Ira:
Like dripping out of the Sun, Momus, Momus, Son of night, Momus, Invisible Coalitions, Deranged Industrialists, Ghostly Nations, Insolent Asylums, Momus, Momus, Cocksucker in Momus, Malignant bombs, Malignant bombs, Glass jism!
Neal Cassady:
Very good, Ira.
Ira:
I'm not finished. What did you think?
Carolyn Cassady:
Well, I guess I'm kind of old fashion; but, I sort of go for "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock".
Ira:
Eliot!
Carolyn Cassady:
Yeah.
Ira:
Oh! You mean the bank clerk! The world's big authority on the end of civilization. You wanna know about civilization? You ask any bum on the bowery after he's had 12 shots of Sterno. The puke encrusted scabs on his face are a more eloquent poem than Eliot ever wrote. Eliot?
Carolyn Cassady:
So, eh, how long are you here for, Ira?
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 07:45
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