Friday, June 22, 2012


For Allen Ginsberg


I saw the best of people of my age group gobbled up by smut and your
         madness, your kind of madness, Allen Ginsberg,
in San Francisco, in 1968, at the Golden Gate Park, in Castro, dragged out       
       and aged in drugs, and alcohol,
black, yellow, brown, red and white, burning for lust, begging on the 
yellow teeth, sucked in eyes and cheeks, barely alive, at the mission  
       house, sucked in eyes, cold as ice,
       demonic formed, filled, mimicking like a sow, for more…
you burnt their brains, and told them it was okay not insane, America was 
       your enemy, their enemy, but it was fools like you, staggering to your ill-illuminated light, with hallucinating spines, and then off to Vietnam,  
       I went, and met more drug induced friends like you, I saw them wither away, you didn’t go but they did, while you sucked the honey and money
       of the many, and created the American dream, the very one you scorned at with your wastebasket wisdom, you and William S.,
       the dope kings of fifties, the sparrows of the sixties, the antichrists of
God Almighty—exchanging dreams for nightmares, alcohol, dope and
       orgies: the condemned gays, lesbians: leading the blind, down
       endless halls towards Hades,
I saw it in Asia, America, in Europe: heroin, hash, opium, cocaine, whores, 
       it’s all  the same, all the same game, all trying to get a fixed, shredding the brain, whacking the nerves, draping the blood, like a bug on the ass of
       Zoo rat—whores; you were no more any less, than a lesbian whore,
what will they say of my generation, in a thousand years? Out of 105-
       billion hum dumb bum beings, this was the generation unseen!
Stale beer, stale breath, stale booze, stale food, everybody for sale,
       and nearly everything unclean, to include sex, that’s why you
       can’t get enough, it’s all too much, half a bluff:
all for jukebox jollies, all for escapes in alleys, to: Cambodia, Tangier,
       Paris, New York, Rome, China. It’s only time, some will end up living under bridges—; and here you are, writing poetry, making $200,000-
       dollars a year, laughing at the hopeless, once they take your cure,
with your words—your poetry, which should have been, all this is noble 
       and clean: oh, yes: you loved the American dream, you ferry, who wailed that America was uncaring: you were the Sodom and Gomorra of
all in one: the protesting narcotic king, while ingesting it, investing it: all
       for a fancy…


What demon bashed open the doors of Sheol—for you? Ate up our
       souls, in the process, cemented our hearts, wounded our brains to
       morose thoughts?
Seth! Embedded in the head of the Sphinx! Villain of the Gods! Begging
       to be worshiped, deity of storm and turmoil, great, great—one
       hundred times great grandfather to you,  Allen Ginsberg!
Seth! Setekh! Set! Nightmare of Osiris and Horus the rival!  Canaanite god
       Baal! Seth the human form with the head of an animal!
Seth the doglike animal, impenetrable—once imprisoned in the Sphinx! Seth the skull-cracked soulless demon of sorrows! Seth variously species
       of the wolfhound!
Seth the storm of war! Set, Osama’s guardian demon. Bashed open the
       doors of Sheol for you, Allen: for you, for you, just for you…
Seth whose heart is purely evil, putty, and putrid! Set whose blood is
       running Wall Street like a boar or some wild beast, like the okapi, who
       remains obscure.
Seth the eyes for the blind public and guardian of the widows of war:
       Bush’s war, now Obama’s war and consort to the U.S. Congress! Set’s disciples pushing the U.S., economy over the cliff, along with
Seth whose love is fertility on every corner of the America’s streets—let’s
       do it now, why wait, nothing’s a sin—according to Obama (that’s your  
       philosophy too, like two peas in a pod, isn’t it Allen?), let’s add Gay
       marriages, abortions—make everything unnatural: why not, it’s part of
       the plot… wake up in Seth heaven! With devils streaming out of the
       sky—as we all await the big lie, Obama the dark Messiah!
Seth! Setekh! Set! Will never abandon you, never ever—robot to your
       outside door! Waiting to score, invisible with erect ears, donkey ears,
       that hears all your moans and groans and cherishes them, like old
       rotting bones, livers and throats. Lover of the blind, crippled and
       crazy, and lazy.
The angels in heaven, per near broke their backs, lifting Seth, bringing
       him back to Sheol, Hades, Hell! He had three-forth the souls of earth 
       attached to him, like worms! Hell, which exists everywhere within the
       crust of the earth—cheered with invisible monstrous Yowls, madness!
       “The Wild Boar, the Mantic ore, has returned!” They Yowled.
What now? “Send Agaliarept,” they cried, at Hades pier! Satan’s
       Henchman! “He will illuminate the religions of the earth with hate, and
       all its cities with dreams and visions and adoration of demonic
       beings…they haven’t had enough yet!—give them more, more, more!”  
Burst through! Over Hades walls, go down the floodwaters of Hades
       River, up through Paradise Pike, bring despair for all America’s 
       children, another four years of Obama will do it, or his like. Rewire,
       and distort even more, before the new generation grows wise and 
       bored!  Like Europe…bring up the smut, if there’s any room left.
There is total holy black laughter in Sheol tonight!
Seth is telling it all! The wild hearts of America, Europe, South America,
       Asia… dances to the unholy Yowls!  They say “…farewell, farewell,
       Satan speed!” to Agaliarept… “Have them jump off buildings, roofs,
       bridges will do quiet well! Have them hide inside their drugs and
       alcohol; suicide, suicide, is the kick, let them think it’s a fade;
       lick the poison lips of Seth, Allen and Agaliarept: bring it all out onto
       the open streets!—nice and neat!”


Allen Ginsberg! They’re with you, heart and soul
       wherever your madness goes, they go
I’m sure you’re in hell,
       where you must feel at home: not strange at all!
They’re with you in Hell on earth, hell in their dreams,
       hell, in their visions, in their hopes, and schemes
       the shade of your shadow is still left, oh yes!
They’re with you Allen Ginsberg, and your buddy
       William S. Burroughs, as if in Tangier…! Taking
       all that dope, and alcohol, and enmeshed in sexual
       dissension of your soul:  orgies, sodomy …
They’re still with you Allen, and William S.
       now down there, if you can hear, go ahead and laugh
       at us, with that in-decrepit humor, it really doesn’t
      mean much, you made such a fuss!
They’re still with you Allen Ginsberg up here, too
       great writers of smut and slush and pure
       dreadful, sexual gossip
They’re still with you Allen, up here, soon to be down
       there, soon to be with you forever…and ever…
       the world didn’t change because you came
       they just played the game, and gave you fame
       and watched you drain, and drain and drain
They’re still with you Allen, the same, the same gang
       the worms of the world, Satan’s facilities
I’m even with you Allen, thinking of you anyway
       wondering if you brought your Harpies to hell?
I’m even with you Allen, oh yes, but I got to be
       careful, lest I end up in a straightjacket,
       reading your crap, your bullshit…
       your soul is where it belongs, in the abyss!
       the world is no better because of you, perhaps
       not all that worse, but you are
       the demons saw you coming, and rehearsed,
       rented out a hearse… and simply waited!
They’re still with you though, Allen & William
       up here, up here, up here, on planet earth,
       the ungodly, the madhouse, the many
       sick minds: sick minds breed sick minds—
       you know that better than anyone!
They’re still with you Allen, and your insane plot:
       your revolution of smut: and I heard Allen:
       “Leave evil be evil, and let the defiled
       remain defiled, and the dead lie with the dead,
       the blasphemy with the blasphemy—let them
       hide under their bed sheets if they want!
       the Holy Spirit has abandoned them…
       one and for all, yes, one and for all, for all…
       there will be no more reprieve, only recall!
And I heard Allen, I really heard, down there:
       there will be tears and garnishing of teeth,
       dripping of sweat, and shock, no mercy,
       eternal domination: can you write a new poem
       and tell me about this? Please, please tell
       Seth, we want to hear more from you about
       when you woke up, as if out of a coma and
       there you were—electrified with roaring demonic
       beings, hungry and lonesome, hopeless:
       staring, just staring, as if you were the prize
       worm—to be sodomized!
Don’t take it wrong, you ought to like this poem, it’s
       like yours just contrary … and don’t worry,
       they’re still with you, the morbid sinister gang!
       They’ll all be seeing you soon I think.

#3358 (6-9-2012) Written in Lima, Peru (Dlsiluk)