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Poets are Damned... but See with the Eyes of Angels.

Allen Ginsberg

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Allen Ginsberg
Age: 70 †
Born: 1926
Born: June 3
Died: 1997
Died: April 5
Autobiographer
Diarist
Musician
Photographer
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Teacher
Writer
Paterson
New Jersey
Irwin Allen Ginsberg
Ayālena Gīnasabārga
Alen Ginzberg
Poets
Angels
Angel
Poet
Eyes
Eye
Damned

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It isn't enough for your heart to break because everybody's heart is broken now.
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I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
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what sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination
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A naked lunch is natural to us We eat reality sandwiches. But allegories are so much lettuce. Don't hide the madness.
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This is the same notion - Catholic exorcism, psychotherapy, shamanistic practices - getting to the moment when whatever it was gained access. And also to the name of the spirit. Just to know that it's the Ugly Spirit. That's a great step. Because the spirit doesn't want its name to be known.
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I have a new method of poetry. All you got to do is look over your notebooks... or lay down on a couch, and think of anything that comes into your head, especially the miseries. Then arrange in lines of two, three or four words each, don't bother about sentences, in sections of two, three or four lines each.
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Nobody saves America by sniffing cocaine. Jiggling your knees blankeyed in the rain, when it snows in your nose you catch cold in your brain.
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I really believe, or want to believe, really I am nuts, otherwise I'll never be sane.
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The combination of drugs, homosexuality, some good prose recited on screen. . . . In the sweat lodge ceremony we went through, did you get any glimpse of the Ugly Spirit, what that was historically or biographically?
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Let go of the spirit of the departed, and continue the celebration of your own life.
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What if someone gave a war and Nobody came?
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I never dreamed the sea so deep, The earth so dark so long my sleep, I have become another child. I wake to see the world go wild.
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Who’ll come lie down in the dark with me Belly to belly and knee to knee Who’ll look into my hooded eye Who’ll lie down under my darkened thigh?
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The first person who really showed me the ugly spirit was Brion Gysin. The ugly spirit shot Joan because . . . and I never found out why. This Brion wrote out on a piece of paper in a sort of trance state.
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Fortunately art is a community effort - a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh.
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The soul is innocent and immortal, it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse.
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The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstacy is holy!
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Ultimately Warhol's private moral reference was to the supreme kitsch of the Catholic church.
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Presumably, if you see spirit at the moment it gained access, then it'll be dropped.
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Follow your inner moonlight don't hide the madness.
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