Makes me sick Inside, outside,
I don't know why
Something so conditional
And all talk Should hurt me so.
-Jack Kerouac
Mad men
The crippled who cannot fall asleep.
With whiskey shots and pale thighs waving by
Stories of conquest and well groomed hair
And the past
Time itself is a made or given features of consciousness. Time is not nature but rather is one of the aspects of mind by which we are able to know nature.
-Susan Stewart
Fools, with their PRIMAL SLANG
Distorted into envy
Or hurrying out of foreign bedrooms.
Squinting. Disheveled. shoes in hand
Shaking off the rolling horizon and craving water
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway 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 grandfather night,
-Allen Ginsberg
For solitude sometimes is the best society,
And short retirement urges sweet return
-John Milton
Where did the time go?
Weeks of my life summed up in a sentence
I just want to find peace in some safer place
Leave all the broken glass and haggard sunrises behind
I just want to find it in a girl or a book…
Or even just the rain water roaring along the sidewalk
Running into the sewers
Headed for the sea
O! that I were as great
As is my grief, or lesser than my name,
Or that I could forget what I have been,
Or not remember what I must be now
-Shakespeare
ΣAE
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
-T. S. Eliot
Man immortalized.
