Our masters are dead and we are alone. Our generation is no longer a generation. The only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, desirious of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing... But burn burn burn like roman candle accross the night. Your life is your life. Don't let it be clubbed into dank submission. You're marvellous. The gods wait to delight in you.
Maybe I am only my own dream.
Nager, broyer l'herbe, chasser, fumer surtout; boire des liqueurs fortes comme du métal bouillant- comme faisaient ces chers ancêtres autour des feux. Le meilleur, c'est un sommeil bien ivre sur la grève.
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks of the grandfathers of Kansas! Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop apocalypse! Holy the jazzband marijuana hipsters peace peyote pipes and drums! //