I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night.
We’re all golden sunflowers inside.
Just because I like to suck cock doesn’t make me any less American than Jesse Helms.
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit- man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
You can own an elephant or a bank or power thereof but if there’s no personal breast bliss all you own is a lot of dead atoms and ideas.
Who can prophesy peace, or vow Futurity for any but armed insects.
When Violence floods the State from above, flowery land razed for robot proliferation.
To gain your own voice you have to forget about having it heard.