinary world with all his extraordinary mightiness" or "how did the earth ever managed to contain ezra pound" or "why did dostoyevski ever had to pay bills" and so on feelings a few of us tend to see at the heart of all that exists but they are not neither are the words and it's life and it goes on and extraordinary just pushes and pulls and fits and love just slowly goes away

(thought i am saying this in this very rational tone i myself do not believe it love if slows down and loses pace is not love love if it allows you to just wake up in the morning and live your life is not love love if it lets you belong to someone else is not love--so no i do not believe storms dissappear and screams are stifled-- i just believe the true kind that never would just rarely exists among a handful of very lucky people)

love's loneliness

who would have thought --look what the poem of the day was

The mountain throws a shadow,
Thin is the moon's horn;
What did we remember
Under the ragged thorn?
Dread has followed longing,
And our hearts are torn.

W.B.Y

...

i looked for venom and anger
and revenge best served cold
dashed in deepest darkest forests pulled out bleeding strawberries with thorns stuck in my wrists
dug my heels deep into the night
hand went absentmindedly first to eliot to feel sorry for myself
then turned to dear lover ezra
hoping to find such flame and arrogance
ah but failed
how i failed
ezra is quiet docile tonight
sighs and even smiles

hard rain

i just remembered this morning in a flash of light as i walked down that little tunnel that takes you down to the subway that the other night in my drunken haze i stopped in the middle of the street and gave whatever change i could come up with to that boy with the flute---that boy that boy whom i saw once in a while by the stairs of the subway who has been weighing on my conscience more than anything i've ever known--that little boy with his litle fingers playing the notes crooked and unsuccesfully but god who cares--that little boy that makes me wish i was more of a believer

i even stroked his hair if i recall it correctly his little head and his little life and this morning as i looked around not believing what i had done and i started crying as i always do

"reality being too thorny for my lofty character"

says rimbaud

midnight rambler

2 songs that one could easily die for as one does with honor in some loving russian duel

wanderin' - dave van ronk


where did you sleep last night- leadbelly
http://www.divshare.com/download/12231637-9ea

...

"I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me"


ah bobby.

now, how does it feel?

ah children

time is just memory mixed with desire says the great tom waits. and boy is he right.

i am officially 4 days into my 21st year now (or 22nd i just never managed to work those out anywho) and last night for the 4th time i celebrated my birthday with a lovely group of friends. i do have a lot to say i do really but this heat is choking me up and i seem incapable to put pen to paper but i'm slowly getting my wings back--been listening to good old bobby the way i used to for the last few days without resentment or weariness just the way i used to before all this not being able to write thing came up and last night was fun and beautiful from seeing familiar faces toast in my name to seeing my childhood friend to getting drunk to holding a pretty kitten in my arms in the middle of the night (you can only do that in this poem-like city) to feelings emotions and all that jazz and all was wonderful and all made me realize that there is one single purpose to all this struggle the only thing we're in vain to give or receive and we read and write and hope and try to find that--and that is love--and life is nothing but vague backdrops in a gigantic on going desperate struggle to just get love


i looked around scared last night thinking i was the only one who noticed that

me and possibly jim.

...

dear bob calming the down as he does on this very confusing depressing tiring inbalanced saturday morning

no reason to wander no reason to roam

funny thing not being able to write is
right here in my stomach a little up maybe in my lungs could as well be in my heart
tried finding a cure in songs and pushkin poems
asked bukowski too
has a few lovely depressing honest things to say on it
i even tried to fake love
which sadly failed
me of all people
wonder why i even thought i could

i could not even
keep a journal
for the life of me.

but then again
it could be the heat

footnote to 21

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!

that was all that kept ringing in my ear last night fueled up with tequila staring out to the dark street

Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!

holy allen holy allen holy me

21

as of midnight today i will be 21 years old.

that'll make me

6 years younger than jimmy ever was
8 years younger than a obscene poetic ginsberg spitting out the first lines of the great howl
3 years younger than dylan recording blonde on blonde
9 years younger that kerouac rumblin' on the road




4 years older than rimbaud rushing of the verlaine to become a great poet
5 years older than whitman moving to new york


huh.