I’ll watch a great writer and dark sad soul and high-balling party madman jazz-loving progressive reactionary loner make no sense for 52 seconds, any day:
Bonus, a little sense-making on the Beat Generation and what they do and don’t do:
I read this years ago courstey Tom at good ol’Penny Lane right after Anne Waldman had read, a mistake I won’t make again:
from Pomes All Sizes (Pearl Jam/Eddie Vedder sang this, btw).
Hymn. And when you showed me brooklyn bridge in the morning, ah god... and the people were slippin on ice in the street twice, twice two different people came over, goin to work so earnest and tryful, clutching their pitiful morning daily news slip on the ice and fall both inside five minutes and i cried, i cried that's when you taught me, tears ah god, in the morning, ah thee and me leaning on the lamppost wiping eyes eyes, nobody's know i'd cry or woulda cared anyway but oh, i saw my father and my grandfather's mother and the long lines of chairs and tear sitters and dead ah me, i knew god you had better plans than that so whatever plan you have for me splitter of majesty make it short, brief, make it snappy bring me home to the eternal mother today, at your service anyway and until...
My close-second favorite, more in jest, that I read also that night, ably captures the painful funny happy enigma that is woman:
WOMAN by Jack Kerouac A woman is beautiful but you have to swing and swing and swing and swing like a handkerchief in the wind
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