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ZEN ROBOT DROPS ACID
I am reading Howl on trial. It is an account of the obscenity case against Allen Ginsberg’s poem Howl, with a preface of dozens of letters sent from/to Ginsberg during the proceedings while he was abroad.
I’ve read Howl before during a stint of all-Beat diet. I passed it off as drug fuelled rambling. H.o.T. (Ha!) goes into detail on the poetic form during a long denouncement against to a bad review(er). He stabs with accusations of elitism. He thrusts and convolutes himself to a point of sweaty homophobic ejaculation. How very queer.
At Lava Beds National Monument in Northern California there is an old stone fort where the final massacre of the Modoc Indians occurred. It plays second cliché to the incredible caves at the park. Some of them have walls made of chocolate. I know what it’s like to be a turd.
I only like about one song from most hard rock bands. I like Space Lord from Monster Magnet. MM have a line that goes “But what would Modoc do? He’d find the power source..”. At least that’s how I always heard it. Howl’s second part is about Ginsberg’s hallucinatory vision of the Sir Francis Drake Hotel in New York turning into the pagan fire god Moloch.
Now I doubt my previous realizations and ALL the presuppositions I’ve built upon them.
