Where is the ritual?
And tell me where, where is the taste?
Where is the sacrifice?
And tell me where, where is the faith?
Someday there'll be a cure for pain
That's the day I throw my drugs away
When they find a cure for pain
Where is the cave where the wise woman went?
And tell me where, where's all that money that I spent?
I propose a toast
To my self control
You see it crawlin helpless on the floor
Someday there'll be a cure for pain
That's the day I throw my drugs away
When they find a cure for pain
Find a cure for
Find a cure for pain
"Cure for Pain", Morphine
E eis que de repente um súbito impulso de cheirar cola Patex por um saco de plástico explosivo se apoderou da minha actual flatutência soporífera. Foi ao som de Butthole Surfers.
I Saw an X-Ray of a Girl Passing Gas
By Butthole Surfers
Ten foot tall and the nurse stuck a needle in my arm
Well Uncle Doc's nurse use a needle with ungodly charm
Walkin' down the hall the dentist loomed through the door
I Saw an X-Ray of a girl passing gas
ahh ah ahhh
The one shot theory got a query things got rolling at last
woah woah woah
Hey, hey hey daddy, will I die in the war
ahh ahh ahh
Jesus Hitler Buddha Santa Mary Klaus Barbie Christ[Price?] more
woah woah woah
Well [Death?][Jeff? (pinkus)] got arrested and the sky was the ocean that day
uh waah ahh ahh
The words got twisted and history didn't know what to say
woah ow woah
God dog sex death life now I'm feeling old
owahh ahh ahh
These images were conjured up by talking on the telephone
ohh ahh ahh
I Saw an X-Ray of a girl passing gas
ahh ah ah ahhoww ahhowww
Oh my God it seems like just the other day
Butt it might have been one hundred years before
Well I know there is no other way
We only had to wonder what it's for
Wonder what it's for
We only
Oh my God it seems like just the other day
Butt it might have been one hundred years before
Well I know there is no other way
We only had to wonder what it's for
Wonder what it's for
We only had to wonder
We only had to wonder
Wonder what it's for
Wonder
Extraído do site The Butthole Surfers Lyric Documentation Project, em http://www.visi.com/~rschwa/Butthole/index.html
Peter Orlovsky foi poeta, músico, agricultor, professor, e companheiro do poeta Allen Ginsberg. Nasceu em 1933 no Lower East Side de Nova Iorque. Aqui fica um dos seus poemas.
Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired
& handsome felt,
Grave root pillow, tung up from grave & wigle at
blown up clowd.
Ear turnes close to underlayer of green felt moss & sound
of rain dribble thru this layer
down to the roots that will tickle my ear.
Hay grave, my toes need cutting so file away
in sound curve or
Garbage grave, way above my head, blood will soon
trickle in my ear -
no choise but the grave, so cat & sheep are daisey
turned.
Train will tug my grave, my breath hueing gentil vapor
between weel & track.
So kitten string & ball, jumpe over this mound so
gently & cutely
So my toe can curl & become a snail & go curiously
on its way.
Nova Iorque, 1958
On a day when
you're walking
down the street
and you see
a hearse
with a coffin,
followed by
a flower car
and limos,
you know the day
is auspicious,
your plans are going to be
successful;
but on a day when
you see a bride and groom
and wedding party,
watch out,
be careful,
it might be a bad sign.
Just say no
to family values,
and don't quit
your day job.
Drugs
are sacred
substances,
and some drugs
are very sacred substances,
please praise them
for somewhat liberating
the mind.
Tobacco
is a sacred substance
to some,
and even though you've
stopped smoking,
show a little respect.
Alcohol
is totally great,
let us celebrate
the glorious qualities
of booze,
and I had
a good time
being with you.
Just
do it,
just don't
not do it,
just do it.
Christian
fundamentalists,
and fundamentalists
in general,
are viruses,
and they're killing us,
multiplying
and mutating,
and they destroying us,
now, you know,
you got to give
strong medicine
to combat
a virus.
Who's buying?
good acid,
I'm flying,
slipping
and sliding,
slurping
and slamming,
I'm sinking,
dipping
and dripping,
and squirting
inside you;
never
fast forward
a come shot;
milk, milk,
lemonade,
round the corner
where the chocolate's made;
I love to see
your face
when you're suffering.
Do it
with anybody
you want,
whatever
you want,
for as long as you want,
any place,
any place,
when it's possible,
and try to be
safe;
in a situation where
you must abandon
yourself
completely
beyond all concepts.
Twat throat
and cigarette dew,
that floor
would ruin
a sponge mop,
she's the queen
of great bliss;
light
in your heart,
flowing up
a crystal channel
into your eyes
and out
hooking
the world
with compassion.
Just
say
no
to family
values.
We don't have to say No
to family values,
cause we never
think about them;
just
do it,
just make
love
and compassion.
© John Giorno
"the history of one tough motherfucker" é um trabalho de Charles Bukowski sobre o seu gato.
he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
terrorized
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
chance...give him these pills...his backbone
is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off..."
I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he
wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-
where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
him and gently touched him and he looked back at
me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
by he made his first move
dragging himself forward by his front legs
(the rear ones wouldn't work)
he made it to the litter box
crawled over and in,
it was like the trumpet of possible victory
blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that
bad but bad enough
one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
just looked at me.
"you can make it," I said to him.
he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,
then got up.
you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed
almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
his eyes never left...
and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about
life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look
at this!"
but they don't understand, they say something like,"you
say you've been influenced by Celine?"
"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!"
I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows...
it's then that the interviews end
although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
graphed together.
he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps.
Allen Ginsberg escreveu este poema a 11 de Dezembro de 1974.
Dawn's orb orange-raw shining over Palisades
bare crowded branches bush up from marshes--
New Jersey with my father riding automobile
highway to Newark Airport--Empire State's
spire, horned buildingtops, Manhattan
rising as in W. C. Williams' eyes between wire trestles--
trucks sixwheeled steady rolling overpass
beside New York--I am here
tiny under sun rising in vast white sky,
staring thru skeleton new buildings,
with pen in hand awake ...
Mais um poema de Allen Ginsberg, escrito em 1956. O tema, pelo título, é óbvio.
America
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven 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
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 your 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. Business-
men 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 an hour
and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of
underprivileged 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 Com-
munist 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 sin-
cere 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't 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 Readers'
Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.
Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
tions.
That no good. Ugh. Him make 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.
Os Legendary Pink Dots são uma banda fora do normal de origem holandesa. Em 1991 editaram "Maria's Dimension" e esta música, "Evolution". Aqui fica a letra.
If God was egg, if six were nine...
If time was never measured, only killed in pleasure gardens of our making.
If we'd never taken anything, but only given...
If we could forgive, forget and rearrange the patterns.
If you'd never thrown a stone or split the atom - ate the apple... if...
If I'd stayed alone in shackles feeling nothing, seeing nothing in my head...
If we'd shared instead of just collecting.
If we'd never lived... If... If we'd ever...
If we never never, never land but fly without a destination, cry without a
cause, and lose ourselves for just a second at the beauty of it all...
Then maybe in the next life we'd be dolphins.
Allen Ginsberg escreveu este poema a 24 de Dezembro de 1972. Porquê a escolha? Porque foi o ano que nasci...
I met Einstein in a dream
Springtime on Princeton lawn grass
I kneeled down & kissed his young thumb
like a ruddy pope
his face fresh broad cheeked rosy
"I invented a universe separate,
something like a Virgin" -
"Yes, the creature gives birth to itself,"
I quoted from Mescaline
We sat down open air universal summer
to eat lunch, professors' wives
at the Tennis Court Club,
our meeting eternal, as expected,
my gesture to kiss his fist
unexpectedly saintly
considering the Atom Bomb I didn't mention.