Typewriter Tea

2 months ago

Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does. »Allen Ginsberg, who died on this day in 1997.

3 months ago

Finally, after wanting to for years, framed and hung up this baby.

4 months ago

A woman from the audience asks: ‘Why were there so few women among the Beat writers?’ and [Gregory] Corso, suddenly utterly serious, leans forward and says: “There were women, they were there, I knew them, their families put them in institutions, they were given electric shock. In the ’50s if you were male you could be a rebel, but if you were female your families had you locked up. »Stephen Scobie, on the Naropa Institute’s 1994 tribute to Allen Ginsberg (via fuckyeahbeatniks)

via latkemonster

5 months ago

New Interview with Lawrence Ferlinghetti «

“Poetry must be capable of answering the challenge of apocalytpic times, even if this means sounding apocaltypic.”

via fuckyeahbeatgeneration

5 months ago

And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiancies shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotuslands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven… »Jack Kerouac, On the Road

via fuckyeahbeatniks

7 months ago

I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted. »

Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

9 months ago

Bob Dylan, “Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues”

9 months ago

My backpack, all newly decked out. I’ve been especially proud of my geekhood lately.

1 year ago

(Source: slowboatdeadstock)

via fuckyeahbeatgeneration

1 year ago

No man should go through life without once experiencing healthy, even bored solitude in the wilderness, finding himself depending solely on himself and thereby learning his true and hidden strength. Learning for instance, to eat when he’s hungry and sleep when he’s sleepy. »Jack Kerouac, Lonesome Traveller

via fuckyeahbeatgeneration

1 year ago

Excerpt from the first pages of the On The Road script by Jose Rivera, from April 22, 2008

Annotations by director Walter Salles

via

Fascinating…

1 year ago

Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for? »Timothy Leary

(Source: thetigerleaps)

via nouvelle-nouveau

1 year ago

Kerouac, Ginsberg, the Beats and Other Bastards Who Ruined My Life «

fuckyeahbeatniks:

taotechill:

by Johnny Depp

The Rolling Stone Book Of The Beats

First published in Rolling Stone Magazine July 22, 1999

Wonderful.

via fuckyeahbeatniks

1 year ago

“Big Sur is a humane, precise account of the extraordinary ravages of alcohol delirium tremens on Kerouac, a superior novelist who had strength to complete his poetic narrative, a task few scribes so afflicted have accomplished, others crack up. Here we meet San Francisco’s poets and recognize hero Dean Moriarty ten years after On the Road. Jack Kerouac was a writer, as his great peer W.S. Burroughs says, and here at the peak of his suffering humorous genius he wrote through his misery to end with Sea, a brilliant poem appended, on the hallucinatory sounds of the Pacific Ocean at Big Sur.”
-Allen Ginsberg

“Big Sur is a humane, precise account of the extraordinary ravages of alcohol delirium tremens on Kerouac, a superior novelist who had strength to complete his poetic narrative, a task few scribes so afflicted have accomplished, others crack up. Here we meet San Francisco’s poets and recognize hero Dean Moriarty ten years after On the Road. Jack Kerouac was a writer, as his great peer W.S. Burroughs says, and here at the peak of his suffering humorous genius he wrote through his misery to end with Sea, a brilliant poem appended, on the hallucinatory sounds of the Pacific Ocean at Big Sur.”

-Allen Ginsberg

via fuckyeahallenginsberg

1 year ago

(Source: raisehighroofbeams)

via fuckyeahbobdylan

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New Interview with Lawrence Ferlinghetti «

Kerouac, Ginsberg, the Beats and Other Bastards Who Ruined My Life «