Recently, I've been reading Jack Kerouac's long-form poem-book "Old Angel Midnight" which is one long poem, written as a sort of study in language, thought and image. He would sit and meditate for hours and write down every sound he heard, thought he had and image he formed in his mind, leading to some very interesting things, and a ton of gibberish words. All in all I'm very much enjoying this 67 page word extravaganza, and I decided to test out the technique myself, to see if it helped my thought processes. The following was written in an evening out at a bar with friends.
1/ noise in bars music stools scrape and beer stains on linoleum counter top - stains stains swells the reigns that feigns interest - dubba dubba dubba psst psst nothing you can see is unseen and the traffic outside drowns in the whoop-whoop noise of everything - the beer is bitter, tastes burnt and watered like a rained-out wedding while the stained glass lets in poor light from streetlight fights - red and white and blue tiles line the world in this bouncing cats fever mood cogs are turning but nothing's spinning - I wish I could hear ya - is it worth it? Yaba dabba dabba! cats meow and orange swells invade inside in vain veins fathom trains mocking running moving grooving
2/ moit an' potaytoes slurp up into dry gullets and no one sees the grinning on the floor
3/ dreams that haunt haunt forever. what does it mean for our world to be ethereal, flourescent? It means just that hiyo doo-wap bazoo floor fam varoo frond! Ou es que c'est la femme avec les jambes qui montent aux ciel? forever in my mind is--
4/ "it's been a long time mate, bloody hell," he screams and he drinks and he stinks and tinks his glass and links his arms with others and cries out to the world--
5/ jummp all over the world, like what Chad (Hancock) said.
be life free life buzee scree scree
travelling in a car that takes us everywhar and far across the endless tar, har har!
I try to exist when nothing is real and is like a melted ice-cream rink in a bubbling blocked sink.
6/ it's never east to extend, nature; I want to live, I want to see the whole of everything. it bothers me that I die and miss the rest of eternity - a time I exist for so little of - EONS MISSED in darkness and unknowing and not knowing that I don't know and the crows peck out my eyes until I am nothing left but a broken headstone in a barren field, untended and forgotten until the bombs burn it all or the sun explodes and nothing of anything is left and I laugh - I would rather laugh than cry so I figure try - try to learn it all if you can - life in the pursuit of knowledge and love and laughter
7/ rings on the countertop block it all as Max walks in, "my brother from another mother, how are you?" "fine, fine" I say, "and yourself?" I say "had a long week at work, let me get a beer and I'll tell you" he says
8/ dreams and monarchs, fish and sharksm DRIVE! where are we going? 23 and tomorrow it's 30 - where are we? whowhatwhen? why? are you there? can you see? playing in god's sick little JAMBOREE. the liquor washes down my throat and I burn and feel like crying, dying meaningless and foolish!
stoolish, hellish, into the wellwish, crash sash shhka! dubba dubba cha ka cha! sssseee tchup! dock dock dock dock dock, pop goes the weasel! dark times in dark minds swine pine bovine crimes! foo-fo-fadaline