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Elegy for Neal Cassady

Ok Neal ethereal Spirit

shining like the air that moves

blue as dawn city

happy day as the light emanating from the new town houses

Gigantic brick Maya arise

rebuilt in the Lower East Side

windows shining in the milky smog.

Appearance not necessary now.

Peter (sleeps alone in the room next door, sad.'re Reincarnated? Can you hear me talking?

If ever any man had the strength to hear the invisible, is guided through the wall of the Maya

you were to have her
What
What are you now, Spirit?

spirit in the body were

body is cremated beside the railway track



Desert San Miguel Allende,

out of town,

Spirit become spirit,

robot or reduced to ashes.

Tender Spirit, thank you for keeping touch with his hands when you were young, in a beautiful body,

A touch so pure it was beyond hope a flesh and Maya, what are you now,

impersonal, tender

show me your muscles / heat / over twenty years ago when I lay shivering on your chest to put your

arm around my neck,

- We were in a room together naked in the 103rd Street listening to a Radio wooden

eyes closed

red Lord of Shabda

flashed into our brains to Illinois Jacquet's saxophone quivering,

Cornetta's prophetic Louis Jordan,

Honeydrippers Open The Door Richard Revelation of Christ

The houses are without substance

This is the My Vision of New York outside the offices

apartments to the east where the phone rang last night and a friendly

unfamiliar voice asked me to Denver, I had the news from the West?

A mass arrests, Eugene Oregon Hollywood incumbent or I had a premonition.

"No," I said "I was been away all week," you did not get the news from the West,

Neal Cassady is dead "

Oh! voice of a dove of Peter on the other line, listening.

Your cheerful still photography, dramatic, tense,

a candle burning, incense stick

green gods of the house. The Tyranny reaches Military University, Prophecy your

approaching his pious gentle sense leads us

Down

the awakening of the Great Year.

Kesey in Oregon is writing a novel language

family farm alone.

had nothing else to do? Had you done all your work? Had you seen your first child?

Why you left us all here?

And the battle was won?

am a ghost skeleton with teeth, skull resting on a pillow



to invoke your spirit echo of God consciousness, muttering to myself

sad.

Lamento dawn unnecessary

the world is freed, desire fulfilled, your story's over,

story told, Karma resolved, prayers

made clear vision, heard new awareness, the spirit back in a circle,

world left empty buses rumbling through the streets

immodizia scattered in profusion Splendor in the streets

solidified, the fate of ghost-family

returned at dawn-Auto,

your fate fell on the railway tracks

my body breathes light

lie alone



After experiencing friendship vanished forms

heavy carnal happiness is suspended in the middle, I could talk

Forever,

Pleasure inexhaustible discourse of spirit to spirit,

O Spirit.

Spirit Lord, forgive my sins,

spiriro Lord Give me your blessing, Lord

forgiving spirit ghost demands of my body, spirit

Lord thank you for your past kindness, ..

spirit Lord in Heaven, What difference did your mortal form, What more than this great exhibition space? Quick passions of generations of

Question? Guided anguished night in Texas?

psychedelic bus hegira talk

Poems green car, inspired by the streets?

Sad, Jack Lowell saw more than all the ghost

longer just about everything except your noble self.

Lord Spirit, they are driven only:

Oh sigh.

February 10, 1968

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Dance in F sharp minor

Today (indeed, given the time it would be more correct to say tonight) I propose to you a beautiful song by a great Italian artist : Angelo Branduardi . The song "Dance in F sharp minor" opens the album "The Water flea" (1977).
"Dance in F sharp minor," a theme of the composer George Mainerio entitled Schiarazula Marazul the sixteenth century. The text, which, as my usual, provided at the bottom, was co-written by Luisa Zappa (wife of Branduardi).
Good Listening!

I am death and port crown
I am of you all mistress
and so are cruel, are so strong and lasts
I do not stop your walls.

I am death and port crown
I am of you all mistress
and sickle in front of my head you'll have to bow
death and darkness to pass go.

You're the guest of honor at the ball that we play for you,
puts the sickle and dance round and round:
around a dance and then another and you
time you are no longer Mrs.

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Christmas

I do not want to dive

in a ball of roads


I'm so tired

shoulders

Let it
as a
what

placed in a corner

and forgotten

Here
not feel
other
the heat I'm good


with the four
somersaults
smoke
hearth

Giuseppe Ungaretti

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Mother

Today I propose a concept-album track from The Wall (1979) of Pink Floyd: Mother.
The Wall, despite the disappointment that aroused in the epilogue of fans and critics of the group, had a remarkable success establishing itself as one of the cornerstones of rock music and finishing 87th place in the list of the 500 greatest albums according to the magazine " Rolling Stone."

The album tells the story of Pink (partly inspired by the life of Roger Waters and a few nods to the life of the leader Town Group: Syd Barrett) , which, due to a difficult life and dotted with some tragic events (like the death of his father in the war while he was still in diapers) ends up closing in upon itself, and also helped by obsessive protection of his mother, to erect a psychological wall between him and the world, to protect it from it. But with the passage of time that wall eventually suffocate him, finally throwing him into madness.

Mother, the song you have heard or will hear, is the sixth track of the first CD that makes up the album. On this song, which we propose that the movie version of the same name, soft tones almost remember a sweet lullaby, we see a dialogue between Pink ( Roger Waters ) and her mother ( David Gilmour): the mother that a woman iperprottetiva to defend his son from the cruelty of the world helps "build the wall." It also warns that Pink's mother does not want to leave the child for how not to risk losing it at that time lost her husband.

Although there are subtitles in the video also insert the full translation of the text:

Mother, do you think will throw the bomb?
Mother, do you think they'll like this song?
Mother, do you think they'll try to break my balls?
Mother should I build the wall?
Mother, I should compete to be president?
Mother should I trust the government?
Mother, will they put me in the firing line?
It's just a waste of time?

Hush now baby, baby, do not cry,
mom make all of your nightmares,
mother will pass all his fears,
mother will keep their here, under her wings,
not will let you fly, but it might let you sing,
mother held the baby in a cozy and warm.
Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby,
mother certainly will help to raise the wall.

Mother do you think she is enough for me?
Mother, think she's dangerous for me?
Mother, you tear your little boy?
Mother will she break my heart?

Hush now baby, Baby do not cry, Mom
check out all your girlfriends for you,
mom will not let go no dirty
mom wait until you get home, mom
always find out where you been,
mother held the baby healthy and clean.
Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby,
you will always be a baby to me.

Mother, did it need to be so pervasive?

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Poets Venturi

Poets coming! orators, singers, musicians coming!
not do today can justify or explain what I am, but you
, original news race, athletic, continental, greater than you know,
Arise! for you to justify.

For my part I write just a word or two, a prelude to the future, I do not do that
advance a moment, and vulgar, to plunge back into darkness.
I am the one who goes around, it never really stops, dropping on you, by chance, one look and immediately turns his face to you
committing the task is to try and define it, expecting
the most important things to you.

Walt Whitman

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books

My mother has read Anna Karenina during convalescence after yet another miscarriage, years before having me. She went into depression and he never read a book. He started with Pinocchio, a chapter in the evening for a whole year to make me sleep. I called him again fennel because I did not speak well and had a fear of bloody illustration of the whale, in a stormy sky flickers like a dolphin out of the storm to eat up pinocchio discontinued as soon as more up to half an 'air. The same I wanted to touch that page and then I quickly pulled the covers over his eyes and I uiuiuiuiiiii as a pig who escapes from the slaughterhouse. After fennel, my mother has read papillon, my horrid report cards and notes in your diary. Then he must be a relapse into depression because it avoids the books like the plague.

Today I went down in the hall, still groggy from sleep. My father had mounted shelves for TV, leaving a large brothel in the revolution. Two rough wooden shelves one above the other: the one below on the wall. The one on back to that below, but supported by books. The Brothers Karamazov on the one hand, all hydrogen jukebox from each other, to support the upper shelf, waiting for the glue to dry reinforcement. Good choice.
Today my father got angry. A lot. But just as much. He entered the kitchen while I ate the macaroni with the screwdriver, the good one.

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family go out for a ride



C is only one way to be children? And one only to be parents? If they push their children to the parents on the swings, higher than on uhuh! sometimes it happens and nobody notices, but that happens sometimes. The cap and the glove forgotten on the slide, crystallized frost, those of a parent if they were careless, that the child will be out looking for the careless parent desperate cries "my headset .. hahaha! I want .. ohoho! ".

If it were me on the edge of the lawn to watch the old intent to draw a spiral in the snow all around the tree in the middle, if I had surprised her to laugh at his turn in a circle at 11 pm .. she would like me run away? perhaps there would not even noticed me. But I think it more likely that he would stop staring at me in turn, the wind that takes shape in the cold dark, and without much thought I would shoot him with his shotgun, which, ah! I did not realize, was carrying a shoulder bag. A rap at the center of the forehead, the second, without taking aim, I touched his hat, knocking him to the ground further. And without another word he resumed his tour around all tree. I. .. are not on the ground in a pool of blood, I'm not begging God for another chance. I sit on the bench under the yellow street light that makes the snow with my good hole perfectly centered, it does not drip blood because it is not leaking. Sorry about the hat was new. The old woman keeps turning. L I had heard in the district, the old shoot them all, but I never creduto.

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MAKING Flippy Floppy Talking Heads




Nothing can come between us
Nothin gets you down
Nothing strikes your fancy
Nothing turns you on
Somebody is waiting in the hallway
Somebody is falling down the stairs
Set someone free, break someone's heart
Stand up help us out

Ev'rything is divided
Nothing is complete
Ev'rything looks impressive
Do not be deceived
You don't have to wait for more instructions
No one makes a monkey out of me
We lie on our backs, feet in the air
Rest and relaxation, rocket to my brain

Snap into position
Bounce till you ache
Step out of line
And you end up in jail
Bring me a doctor
I have a hole in my head
But they are just people
And I'm not afraid
Doctor Doctor
We have nothing in our pockets
We continue
But we have nothing left to offer
Faces pressed against the window
Hey! they are just my friends
Check this out don't be slick
Break our backs it goes like this . . .

We are born without eyesight
We are born without sin
And our mama protects us
From the cold and the rain
We're in no hurry
sugar and spice
We sing in the darkness
We open our eyes (open up)

I can't believe it
And people are strange
Our president's crazy
Did you hear what he said
Business and pleasure
Lie right to your face
Divide it in sections
And then give it away

There are no big secrets
Don't believe what you read
We have great big bodies
We got great big heads
Run-a-run-a-run it all together
Check it out - still don't make no sense
Makin' flippy floppy
Tryin to do my best
Lock the door
We kill the beast
Kill it!

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Cosmic Dancer

I was dancing when I was twelve I was dancing when I was aaah I danced myself right out the womb Is it strange to dance so soon I danced myself right out the womb I was dancing when I was eight Is it strange to dance so late I danced myself into the tomb Is it strange to dance so soon I danced myself into the tomb Is it wrong to understand The fear that dwells inside a man What's it like to be a loon I liken it to a balloon I danced myself out of the womb Is it strange to dance so soon I danced myself into the tomb But when again once more I danced myself out of the womb Is it strange to dance so soon I danced myself out of the womb

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Chairman of the Wounded Face The Night


When I started this blog I really wanted to talk only of poetry, but the attack on the prime minister deserves a discussion with a small post.

What happened yesterday was shameful as well as extremely serious. Those who, like the idiot Di Pietro, said the prime minister has tried since instigate aggression, says a giant shit (Mr Di Pietro, the magistrate "paid to the policy" should not say certain things, how we condemn the behavior was a victim commits a crime against, according to this logic, the blackmailers should be freed because the guilt and blackmail that has been placed in the position of being subjected to blackmail, but come on!).
Beyond the opinion that you may have about Berlusconi and regardless of which political party campaigning, aggression and the wounding of the President of the Council represents an act of terrorism to limit, not because it is an aggression to but a person to public office.
but I disapproving the policy of the government in power and do not feel any sympathy for Silvio Berlusconi, however, can not tolerate that might be committed such an act of violence against a person (of whatever) first, and also at that time is not Silvio Berlusconi's Mediaset neither he nor or any thing but a very clear constitutional position, that of prime minister. At that time it was not the lip of Silvio Berlusconi to be shot and bleeding but the entire Italian population, the Italian state and was wound freedom and democracy.
Who says non-violence, those who believe in freedom (in all its forms), who believes that democracy is not only a word but it represents an ideal can not indulge in acts of such violence. I would also like to add that Silvio Berlusconi deserves, regardless of political or any other thing than as a person and as an opponent.

We must be careful: our country is dividing, the climate of hatred is increasing every day more (and I do not just political hatred that exists between majority and opposition, but to a different type of hate, the see!), the difference who has the money and who does not rise, the economy has already collapsed, we do not manufacture anything our only creed is consumed, the public debt is increasing and many people are withdrawing Bot. What would happen if every single bot was withdrawn? It would be chaos! Do not believe the statistics and how do you know that all is well, is not it! This that awaits us if we go on like this is just the ruins, we must change course, take other roads, it is necessary that life returns to be as easy as people's needs: phones, homes, cars that constantly bucks, jewelry and whatever there sazieranno when you're hungry and when you do not quench thirst!