Monday, June 8, 2015

PARADISE LOST

If you think about it, Art and Poetry is everything. 2 huge things that make life worth living.

I advice you to watch "tropico" short musical by Lana Del Rey, these are one of the poems in that one and its just Soo damn beautiful when she speaks it.. makes me teary-eyed
SERIOUSLY watch it!

And so, from being created in his likeness, to being banished for wanting to be too much like him, we were cast out, and the garden of Eden transformed in to the garden of Evil
Los Angeles, The city of Angels, A land of Gods and Monsters, The in-between realm where only the choices made from your free will, will decide your souls final fate
Some poets called it the entrance to the Underworld, but on some summer nights, it could feel like Paradise, Paradise Lost
 Womanhood, and all that is woman - and the man that comes from woman
The womb, the tits, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and rising
The voice, articulation
Language
Whispering, shouting aloud
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep
Walking, swimming, poise on the hips
Leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening
The continual changes of the flex of the mouth
And around the eyes
The skin, the sun-burnt shade, freckles, hair
The curious sympathy one feels, when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body
The circling rivers, the breath, and breathing it in and out
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees
The thin red jellies within you or within me - the bones and the marrow in the bones
The exquisite realization of health;
O I say, these are not the parts and poems of the Body only, but of the Soul
O I say now these are the Soul!

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
Angel-headed 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

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