"Football Season Is Over"
No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your (old) age. Relax — This won't hurt.
- Hunter S. Thompson

Hunter S. Thompson

La tristesse durera toujours.
- Vincent Van Gogh

Vincent Van Gogh

2 Oboists, 1 Score

Simultaneous Sunrise/Sunset

String Quartet 2011

Instead Of Sparkling Water, He Now Spouts Red Blood

    The End
I am I, old Father Fisheye that begat the ocean, the worm at my own ear, the serpent turning around a tree,
I sit in the mind of the oak and hide in the rose, I know if any wake up, none but my death,
come to me bodies, come to me prophecies, come all foreboding, come spirits and visions,
I receive all, I’ll die of cancer, I enter the coffin, forever, I close my eye, I disappear,
I fall on myself in winter snow, I roll in a great wheel through rain, I watch fuckers in convulsion,
car screech, furies groaning their basso music, memory fading in the brain, men imitating dogs,
I delight in a woman’s belly, youth stretching his breasts and thighs to sex, the cock sprung inward,
gassing its seed on the lips of Yin, the beasts dance in Siam, they sing opera in Moscow,
my boys yearn at dusk on stoops, I enter New York, I play my jazz on a Chicago Harpsichord,
Love that bore me I bear back to my Origin with no loss, I gloat over the vomiter
thrilled with my deathlessness, thrilled with this endlessness I dice and bury,
come Poet shut up eat my word, and taste my mouth in your ear.
- Allen Ginsberg

Daniel-Wyn Jones

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