And I realize that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it’s all in my mind.
And this is not the happiness of a magazine writer who sends in his gay little philosophy of life to the editor for the one paragraph spread in front of the magazine: This is a serious happiness full of doubts and strengths. I wonder if happiness is possible. It is a state of mind, but I’d hate to be a bore all my life, if only because of those I love around me. Happiness can change into unhappiness just for the sake of change.
Stare deep into the world before you as if it were the void: innumerable holy ghosts, buddhies, and savior gods there hide, smiling. All the atoms emitting light inside wavehood, there is no personal separation of any of it. A hummingbird can come into a house and a hawk will not: so rest and be assured. While looking for the light, you may suddenly be devoured by the darkness and find the true light.
Pretty soon... do you realize there’ll be so many additional childhoods and pasts with everybody writing about them everybody’ll give up reading in despair-There’ll be an Explosion of childhoods and pasts, they’ll have to have a giant Brain print them out microscopically on film to be stored in a warehouse on Mars to give Heaven Seventy Kotis to catch up on all that reading- Seventy Million Million Kotis! – Whoopee! – Everything is free!
I suddenly realized I was in California. Warm, palmy air – air you can kiss – and palms.
You boys going to get somewhere, or just going?” We didn’t understand his question, and it was a damned good question.
Meanwhile the sunsets are mad orange fools raging in the gloom...
I’m afraid that you’ll never understand me fully, and because of that, sometimes you’ll be frightened, disgusted, annoyed, or pleased.
We understood each other on other levels of madness.
We are sealed in our own little melancholy atmospheres, like planets, and revolving around the sun, our common but distant desire.
They put spotlights on me standing there in the road in jeans and workclothes, with the big woeful rucksack a-back, and asked:-“Where are you going?” which is precisely what they asked me a year later under Television floodlights in New York, “Where are you going?“-Just as you cant explain to the police, you cant explain to society “Looking for peace.
What are you going to do with yourself, Ed?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just go along. I dig life.
There is nowhere to go but everywhere.
Let us sleep by rivers and purify our ears.
The old tree brooded over me silently, a living thing. I heard a mouse snoring in the garden weeds. The rooftops of Berkeley looked like pitiful living meat sheltering grieving phantoms from the enternality of the heavens which they feared to face. By the time I went to bed I wasn’t taken in by no Princess or no desire for no Princess and nobody’s disapproval and I felt glad and slept well.
Tonight while walking on the waterfront in the angelic streets I suddenly wanted to tell you how wonderful I think you are. Please don’t dislike me. What is the mystery of the world? Nobody knows they’re angels.
An art dies when it describes itself instead of life – when it turns from the expression of man’s feelings in the void, to a mere description of the void.
That Rollo Greb is the greatest, most wonderful of all. That’s what I was trying to tell you – that’s what I want to be. I want to be like him. He’s never hung-up, he goes every direction, he lets it all out, he knows time, he has nothing to do but rock back and forth. Man, he’s the end! You see, if you go like him all the time you’ll finally get it.
At least I had frost on my nose, boots on my feet, and protest in my mouth.
Lissen Percepied do you believe in freedom?-then say what you want, it’s poetry, poetry, all of it is poetry, great prose is poetry, great verse is poetry.