Mr Ginsberg


I promise I won’t stay too long.
Before I find a way out of this suffering,
I want to tell you about that autumn in Paris –
When I first met you in the bookstore by the Seine
And then went back to my room to stare
At my naked self in the mirror,
Holding your dead expert hand.
One of your lions appeared in the broken light
And brushed his mane against my thigh.
I confided in him that was the moment
I wanted to keep intact beyond the fire,
The muck, the bullshit, and the shame.
The miracle of chemistry,
The foggy anaesthetic that laid your generation
To everlasting rest,
Should by right be my soul inspiration…
But I was already an addict of madness and so
It wouldn’t do to get hooked double twice.
The lion ignored me and disappeared
Into the essence of the lonely room.

I would have wanted to explain
I belong to the Donnie Darko clan and we
Dunderheads of the 21st century have been let down
Many, many, many times over
By the illusion of earthly reality.
In the maw of the night,
We get consumed by visions of doom and destruction
(Without the aid of white-blue blue-white pills),
And then rise from the flames the morning after
To face a world that is bent on zombifiying us.
Down in the rabbit hole there is only
Who insists we march to a familiar tune.
Duty! is the cure of all idle evils.
Belief! is the foundation of the Order.
Silence the Imagination and speak silver true.
We kick him in the gonads and flee from
The golden rules and pure doctrines,
Disowning our daddies and mummies,
His conspirators,
Spitting on their precious bourgeois pride.

But what is left now that we have denounced all?

The sunflowers are still dripping blood.
Light refuses to shine in the Devil’s anus.
Gravity works not when we need to land on our feet.
And Time…
Betrays when we turn away from the mirror.
(Why does a minute seem like a year?)
My King of the burning jungle,
Though your words and your fur will always stay shiny,
Our taut young skin will soon fold and slide
From its natural beauty and become
An externalisation of the Original Sin.
Not ours to have and keep. Nothing is.
Not even the Tag Heuer said to be
The point of being here is that one moment
Which flashes with the past present and future,
Time as a single flow of impressions
Going neither backward nor forward,
Space as a single dimension without prejudices,
Personal demons or universal human failings,
With the Soul merely standing still on the edge of
The abyss.

24.4.16 – 3.5.16  Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
Photo: Allen Ginsberg © 2010 The Allen Ginsberg LLC


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