is a kind of mental illness, a trauma, that is left, being poor, being sad, feeling the death of life with no way to acknowledge it, without scaring the system, and the system has you on the road, running to keep still they say, When you've lost something, there's no way to officially care, to have it register.
The Air is Dark , the night is sad.
Those that can sing about something
words or not
to feel is a big dare
there is a spilling over a danger in the splash
and the whole thing can go down
as if the boat was made of sea
Physical contact forbidden
you've got no calluses Sal
that's cause you do not fucking really work
no one touches me
there is not enough time
we drink the wine and leave each other
creative criminal forbidden
Jazz an explosion of heart, now forgotten
no one plays with originality now, the it
if there's a spot of it at any talent it gets picked like an apple early form the vine, to grow genetic seeds, crops of daemon sporran moths too soon to flame
I wana learn teach me
The cowboy thinks I'm some kind of genius he's leaning over my sholder now
mad to live that burn, like roman candles across the night
sad sad to see in such gentle flame,
Night needs no candle to see.
Great friendships, soak up romance, this movie is a shot in the arm
of another generation of poor, spirit hungry. The 90's were beat
I was there, stone. Taking revolutionary paths, that I'm still taking, I'm 40. I live in my inlays attic. But I'm alone
the trauma that has me fed distinctly has no male remedy. L_ has a lot to do with keeping me as a beast in a cage I made for myself. To write from, the sea rising.
To allow love to really circulate, to sing the song that comes into your head,
and share that with someone you don't know
you like them damn tanned, you want it to catch fire
in a way that warms
you are no moth having learnt what it is to be working class,
back breaking work for little money
filling you with pride
enough to crush a lion.
you get to see them here, the harvest people. When you are young tree there're many scenes from your life that will play like stylish movies, poignant scenes whose beauty you almost step out of, to look back at and marvel.
Jack kerouac spoke french read Proust.
The sadness of post orgy, so much meaning so little.
you get to feel the mechanics are not your own
What we have here is two, maybe three, nah four father less men, fathers that were silent on account of the war, fathers that worked themselves to death to scavenge some kind of entity to life before they get swept clean into the gutter. Fathers that don't approve of the revolutionary aspect needed at this time in history, the huge mold raising down, no sky but jellow
A thousand million allen ginsburg characters born in a nights shiny screen, Why not, could be worse things, who knows what will catch, in this years seeds, Gretchen mol character lighting a fire of her own, good to see she's back.. I've missed her,
Happy new year 1939, I haven't yelled that since I was 16. Threeway with your friend you worship and his girl you have the hots for. Good sex out of control sex, see where the cord beaks clean off, and you go looking for the wall to smash your head against.
We were performing our one noble function, "move" That would be because you can't touch the earth that is consumed with a fire that rages in away that you can not, not get burned by. You don't know the way's, fathers didn't have time to pass on, they were forbidden to do so ,
no they were prevented from doing so
and they felt it to their bones
Good to drive fast with a copy of the book of your life on the dash board, something to chase that you've carried with you.
"we have to cut down on the cost of living" Shop stealers of the world untied take over. IT gets sticky when your best friend is getting a blow job from the girl you've also fucked, and then you love him like a brother, and want every one to just keep living, but feel the holes all around circling like a drop that can't be made, but some how a path keeps unfurling ahead of you, and the steps rise up to meet the dared fools foot.
Vidoo morginson plays William s Burroughs, its a mrilace of fuck you Peter Jackons kind.. wish he'd stand up for the NZ worker.
Dean Moriarty the script writer following a plan of his own devise.
Burroughs plays the father, Responsibility, versus holy man, compulsive psychosis, irresponsibility and violence.. So believing that nothing is magic except thy self this father goes into battle to lead the horse, with their particular brand of drugs, eliminate the holy real for the power of the imagination.. it was the chroniclers verses the fantasy. Since Burroughs was grounded by a fantasy too real, his damnation as a unrecognized genius.
Good to see woman
the purity of the road,"white line like glue,
I just want a house, baby, something normal
going to jerk off anyway, why not have consequences.
speed things up some. Risk death to have life.
taking in the quite times cause they are quiet.
aint it hard to love what you kill Says the daddy trainee number 5 to the father less sons. Awake in the machine bouncing off the gears, holy man a lazy arse. We have no idea how vulnerable she is. She has no idea either of me, hard shells clunking together, finding soft spots gives us time to warm our hands not our souls, that we leave to the flames.
thing is back then a white boy working the labour gangs might be tolerated for it's unusualness, my experience is that it isn't now. I wasn't. They make a point of paying him less. but the story is everyone knows that he's just a tourist, that he isn't poor, if he wants he can draw down wealth, he's just a ghost in the machine, a lost conscience doing the tours of the soul, where everything got ripped off and paid for by a thief that never be caught. If worse comes to worse he always has his work, his art.That the system will take up. Even stories against its are.
of course being a cultural traveler of the interior over time you have to watch the machine pick up what was your holy food and sell it to the masses, that which is particular is sent on a recruiting mission to gather more souls, where are they? Where was the pay off. having so many hear the truth.
The characters in holy deans life, say the meanest things, they are traumatized by his existence the pain he feels is passed on to them, and the glimpses of shared ecstasy that passed as truth will be rolled over in the sleds of this films harvest, to say, poor dean if only he had a better shrink one that put him first why aren't we all that shrink? Was there really a hate full harm bone in his body?
There's none in mine.
when you get down to it
This time you have to find my father "not wanting a domesticated woman but a woman who is her self.
never leave a customer unsatisfied, I have that tattooed to my arse"
I'm sorry son I haven't seen your father in, I don't know how many ears"
who are we, I know there is no gold at the end of the rainbow, that I rely on my family and friends for money, to know that makes me free " Ginsburg Character.
older you get those troubles just piling up".
The cars they drove, so glorious like the thin skinned skulls of spaceships hunched curved over the earth like a water drop forged of mercury, never to merge again with the earth. An appetite to consume the now will have you later in troubletrouble An appetite to consume the now will have you later in troubletrouble An appetite to consume the now will have you later in troubletrouble
the big spender tourist is always loved for their money, a kind of love that has to be slowed right down to mean anything, but who wants meaning when you'r a writer who's writing. Leave that for the eulogy reader. Damn sphincter finger.
Do you want to know what it's like being left on your own with a fever. bliss
you remember what you lived. Not that hard to write down things you can remember.
A love between two men does sour, a burden dropped.
The father we never found.