Bop Lyrics by Allen Ginsberg
When I think of death
I get a goofy feeling;
Then I catch my breath:
Zero is appealing,
Appearances are hazy.
Smart went crazy,
Smart went crazy.
A flower in my head
Has fallen through my eye;
Someday I'll be dead:
I love the lord on high,
I wish he'd pull my daisy.
Smart went crazy,
Smart went crazy.
I asked the lady what's a rose,
She kicked me out of bed.
I asked the man, and so it goes,
He hit me on the head.
Nobody knows,
Nobody knows,
At least, nobody's said.
The time I went to China
To lead the Boy Scout troops,
They sank my ocean liner,
And all I said was, "Oops!"
All the doctors think I'm crazy;
The truth is really that I'm lazy:
I made visions to beguile 'em
Till they put me in th'asylum.
I'm a pot and God's a potter,
And my head's a piece of putty.
Ark my darkness,
Lark my looks,
I'm so lucky to be nutty.
New York, March-December 1949
I am, primarily, an artist. By profession I am a carpenter. One day I will be an artist passionately and professionaly. I need to paint to survive. I find art everywhere I look. It's how I see. Crumbling concrete overpasses layered with blocks of off-color paint that conceals unknown graffiti. Creosote-oozing tarry telephone poles with a rough hide of thousands of staples holding bits of old posters. Old brick buildings with the outline of a dead ivy vine that was torn away. Autumn golden, red, orange leaves hanging from dry branches and littering the streets and sidewalks.
Favorite styles are German expressionist and neue sachlikeit, calligraphy (especially Arabic), graffiti, cubist abstract... aah, too many to list.
I'd like a nice suit just for wearing around the house and painting in barefoot, like Basquiat.
I love to read novels (Murakami's Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman my latest favorite) and periodicals (The New Yorker is the best!) and look at books on art (just finished Taschen's Conceptual Art, a nice overview), when there isn't a good gallery handy (my favorite Portland gallery is beppu/wiarda ).
