running a close second....
2003-11-07 12:13:26 ET


Allen Ginsberg

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
Whenever I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 mph and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

(isn't decadent poetry the best?)


2003-11-07 12:21:04 ET

Man I love ginsberg.

2003-11-07 12:25:42 ET

well, when you've hung out with THAT many brilliant writers, how can you NOT be talented?

2003-11-07 13:03:51 ET

it's funny because that was written in the 50's and it could have been written today. (substitute"Middle eastern" for "Russians"".

2003-11-07 13:04:21 ET

oh, completely.

2003-11-07 15:50:33 ET

being 1/4 Russian, i happen to prefer it the way it is... heh, i do have (well, actually true ones, not dictatorship like the so called governments) communist leanings.... heh =P

2003-11-07 16:38:42 ET

*is 1/8 Russian*

2003-11-07 16:52:25 ET

I like it the way it is, but when it was written, we were very paranoid about being nuked by the Soviet Union.

2003-11-07 17:09:31 ET

Rather like how that fear is ever-prevalent about the Middle East..?

2003-11-07 17:29:43 ET

my point exactly, except we were never nuked.

2003-11-07 17:32:34 ET

"let's hope the Russians love their children too..."

2003-11-07 20:21:30 ET

Ohhhhh... there will always be a "Red Mennace" of some sort... in fact, ironicly (or propheticly) enough, i made several satirical abstract paintings on those topics less than a year before this all really came to a head. they were pollock style free-form as a background, and then had either paint dripped or finger-painted into letters. they're in storage, or burried in my portfolio so i can't dig them out to refresh my memory, but i reember what two of them said: the first was "life just isn't livin' without a handgun" (pre-columbine too, heh) and the other was "them damn cammle jockies are the next red menace"

which once again brings us to "does life imitate art, or does art iminate life?" and then to get DEEP into it, "is the dreamer dreaming the dreamed, or is the dreamed dreaming the dreamer (read some Casteneda if you want more insight into that last one, i'm not doing ALL your research for you, lol)

Fight the power! Damn the man!
Never trust Whitey!

Power to the People, Keep Hope Alive!
Peace in the Middle East!


2003-11-07 20:23:53 ET

"does life imitate art, or does art imitate life" ?

the eternal debate.

2003-11-07 20:31:07 ET


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