HOWL

For Carl Solomon

I

 

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's
floated out and sat through the stale beer after
noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack
of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to
pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook-
lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping
down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills
off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts
and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days
and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the
Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a
trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic
City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-
ings and migraines of China under junk-with-
drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
railroad yard wondering where to go, and went,
leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-
father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep-
athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in-
stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis-
ionary indian angels who were visionary indian
angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla-
homa on the impulse of winter midnight street
light smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the
brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom-
prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
Square weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
and trembling before the machinery of other
skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight
in policecars for committing no crime but their
own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were
dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu-
scripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly
motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose
gardens and the grass of public parks and
cemeteries scattering their semen freely to
whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath
when the blond & naked angel came to pierce
them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate
the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar
the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb
and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of
beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can-
dle and fell off the bed, and continued along
the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and
come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling
in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun
rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad
stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these
poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy
to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet-
ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station
solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in
dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and
picked themselves up out of basements hung
over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third
Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
East River to open to a room full of steamheat
and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime
blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall
be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested
the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their
pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in
their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht
& tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for
an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot
for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks
fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess-
fully, gave up and were forced to open antique
stores where they thought they were growing
old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits
on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse
& the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments
of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the
fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis-
ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the
drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap-
pened and walked away unknown and forgotten
into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of
the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas-
saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed
phonograph records of nostalgic European
1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and
threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans
in their ears and the blast of colossal steam
whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying
to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
Denver and finally went away to find out the
Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
for each other's salvation and light and breasts,
until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
impossible criminals with golden heads and the
charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys
or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or
Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp
notism & were left with their insanity & their
hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism
and subsequently presented themselves on the
granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in-
stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin
Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho-
therapy occupational therapy pingpong &
amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic
pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of
blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad
man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the
East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid
halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock-
ing and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench
dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night-
mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the
moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book
flung out of the tenement window, and the last
door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone
slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur-
nished room emptied down to the last piece of
mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted
on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that
imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of
hallucination
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and
now you're really in the total animal soup of
time
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed
with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use
of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrat-
ing plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space
through images juxtaposed, and trapped the
archangel of the soul between 2 visual images
and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun
and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna
Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human
prose and stand before you speechless and intel-
ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con-
fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm
of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown,
yet putting down here what might be left to say
in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in
the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the
suffering of America's naked mind for love into
an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone
cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered
out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand
years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open
their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi-
nation?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob
tainable dollars! Children screaming under the
stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men
weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the
loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy
judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the
crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of
sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment!
Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stun-
ned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose
blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers
are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a canni-
bal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking
tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows!
Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long
streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose fac-
tories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose
smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch
whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch
whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch
whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen!
Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream
Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in
Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom
I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch
who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy!
Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch!
Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs!
skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic
industries! spectral nations! invincible mad
houses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pave-
ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to
Heaven which exists and is everywhere about
us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies!
gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole
boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions!
gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! De-
spairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides!
Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on
the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the
wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell!
They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving!
carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the
street!

III

Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland
where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland
where you must feel very strange
I'm with you in Rockland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland
where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland
where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you in Rockland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful
typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and
is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit
the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the
spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the
harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you're
losing the game of the actual pingpong of the
abyss
I'm with you in Rockland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul
is innocent and immortal it should never die
ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland
where fifty more shocks will never return your
soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a
cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and
plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the
fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland
where you will split the heavens of Long Island
and resurrect your living human Jesus from the
superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
where there are twenty-five-thousand mad com-
rades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under
our bedsheets the United States that coughs all
night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma
by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the
roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the
hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls col-
lapse O skinny legions run outside O starry
spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is
here O victory forget your underwear we're
free
I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-
journey on the highway across America in tears
to the door of my cottage in the Western night

 

Allen Ginsberg, 1955

HOWL 2.0

For Fixoid

I

 

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
tumblr, blogging hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the 4chan threads at dawn
looking for some tranny dicks,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the facebook heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
lcd screens floating across the tops of desks
contemplating gifs,
who bared their brains to Google Map how to get under the El and
saw Cory Arcangels staggering on boing-
boing posts illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Lauren Conrad and Blake Lively
among the scholars of blog,
who were expelled from the EFnets for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the Windows of the
95,
who cowered in unshaven chatrooms in underwear, burn-
ing their CDs in wastebaskets and listening
to the SouljaBoy Thru The Phone,
who got busted in pubic forums returning through
Flickr with a belt of JPG's for ffffound,
who made fire in MS paint intels or drank martinis in
Silicon Valley, death, or purgatoried their
inbox night after night
with Delicious, with Dashboard, with waking nightmares, Re-
dbull and cock and endless balls online,
incomparable blind; tweets of Amazon cloud and
lightning in the modem leaping toward poles of
Adam4Adam, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of internet Time between,
P2P solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chain lettered themselves to email for the endless
ride from Blogspot to holy Blogger on common meme
until the noise of hard drives and hamster dances brought
them down shuddering mouse-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of .ZIP,
who sank all night in submarine light of Rhizome
floated out and sat through the stale gif after
noon in desolate Nastynets, listening to the crack
of M.F Doom on the Pandora jukebox,
who blogged continuously seventy hours from bed to
desk to kitchen to toilet to desk to the App-
le Store,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists tweeting
on the stoops on fire escapes on windowsills
on Empire State out of the moon,
ROTFL screaming vomiting whispering facts
and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
and shocks of YTMND's and YouTube's and Space Ghetto posts,
whole intellects disgorged in Total Recall for seven days
and nights with brilliant eyes, memes for the
Ad Agency cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen Live Journal leaving a
trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Triangles
In Space,
suffering Email sweats and Terabyte disk-grind-
ings and products of China under dirtstyle-with-
drawal in notcot's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
MySpace blog wondering where to go, and went,
leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes at keyboards keyboards keyboards racketing
through spam toward lonesome render farms in Bang-
ladesh night,
who studied Zuckerberg Jobs Duke Nukem of the Disk telep-
athy and bop DFA records because the cosmos in-
stinctively vibrated at their fingers in iTunes,
who loned it through the booksmarks of J.O.D.I seeking vis-
ionary internet angels who were visionary internet
angels,
who thought they were only mad when Ballmer
gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in bandwagons with the Dipset of No-
homo on the impulse of winter midnight torrent
light smalltown rain, pause
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Gawker
seeking news or sex or soap, and followed the
brilliant Segal to converse about LOL Cats
and Shaq, a hopeless task, and so took ship
to The Pirate Bay,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of GeoCities leaving
behind nothing but the shadow of dancing gifs
and the Java and ASP of poetry scattered in fire
place Homested,
who reappeared on the Kanye West Blog investigating the
M.I.A in leggings and shorts with big pacifist
eyes sexy in their dark skin sending out incom-
prehensible Facebook invites,
who burned Trapped in the Closet DVDs in their drives protesting
the third season of Flavor of Love,
who distributed Macromedia warez in Lime
Wire weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Lars Ulrich wailed them down, and wailed
down Kazaa, and the Soulseak users also
wailed,
who broke down crying in blue screens of death naked
and trembling before the machinery of other
skeletons,
who SurfTheChannel streamed The Wire and shrieked with delight
in Aeron chairs for committing no crime but the shows
own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the office and were
dragged off the their desk waving Blackberrys and power-
points,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly
fixed gear cyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
the hipsters, caresses of Bushwick and East Williamsburg
love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in coffee
shops and the Dolores parks and
free WiFi spots scattering their semen freely to
whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
on the FAIL blog behind some Epic Fail subpar post
when cute overload kitties and puppies came to pierce
them with a sword,
who lost their Lonelygirl15's to the three old shrews of fake
Greg Goodfriend, the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar

Ramesh Finders, the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb

and Miles Beckett, the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
sit on his ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman's loom,
who masturbaited ecstatic and insatiate with a bookmark list of
free porn a Redtube vid a Megarotic NSFW vid a clip-
hunter vid and fell off their chair, and continued along
the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and
come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who downloaded the snatches of a million girls trembling
in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
but prepared to twitpic the snatch of the sun
rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
in the lake,
who went out whoring through miseed connections in Nerve.com
stolen virgin-cards, Tuker Max, secret hero of these
poems, cocksman and Adonis of Douchebag-joy
to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
in empty lots & bougie backyards, movie house parties
Beatrice Inns, on rooftops in cubicles or with
gaunt Public Relations chicks in familiar L train lonely pet-
ticoat upliftings & especially secret podcast-stations
solipsisms of johns, & midtown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid MPEGs, were Ctl Alt Deleted in
dreams, woke on a sudden Brooklyn, and
picked themselves up out of basements hung
over with Heartless mp3s and horrors of Xzibit
Yo Dawg memes & stumbled to unemploy-
ment websites,
who blogged all night with their socks full of crud on
their OS X docks waiting for a door in the
blogosphere to open to a room full of Friend Requests
and YouTube hits,
who listened to Suicidal Tendancies on the apartment
cliff-banks of the Hudson under the World Trade Center
blue floodlight of the boom & their heads shall
be crowned with turban in oblivion,
who ate the Value Meals of the Dollar Menu or digested
the iced lumps at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
McFlurry,
who wept at My Chemical Romance and The Streets with their
iPods full of Onion podcasts and bad music,
whose files sat in dropboxes breathing in the darkness under the
2GB file limit, and finally were downloaded to blare MSTRKRFT
in their roommate cluttered lofts,
who coughed up nakid pix on the fourth chan of /B/ crowned
with flame wars under the carpal tunnel sky surrounded
by orange crates of theology cliff notes,
who typed all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish,
who saw rotten.com animals lung heart feet tail Seinfeld
& Taco Bell dreaming of the Terri Schiavo
kingdom,
who plunged themselves under Whole Foods trucks looking for
a wireless signal,
who threw their Storm™ 9530's off the roof to V-Cast their ballot
for Eternity outside of Technology, & alarm clocks
fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who got on Gawker three times successively unsuccess-
fully, gave up and were forced to open thrift
stores where they thought they were growing
old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent Prada shoes
on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse
& the tanked-up clatter of the Ad Age Daily emails
of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the
fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis-
ter intelligent Art Directors, or were run down by the
drunken taxicabs of Absolut Reality campaigns,
who signed off the Media Bistro list this actually hap-
pened and trolled away unknown and forgotten
into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
ways & EBT, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their Windows 7 in despair, fell out of
the subway Windows XP, jumped in the filthy Red-
hat, leaped on Snow Leopard, cried all over the manual,
danced on broken Linux distros barefoot smashed
5.25 floppies of nostalgic Mac OS
7.1.2P floppies finished the Repair Disk Permissions and
threw up groaning into the Disk Warrior, moans
in their ears and the blast of colossal spindle
whistles,
who barreled down the information super highways of the past journeying
to each other's keynote-Golgotha jail-broken-solitude
webcast or TED talk incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
if I was a venture capitalist or you were a venture capitalist or he was
a venture capitalist to find out fiduciary,
who journeyed to Shareware, who died with Shareware, who
came back to Shareware & waited in vain for the 30 day free trail to expire, who
watched over Shareware & brooded & loned with
Shareware and finally went away to find the
Freeware, & now Shareware is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless data recovery centers praying
for their disk's salvation and light and breasts,
until the geaks illuminated its data for a second,
who crashed through their gMail accounts in jail broken iPhones waiting for
impossible head hunters with golden heads and the
charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
blues to Monster.com,
who retired to Freelance to cultivate a habit, or became Production
Assistants to tender QVC or What Not to Wear to Jersey Boys
or Survivor auditions to the Black Entertainment Network or
The New School to Narcissus to Portland to the
bong rip or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the rap music videos of product
placement & were left with their insanity & their
hands & a hung jury,
who threw vegan chicken salad at Hampshire lecturers on Feminism
and subsequently presented themselves on the
granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
and harlequin MySpace updates of suicide, demanding in-
stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of bandwidth
ConEd bills data roaming fees Cable Modem-
repair sometime in between 10am-5pm buffers Internet Addicts Anonymous &
amnesia,
who in humorless protest erased only one symbolic
Mr Show clip, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for some black thick rimmed
eye glasses, and Wondershozen and Arrested Development, to the visible Mad
Men mondays of the awards of the Smallville of the
Season 6,
Two Girls One Cups's and Goatse's foetid
JPG, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock-
ing and rolling in the midnight Pottery Barn-bench
Ikea dolmen-realms of love, dream of life outdoors a night-
mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the
moon,
with Mamma Metasearch finally ******, and the last fantastic Altavista query
flung out of the taskbar of Windows 98, and the last
window closed at Y2K. and the last cellphone
slammed at the wall in SMS relay and the last fur-
nished room emptied down to the last piece of
Design Within Reach furniture, a yellow paper 3M™ Post-it® stuck
on a CRT monitor in the closet, and even that
imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of
hallucination
ah, Fixoid, while you are not safe I am not safe, and
now you're really in the total Au Bon Pain soup of
the Internet
and who therefore ran through the icy For Dummies books obsessed
with Adobe Flash of the CS3 of the use
of the Illustrator the Photoshop the After Effects & the In-
Design align function,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Bevel & Emboss
through images juxtaposed, and trapped the
Cory Arcangel style of the soul between 2 visual images
and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun
and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation in AOL Instant Messen-
ger
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor Google
searches and stand before YouTube speechless and intel-
ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con-
fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm
of thought in his naked and endless head,
the Corey Worthington bum and Crank Dat beat in Time, unknown,
yet putting down here what might be left to say
in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of Melissa Smith in
the P. Diddy shadow of Making The Band 3 and blew the
suffering of America's naked mind for love into
an OMFG soft synth
cry that shivered the blogs down to their last Rapidshare upload
with the absolute heart of the tweet of life butchered
out of their own bodies good to read a thousand more
tweets.

II

What sphinx of silicon and solder bashed open
their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi-
nation?
Babbage! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob
tainable dollars! Children screaming inside the
forum threads! Boys sobbing in WoW Raids! Old men
weeping in the Drudge Report!
Babbage! Babbage! Nightmare of Babbage! Babbage the
loveless! Mental Babbage! Babbage the heavy
judger of men!
Babbage the incomprehensible prison! Babbage the
crossbone soulless routers and Servers of
sorrows! Babbage whose towers are judgment!
Babbage the vast stone of flame war! Babbage the stun-
ned governments!
Babbage whose mind is pure machinery! Babbage whose
blood is running money! Babbage whose fingers
are ten armies! Babbage whose bandwidth is a canni-
bal dynamo! Babbage whose ear is a smoking
fuse!
Babbage whose eyes are a thousand blind Windows!
Babbage whose server racks stand in the data
centers like endless Jehovahs! Babbage whose fac-
tories dream and croak in the fog! Babbage whose
antennae and satellites crown the cities!
Babbage whose love is endless gigahertz and megabytes! Babbage
whose soul is electricity and banks! Babbage
whose poverty is the specter of genius! Babbage
whose fate is an Amazon cloud of sexless IP addresses!
Babbage whose name is the Mind!
Babbage in whom I sit lonely! Babbage in whom I dream
Angels! Crazy in Babbage! Cocksucker in
Babbage! Lacklove and manless in Babbage!
Babbage who entered my soul early! Babbage in whom
I am a consciousness without a body! Babbage
who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy!
Babbage whom I abandon! Wake up in Babbage!
Light streaming out of the sky!
Babbage! Babbage! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs!
skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic
industries! spectral nations! invincible mad
houses! virtual cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Babbage to Heaven! Pave-
ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to
Heaven which exists and is everywhere about
us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies!
gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole
boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions!
gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! De-
spairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides!
Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on
the rocks of internet Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the
wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell!
They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving!
carrying laptops! Down to the river! into the
street!

III

Fixoid! I'm with you on the Internet
where you're madder than I am
I'm with you on the Internet
where you must feel very strange
I'm with you on the Internet
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you on the Internet
where you've murdered your twelve Followers
I'm with you on the Internet
where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you on the Internet
where we are great writers on the same dreadful
cyberspace
I'm with you on the Internet
where your condition has become serious and
is reported on your blog
I'm with you on the Internet
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit
the worms of the senses
I'm with you on the Internet
where you drink the tea of the posts of the
spinsters of TMZ
I'm with you on the Internet
where you pun in the tags of your Delicious the
harpies of the bookmark
I'm with you on the Internet
where you scream in a straightjacket that you're
losing the game of the actual Tumblarity of the
abyss
I'm with you on the Internet
where you bang on the catatonic keyboard the soul
is innocent and immortal it should never die
ungodly in a well connected madhouse
I'm with you on the Internet
where fifty more shocks will never return your
soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a
cross in the void
I'm with you on the Internet
where you accuse your rebloggers of insanity and
plot the NetArt socialist revolution against the
fascist national Rhizome
I'm with you on the Internet
where you will split the heavens of Google Images
and resurrect your living human image from the
superhuman tomb
I'm with you on the Internet
where there are two-point-one-billion mad com-
menters all together singing the final stanzas of Man in the Mirror
I'm with you on the Internet
where we hate and kiss the Internet under
our bedsheets the Internet that blogs all
night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you on the Internet
where we wake up electrified out of the coma
by our own souls' computer fans roaring over the
roof it's come to drop angelic bombs the
hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls col-
lapse O skinny legions run outside O starry
spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is
here O victory forget your underwear we're
free
I'm with you on the Internet
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-
journey on the information super highway across the Atlantic in tears
to the door of my apartment in the Eastern night

 

Ryder Ripps, 2009