No creo en genios, pero que los hay, los hay! (2 de NaN)

Este homem tem uma canção para todos os momentos da minha vida ou, o que será quase o mesmo, muitos momentos da minha vida foram preenchidos com canções dele.

Qual Anibal ou talvez Rex, também estou a fazer tudo aquilo que quero. Quanto a ser pago as coisas piam mais fino!!!

Quando a saudade bate à porta...

...nada como uma canção dos Mão Morta.

O peregrino passeia por Manhattan, a beatífica, o seu recordador

Placa dedicada ao Alan Ginsberg no pátio da St. Marks Church, em East Village, sede do The Poetry Project


Gradeamento da St. Marks Church, com a árvore do Ginsberg ao fundo, a qual floresce em Junho, mês do seu aniversário


Fachada do prédio onde o Allen Ginsberg viveu durante uma dúzia de anos. Ginsberg terá, num certo dia, envolto as chaves do seu apartamento numa meia, deixando cair o conjunto para que alguns amigos a ele pudessem aceder. Desconhece-se o estado de limpeza da referida meia.


Gradeamento de uma varanda do Chelsea Hotel, onde o Allen Ginsberg e o Gregory Corso partilharam um quarto. O Chelsea Hotel também teve como hóspedes o Jack Kerouac, o William Burroughs, etc et al.


Gradeamento e porta de entrada do prédio onde Jack Kerouac começou a escrever o On The Road


Vídeo do gradeamento et environs

O peregrino passeia por Manhattan, a pankátrica, o seu recordador

Fotografia do Dee Dee Ramone exposta no Chelsea Hotel



Garrafas expostas na instalação colectiva No Longer Empty


Fotografia da Patti Smith no foi o CBGB





Paredes do que resta do CBGB


Graffiti do Joe Strummer em East Village


Porta do que foi o quarto 100 do Chelsea Hotel


Quadro exposto no piso 1 do Chelsea Hotel

Iranians have the power

I was dreaming in my dreaming
of an aspect bright and fair
and my sleeping it was broken
but my dream it lingered near
in the form of shining valleys
where the pure air recognized
and my senses newly opened
I awakened to the cry
that the people / have the power
to redeem / the work of fools
upon the meek / the graces shower
it's decreed / the people rule

The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power

Vengeful aspects became suspect
and bending low as if to hear
and the armies ceased advancing
because the people had their ear
and the shepherds and the soldiers
lay beneath the stars
exchanging visions
and laying arms
to waste / in the dust
in the form of / shining valleys
where the pure air / recognized
and my senses / newly opened
I awakened / to the cry

Refrain

Where there were deserts
I saw fountains
like cream the waters rise
and we strolled there together
with none to laugh or criticize
and the leopard
and the lamb
lay together truly bound
I was hoping in my hoping
to recall what I had found
I was dreaming in my dreaming
god knows / a purer view
as I surrender to my sleeping
I commit my dream to you

Refrain

The power to dream / to rule
to wrestle the world from fools
it's decreed the people rule
it's decreed the people rule
LISTEN
I believe everything we dream
can come to pass through our union
we can turn the world around
we can turn the earth's revolution
we have the power
People have the power ...




Patti Smith
People Have The Power

There is no time!

A 12h da minha chegada a Nova Iorque, eis que descubro mais uma exposição que quero ver.

Só me resta parafrasear o Almada Negreiros:
Entrei numa livraria [cidade]. Pus-me a contar os livros [as exposições] que há para ler [ver] e os anos que terei de vida. Não chegam, não duro nem para metade da livraria [cidade]. Deve haver certamente outras maneiras de se salvar uma pessoa, senão estarei perdido.

10th June, Portugal's day

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven 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 my 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 you send your eggs to 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 and 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 our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read 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 chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses 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 you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

America
Allen Ginsberg