Howl: I
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until
The Survivor
As the hot air rising from the canyon washes over me, I stagger to the
cliff’s edge. Unable to run any farther, I turn to face my opponent.
Boundary or no, Silka stumbles out of the hedge after me. Now I can assess
the damage my knife did, own the empty socket where I gouged out her
eyeball. Seems minor compared to keeping my innards contained. Without
hesitation, she raises the ax and lets it fly. My knees, already on the verge of
giving way, fold like wet cardboard and I collapse to the dirt as the ax
whistles over my head into the canyon.
That’s when I remember the force field. And what happens to dropped
objects. I watch, breathless, for what the love of my life would call poetic
justice.
Who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars.
EyeballSurvival
The layer of bone behind the eyeball which separates the eye from the brain is paper-thin and the brain case can be penetrated at this point by a knife, pencil or even stiffened fingers. In general, any finger poke or foreign substance in the eye will serve to distract and temporarily blind one's opponent at the very least. Permanent blindness is also quite possible.
Shakespeare, istediği kelimeyi bulamayınca kendisi uydururdu: Arsız
(barefaced) müstehcen (obscene), göz yuvarlağı (eyeball), yalnız (lonely), maskara (zany), kasvetli (gloomy), yamru yumru (gnarled), toslamak (bump), dirsek (elbow), hayret (amazement), işkence (torture) ve 1700 den fazla baska kelime Shakespeare'in icadıdır.
Sayfa 79
The Imaginary Watchmaker
David HumeFelsefe
"Take a look in the mirror at one of your eyes. It has a lens that
focuses the image, an iris that adapts to changing light, and
eyelids and eyelashes to protect it. If you look to one side, the
eyeball swivels in its socket. It’s also quite beautiful. How did
that happen? It’s an amazing bit of engineering. How could an
eye have turned out this way just by chance?"
