Gość: ALLEN GINSBERG
IP: 168.103.126.*
26.08.02, 19:48
America by Allen Ginsberg
America I´ve given all and now I´m nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can´t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don´t feel good don´t bother me
I won´t write my poem till I´m in the right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will your send your eggs through India?
I´m sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need
with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don´t think he´ll come back it´s
sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I´m trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I´m doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven´t read the newspapers for months, everyday
somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
I´m not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses
in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there´s going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I´m perfectly right.
I won´t say the Lord´s Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven´t told you what you did to Uncle Max
after he came over from Russia.
I´m addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by
Time Magazine?
I´m obsessed by Time Magazine.
I red it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner
candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It´s always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody´s serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven´t got a chinamam´s chance.
I´d better consider my national resources.
My national resources consists of two joints of marijuana
millions of genitals an unpublishable private
literature that goes 1400 miles an hour and
twentyfive-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prison nor the millions of
underprivileged who live in my flowerpots under the
light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the wharehouses of France, Tangiers
is the next to go.
My ambition is to be president despite the fact that
I´m a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly
mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as
individual as his automobiles more so they´re all
different sexes.
America I will sell your stophes $2500 apiece $500 down on
your old strophe.
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
