"Love dies, body dies, the mind
keeps groping blind
half hearted full of lust
to wet the silken dust
of men that hold me dear
but won’t sleep with me near."
Allen Ginsberg (From “Maybe Love”)
(Source: mrl0vely, via fuckyeahbeatgeneration)
"
So much of space between us two
We kiss the planets when we kiss
No closeness ever shuts this out
So much of space between us two
We kiss the planets when we kiss
And all the ether knows your hand
And dust from Saturn foils my tongue
So much black light caresses us
No closeness ever shuts this out
But mouth from shoulder, thigh from thigh
Explosive air unwinds our love
So distance holds, so love is safe
Diane di Prima (via danceupontheplains)
(via fuckyeahbeatgeneration)
"Another year, I left N.Y.—on West Coast in Berkeley cottage dreamed of her soul—that, thru life, in what form it stood in that body, ashen or manic, gone beyond joy—
near its death—with eyes—was my own love in its form, the Naomi, my mother on earth still—sent her long letter—& wrote hymns to the mad—Work of the merciful Lord of Poetry.
that causes the broken grass to be green, or the rock to break in grass—or the Sun to be constant to earth—Sun of all sunflowers and days on bright iron bridges—what shines on old hospitals—as on my yard—
Returning from San Francisco one night, Orlovsky in my room—Whalen in his peaceful chair—a telegram from Gene, Naomi dead—
Outside I bent my head to the ground under the bushes near the garage—knew she was better—
at last—not left to look on Earth alone—2 years of solitude—no one, at age nearing 60—old woman of skulls—once long-tressed Naomi of Bible—
or Ruth who wept in America—Rebecca aged in Newark—David remembering his Harp, now lawyer at Yale
or Srul Avrum—Israel Abraham—myself—to sing in the wilderness toward God—O Elohim!—so to the end—2 days after her death I got her letter—
Strange Prophecies anew! She wrote—‘The key is in the window, the key is in the sunlight at the window—I have the key—Get married Allen don’t take drugs—the key is in the bars, in the sunlight in the window.
Love,
your mother’
which is Naomi—"
from Kaddish by Allen Ginsberg (via fuckyeahbeatgeneration)
spring
you’re nice
you’re a pretty season
please come soon
all green
and mushy
because
if you don’t get here
I’ll have to make
more fires
and the wood is getting
my hands
full
of
splinters
Diane Di Prima, Songs to Spring
(via fuckyeahbeatgeneration)
march has come
vision blurred
equivalence. “уходя, подолом платья она задела мой дом”
фотография — это часть моего опыта, и тот опыт, который никогда не станет моим.
разглядывая, мы хотим обладать теми телами и временами, которые являются для нас недосягаемыми. тело любимого и собственное прошлое одинаково равны в своих бессмертии и дистанции, как и смертное платье, которое никогда не будет таким, каким мы снимали его в чужом доме.но с того момента, как камера оказывается в руках, страх конечности и страх слова пропадают, и вместо них руки обретают силу блуждать там, где язык еще не был.
suburbian girls
Red Hot Chili Peppers
St. Petersburg
Red Hot Chili Peppers
St. Petersburg
Red Hot Chili Peppers
St. Petersburg
Red Hot Chili Peppers
St . Petersbug
Suede
Live at St. Petersburg December 2012
