Mama’s there, underneath the floor

I love Ginsberg even more the older I get. When I was a teenager full of shit and rocket fuel I only liked his early stuff and Howl because it was full of shit and rocketfuel but now I’m loving all the stuff he writes later and later and later. Like that poem he wrote for his asshole, that sort of thing. This one, though, it gets me every time, chills and sadness and all that-

It’s a song I want played at my funeral whenever that happens because it happens to everyone someday. Anyway, to wash away the sadness, here’s another Ginsberg bit called vomit express:


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