I broke them up like merinques

A Study of Reading Habits

When getting my nose in a book
Cured most things short of school,
It was worth ruining my eyes
To know I could still keep cool,
And deal out the old right hook
To dirty dogs twice my size.

Later with inch thick specs,
Evil was just my lark:
Me and my cloak and fangs
Had ripping times in the dark
The woman I clubbed with sex!
I broke them up like meringues.

Don't read much now: the dude
Who lets the girl down before
The hero arrives, the chap
Who's yellow and keeps the store,
Seem far too familiar. Get stewed:
Books are a load of crap.


Told like only the Irish can tell it, poet Phillip Larkin. The Irish, way more human than the rest! They were dropped on the planet by God for relief and humor, as His personal Jesters. They have set the mark for humanness and affability!

This poem sums it up for me, laugh!...hahahah! Books...crap!!!!!!

Hell out West

Our Hells

Milton unlocked hell for us
and let us have a look.
Dante did the same.
Each of these hells is special.
One is Milton's, one Dante's.
Milton put in all that for him
was hell on earth.
Dante put in all that for him
was hell on earth.
If you unlock your hell for me

They will be two special hells,
Each of us showing what for us
is hell on earth.
Yours is one hell, mine another.



Carl Sandburg, the most just, enlightened and connected person to live on earth in the 20Th Century. Often when reading his stuff my mind leaves the world, lapsing into long train rides in the Wild Wild West looking at Buffaloes, smelling Pine Trees, sleeping on Indian Blankets.

He like his heroes, Whitman and Lincoln had something that seems to have dried up today!

There might be some who call Lincoln, a poetic and soulful version of George Bush ( I like G.B., he has potential, I think he needs to go back to his ranch in Texas and do some serious reflection and screwing around ).

Where are Vision, Heart and Soul today? How has Sandburg, Lincoln and Whitman evolved into Jason Timberlake, Michael Jackson and Paris Hilton? ( I like her though, she has potential!). Are we living in Elliot's Wasteland, are we having fun yet out there?

I am only having fun in my head, riding a "opium chariot" somewhere in a holding pattern.

Chariots

Mr Blake's Chariots


Mr. Blake saw invisible chariots on the sky
driven by unseen charioteers.

Himself he saw as a slim wisp of a ashen
mortality

And nevertheless took himself for a charioteer
riding high, grand and lonely.


A poem by Carl Sandburg written, I think, on his impressions of the Poet William Blake.
There are some new Bios on the life of another "charioteer", slash " opium charioteer", "riding high, grand and lonely". The one and only Hunter S. Thompson.

Riding my own "opium chariot" of sorts in the 60s and 70s, I ran into allot of these characters in the Wild Wild West; Allen Ginsburg, Gary Synder, William Burroughs, Allan Watts, Richard Brautigan.

My path never crossed Hunter S. Thompsons, Old Thom, was surely "riding high, grand and lonely". Maybe, unknown as a person, really, to even his wife and friends. It is that way for me anyways.

To all my Friends!

"To all my friends", (quote from the film, "Barfly" screen play by Sir Charles Bukowski). This said, with his ughly head half cocked, peeking through a hole in the Universal Haze, wondering if there is anything out there?

My name is Miles Pepper. I once went to a poetry reading by the great Buk on the the North Side of Chicago. It was like a Beat Church Service of sort. When it was time to pass the basket some poor slob offered Buk a Pint, Buk of course took a big draw ( this is the stuff that image is built on right?)

At the end of the reading I took Buk aside and asked him how he made it through life? " One Candy Bar a Day!" Ain't it the truth now boys and girls?