Howl, vexation of love!

ben goertzel





Vexation of mind
Vexation of eye
Vexation of spirit

Look at the gorgeous girl
Head floating
In the rage-filled sky

Vexation of mind
Vexation of eye
Vexation of body

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
	starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves thru Negro 
	streets at dawn, drunk on fermented polluted rain,
	vanishing into nowhere Zen New Jersey, mental molochs 
	with a thousand blind eyes

She comes over the sea
with her round blue eye
She hold her head too high
She better take care
she don't turn zombie

Escaping the handcuffs of space,
we are rocking and laughing
We speak, but our lives are under attack
under the urination of astronauts
and the evacuation of brain matter
My darling, everything is wonderful
Howl, children!  howl again,
copulate ecstatically,
collage the images of your memory across
the posterboard sky
Howl holy laughter
Vexation of mind
Vexation of spirit
Vexation of eye and eye


Sweet love hellacious!  I'm with you in Brooklyn
	where you're madder than I am
	although you're not really
I'm with you in Brooklyn
	where you suck my cock with awesome vacuum power 
	derived from the living human Jesus, who will never return 
your soul to your body again from its pilgrimage to the void I'm with you in Brooklyn while you fuck that stupid jerk instead of me, with a mind that transcends time Maybe his cock is longer or fatter or not inconceivably even both, but so what, I have the magic of 20 universes in every drop of my sperm, seething and waiting to enchant you they will, they will, or will they, they? I'm with you in Brooklyn, insane as a weasel I'm with you in Brooklyn, howling out like a grandmother who got her electric dildo stuck in her rectum I'm with you in Brooklyn, You insufferable bitch, with your coy tricks and your carcass-like stained glass lust cruelty You circle my head like a rotting halo eaten by superintelligent maggots crushed by the fucking sun I've seen the best minds of my generation sucked into the folds of your cunt Howl, baby! howl like fucking music, fucking music howl and howl! Robot apartments! Invisible suburbs! Death of the human dream! Yellow flower of industry posing for your nipple, its stem sticking out of your ass I'm not with you in Brooklyn, I'm here in my apartment, rambling insane and mad Vexation of mind Vexation of soul Baby, vexation of eye and eye The Creator gave me a shot of his presence, I wasted it chasing your insufferable beauty I gave my love for no good reason And you, Indian Dream, didn't care I'm a bodiless consciousness, teeth of the nothing, Satan licked my burnt weeny and then, ten years animal suicides and screams molten plastic, fifteen angstroms of purgatory, why? I search your face, real as light, hear your weird words sewn soft into the webworks, "There are many kinds of love and I have known some of them." So what -- so fucking WHAT, bitch-hole?!?!? Vexation of mind Vexation of spirit Vexation of soul, of soul Are you ready for the kill, jolly Jezebel? You bitch, seducer of mens' souls, Ungodly girl, giggling harlot, let my cry come unto you My heart have you favor you with cunning and new species of fractal orchids We have dug up rage!! I say The amphitheatre of the genital sun is a dungheap, and I am a dungheap, and Brooklyn is a dungheap, where you lay legs splayed under your toy boy, idiot lover, broken statue of moron dawns with his own particular truth and lies shocked from their essences We have dug up fuck, fuck on!!! An ailing truth bleeds out of your pussy, of my mouth and pathetic poetry, And toward the truth the soul is bent Binding shaped fire to cold event Penetrating the emptiness Sleeping in the depths of eyes And eyes and eyes -- Babe, babe, sweet babe, we have dug up rage!!! Vexation of mind Vexation of eyes Vexation of bodies Vexation of crazed imagination, creativity doomed to have no use, to sit here scribbling while the shallow souls laugh romp and play with angel girls like you I'm with you in Brooklyn Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! The world is holy! The soul is holy! Your hole is holy, holy! Holy bloody bungholes in holy bloody bungalows! Holy psycho dreams and screams, holy bloody seraphim, holy fucking jazz, punk, filth, tongue tracing your mustache, sex friction blisters, forgiveness, charity, master equations, eunuch bananas, delirious monkeyful cheese. Peyote solidities of your firm yet gentle water-breasts. And children mouthwrecked in the zoo. And nothing ever working. Holy! Holy! Somehow I always lose Holy! Holy! The best morons of my generation suck the pussies of infinite babes and fuck them over and over in beds of melting plastic and sing them melodies in proper chords only please, while we geniuses of delirium walk all night through solo streets, the trees adding shade to shade, subtracting love in imaginary units from the uncountable sum in the curve of your hips, your hips now swaying around the waist of someone who is not this one And here I think at the sun I am with you in Brooklyn!! Vexation of jealous love! Vexation of mind, of eye, of body Vexation you stupid sun Howl, children, yackettyacking screaming vomiting whispering facts of mind and crying fragments of collective unconscious, binding feelings into motions, binding motions into structures, binding structures into living lies Vexation of mind Vexation of soul Vexation of eye, of eye Vexation of mind Howl! Vexation of soul Howlhowl! Vexation between your thighs Vexation of mind HowlHowl! Vexation of soul HowlHowl! Vexation of eye, of eye Vexation of jealous fucking love! Howl! Howl! Vexation of fucking mind!

P.S.

Howl, indeed! Who among us has the courage to howl these day? Instead we sit in our cars, commuting to work, filled with impotent frustration. Instead we snap at our children when they ask us perfectly natural questions. Instead we glare at our husbands and wives, spreading spite instead of love. Instead we drag our tired bodies to bars where we suck down mildly psychedelic poisons, deluding ourselves that this is the key to happiness. Motherfucker! Such is our lot indeed. Howling at the moon might perhaps be preferable. And we delude ourselves, remember, that we have understood the origin of the universe. We delude ourselves that our mathematical equations have penetrated to the heart of being. We believe that it all began with one small point, one infinitesimal, mathematical instant, which suddenly tired of its nothingness and burst, exploded, created itself and the universe, transformed from infinite undifferentiated energy madness into a specific configuration, a high energy system in which particles were mushed together and slowly separated into their own domains of being, which cooled down gradually forming laws of motion, atoms, molecules, galaxies, suns, planets, people, poems. What a conceit. What a crock of pig feet. What a hunk of shit. Anyone with even a smidgen of sense can see that it began with the lovers' kiss. Howl! Howl! Howl! Hooowwwwwlllllll!!!!!!! A small element of truth, a jewel in the shit-heap of madness that is the human universe, is contained in the center of that howl, its pure animal soul perfection. Howl strange orchids of inner gardens, howl out your truth and your passion perfection, fucking howl, fucking howl howl howl!!!