That Blue Gal Reminds Us

That it was:

"...fifty-three years ago today Allen Ginsburg first read his poem "Howl" at the Six Gallery in San Francisco."

So go celebrate the original at C&L here.



And then...time for a shameless repost from the castle's cellars:

Mewl

pilfered from Allen Ginsberg and
abused by driftglass

Part 1
I saw the pundits of my generation destroyed by
madness, bloated mendacious, pwned,
dragging themselves through the Sunday Mouse Circus at dawn
looking for a vituperative liberal to blame,
flatheaded ideological dumpsters

burning for the ancient, glorious Clintonian connection to the rejuvenating hatred that electrifies the machinery of the Right,
who seriousness and the tattered remnants of grandeur fled
now hollow-eyed and high on the vidal sassoon whiff
of their unnaturally symmetrical hair
sitting and soaking in the false superluminous dawn of
hot studio lights slashing drivel unrebutted into the hearts of homes
contemplating Rove,
who made their brains portions for Fox News,
threw them off the rim of a flat earth,
in trade for Mohammedan bogeymen a-slither in every unpatriotic shadow,
osmoting secret diseases through universities with mysterious Taliban Jaffar Sorcery
that is the mesmerizing hallucination of every Christopath in Arkansas and Hitchens-light tragedy
among the bloggers of war,
who were laughed out from the academies for their Creationist twitter &
publishing bilious twaddle for millions courtesy Regnery Press,
who cowered in stale Cheetoh reeking underwear,
burning their money on warporn and listening
to the Terror through the Hate Radio Glory Hole,
who got are getting busted in their recorded lies,
crawling forever back from secret expeditions to the grave of Mussolini
hiding out in a suit stitched from the flesh of perished New York
who were full of borrowed drunken fire and “kill ‘em’ all”
and “Bring ‘em on” so long at it was other men
dispatched down narrow, incarnadine Paradise Alley,
to traverse the desolate, slaying miles between a bubble-wrapped d.c.
and the melancholy House of Usher,
so long as others were sent in whole and fished out as torsos
night after night
heir to dreams of fire, drugs, and waking nightmares --
the incomparable blindness of the Right sees none of this;
the streets of their Baghdad shudder with merry merchants and cherubs
chin-deep in gratitude and studies of civil rights
cheery little sabu thieves steer flotillas of magic freedom carpets
pestering the desert clouds, while liberty lightning
leaps from province to heart to refinery
illuminating all the motionless world of Time
frozen on September twelfth, thawed, reheated, then tupperwared away for future tyrants to invoke
swaddled in cheerful bunting proclamations by the captains of video
that some nameless mission had been accomplished
…


Part 2
...

fascist solidities of war eternal,
synthetic poteen pity drizzled over unfilmed closed-casket military cemetery dawns,
Seven league boot powerdrunk leapfrogging over habeas corpus,
stormfront blogs of meatmush neoconnunism acolytes
straffing the truth to aspic, while fallen angels of falwell's pit
shred the sun and moon and tree to fit a little broken book;
teevee vibrations nurse roasted spectral dusts
that still grope the alleys of our subconscious Brooklyn,
where Murrow stood, now ashcan rantings
and a child king of sloshy liquid sadist mind,
who chained themselves to madmen for the endless
ride from lynchburg to pennsylvania avenue on benzedrine
until the noise of slaughter and parboiled rights brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of evil clever
in the drear subpoena light,
who drank all night with the father of lies on a fake ranch
swaggered across a steel deck lied through thirty years to alcohol;
high noon for the freaks, opening the crack of doom for empire and a better ROI,
who lied continuously sixty months from florida to
nyc to the Iraqi national museum to ohio to the Tigris Bridge,
ghosts of wasted battalions waved away with cocktail weenies
asphyxiated by air-thieving teevee conversationalists
conjuring memories of humans jumping off fire escapes
off windowsills
off the towers of the Empire State
out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering spin
to keep us stupid afraid sleepy hiding from the parade
of shock of limbless and hellfire and wars,
whole verities disgorged in complete detail every day
verifying in stone fact and blood and unimpeachable history
the crimes of the pernicious men
with the rodent eyes,
meat for their offering to Mars cast on the pavement,
budging the tiny thoughts of the wretched not a millimeter
for whom past vanishes into Hate Radio nowhere Zen leaving a
trail of oxidizing yellow ribbon spoor from triumphal ape screams
to shutupshutupshutup you dirty, dirty hippy,
suffering the sweat of the dead wrong standing eye-deep in the dying
turning Rush up louderlouderlouder to bone-grind-ing amplitudes,
migraines of morons under hate-withdrawal in mommy’s bleak furnished basement,
who wander around and around at midnight in the
junkyard of right blogistan wondering where to go, what to think,
leaving broken men, crushed children, violated nations
…