Allen Ginsberg
London Mantra
Sloow Tapes – CS 45
Solo recordings of Allen Ginsberg playing a small hand-pumped harmonium from India and singing mantras and songs to the cosmos. These recordings were made in the early seventies by the American poet and bibliographer George Dowden. From the vaults of Gerard Bellaart’s Cold Turkey Press (who also made the cover). 100 copies.
Been singing this to myself for weeks.
This is a found poem comprised of actual reminders my iPhone has created for me using the Siri speech recognition feature. I’m going to miss this silliness when the speech recognition improves.
Here’s the complaint I sent to the NPR ombudsman about this method of hand-washing.
This is he said, she said reporting, one of the lowest forms of journalism in existence, in which the NPR reporter washes her hands of determining what is true. The new Kansas regulations may be a form of harassment, intended to make life as difficult as possible for abortion providers in that state. Or, alternatively, these rules may be sane, rational, common sense, sound policy: just normal rule-making by responsible public officials.According to this report, NPR has no idea who is right. It cannot provide listeners with any help in sorting through such a dramatic conflict in truth claims. It knows of no way to adjudicate these clashing views. It is simply confused and helpless and the best it can do is pass on that helplessness to listeners of “Morning Edition.”
Push back against this shit.
Murdoch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars!
Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old
men weeping in the parks!Murdoch! Murdoch! Nightmare of Murdoch! Murdoch the loveless!
Mental Murdoch! Murdoch the heavy judger of men!Murdoch the incomprehensible prison! Murdoch the crossbone soulless
jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Murdoch whose buildings are
judgment! Murdoch the vast stone of war! Murdoch the stunned
governments!Murdoch whose mind is pure machinery! Murdoch whose blood is running money!
Murdoch whose fingers are ten armies! Murdoch whose breast is a
cannibal dynamo! Murdoch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Murdoch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Murdoch whose skyscraper
stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Murdoch whose
factories dream and croak in the fog! Murdoch whose smoke-stacks and
antennae crown the cities!Murdoch whose love is endless oil and stone! Murdoch whose soul is
electricity and banks! Murdoch whose poverty is the specter of genius!
Murdoch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Murdoch whose name
is the Mind!
Where it says ‘Moloch’, say ‘Murdoch’. via https://twitter.com/stevesilberman