Quote

What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?

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
Wife
Aisle
Full
Husbands
Night
Wives
Lorca
Whole
Babies
Watermelons
Shopping
Avocados
Families
Aisles
Husband
Peaches
Baby
Tomatoes

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Recent history is the record of one vast conspiracy to impose one level of mechanical consciousness on mankind.
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I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
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To gain your own voice, forget about having it heard. Become a saint of your own province and your own consciousness.
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Because systems of mass communication can communicate only officially acceptable levels of reality, no one can know the extent of the secret unconscious life. No one in America can know what will happen. No one is in real control.
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Many seek and never see, anyone can tell them why. O they weep and O they cry and never take until they try unless they try it in their sleep and never some until they die. I ask many, they ask me. This is a great mystery.
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Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then!
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What is obscenity? And to whom?
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Breathe when you breathe. Walk where you walk. Talk when you talk. Cry when you cry. Die when you die. Let go when you let go.
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Ultimately Warhol's private moral reference was to the supreme kitsch of the Catholic church.
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Everybody's serious but me.
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Taxi September along Jessore Road Oxcart skeletons drag charcoal load past watery fields thru rain flood ruts Dung cakes on treetrunks, plastic-roof huts Wet processions Families walk Stunted boys big heads don't talk Look bony skulls & silent round eyes Starving black angels in human disguise.
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You say what you want to say when you don't care who's listening. If you're grasping to get your own voice, you're making a strained attempt to talk, so it's a matter of just listening to yourself as you sound when you're talking about something that's intensely important to you.
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Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!
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The closet door is open for me, where I left it, since I left it open, it has graciously stayed open.
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Well, while I'm here I'll do the work — and what's the work? To ease the pain of living. Everything else, drunken dumbshow.
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Poetry's role is to provide spontaneous individual candor as distinct from manipulation and brainwash.
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who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism
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Who can live with this Consciousness and not wake frightened at sunrise?
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Things are symbols of themselves.
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That's what the shaman said. He didn't know what he was up against. He didn't expect the strength and weight and evil intensity of this spirit, this entity, as he called it. The same way the priest in an exorcism has to take on the spirit.
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