My Classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort

Howl

To—Carl Solomon Alan Ginsberg I saw the most outstanding mind of this generation ruined by madness, hungry and hysterical, naked, dragging myself through the black streets at dawn in search of a fatal dose, angelic The holy Sibst longed to communicate with the quaint and beautiful relationship with the star-flickering generator in the dark night machinery. Their poor clothes and shabby eyes fell into a faint, smoking cigarettes in the transcendent darkness of the cold water apartment floating over the city in meditation. The jazz chapter stays up all night. They show their true affection to the sky under the elevated railroad tracks. They find that the angels of Mohammed are crumbling on the brightly-lit roof of the house. They enter and leave the university with their shining cold eyes, and encounter among the scholars studying war. The tragedy revealed by Arkansas and Blake. They were expelled from school because of madness because they published lewd hymns on the skull-like windowpanes. They curled up in the shaved room in shorts, burned paper money in the wastebasket and listened to the wall. The sound of horror, they returned to New York with bundles of marijuana through Laredo and were caught naked with their pubic hair. They swallowed the fire in the powdered hotel or went to the "paradise path" to drink pine oil, or die, or night. Night after night, I used to despise my body, with dreams, drugs, lucid nightmares, alcohol and blood, countless testicles, trembling dark clouds to build an unparalleled dead end, and the lightning in my mind rushed to Canada With Patterson, illuminate the dead time world between the two poles, the Morgan-like hall, the dawn on the green cemetery in the backyard, the drunken state on the roof, and Nani when driving past the tea-loving shop in the town. The dazzling lights of the rainbow, the shaking of the sun and the moon and the trees in Brooklyn's roaring dusk, the roar of trash cans and the gentlest light of thinking, they tied themselves to the subway and took amphetamines from Battery to Bronx Base They traveled endlessly until the sound of wheels and children awakened them. They trembled and their lips were cracked. Their brilliant brains were worn away in the miserable lighted zoo. They were haggard and desolate. They were immersed in the lights of the sea bottom of the Bickford cafeteria all night, drifting. I went out and sat in the deserted Fogaki Bar for an afternoon drinking a horse urine beer, listening to the fate squeaking on the hydrogen jukebox. They talked for 70 hours from the park to the bed to the bar to the Bellevue hospital to the museum. On the Brooklyn Bridge, a group of confused Platonic chatters jumped off the fire escape and the window sill under the moonlight and jumped off the Empire State Building, chattering, screaming, vomiting and whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and glaring confrontations and hospitals. The shock, the prison and the war, the eyes of a generation of wise men sank into the deep memories of seven days and seven nights, the lamb meat of the worship hall was thrown on the brick road, and they concealed into the imaginary hometown of the New Jersey Zen sect, leaving behind a series of ambiguous postcards, It leads to the scenery of Atlanta City Hall, and they endure the pain after the medicine fades in the dark furnished room of Newark, the hard labor of the East, the grinding of Tangier's bones, and the migraine in China. They wandered in the middle of the night on the railway station. I don’t know where to go in the car yard, and I still can’t get rid of the sadness. They lit cigarettes in the truck and drove through the snow to the lonely farm in the night of the ancestors. They studied Rutaias, Alan Poe and Between St. John's Psychosensory studies the Jewish mystery in jazz. Because the Kansas universe is instinctively trembling at their feet, they walk alone in the streets of Idaho looking for fantasy Indian angels. Because they are fantasy Indian angels, they only feel happy. Extremely because Baltimore is faintly visible in the supernatural ecstasy, they took the Chinese in Oklahoma into the car to feel the thrill of the raindrops in the streetlight town of winter night. They roamed hungry and alone in Houston looking for jazz in search of **** in search of soup, they Following the distinguished Spaniard to discuss America and eternity with him, but hopeless, they traveled far to Africa, they disappeared in the volcanoes of Mexico, leaving nothing but the shadow of the rough cloth, and the fireplace Chicago was full of poetry. Lava and ashes, they haunt the West Coast with a beard and wearing shorts to track down the FBI. Their dark skin makes the anti-war activists' eyes wide open. ** They distribute inexplicable leaflets, and their arms are burned all over. The cigarette hole protested against the tobacco haze of capitalist rectification of intoxicated people. They distributed hyper-communist pamphlets in Union Square, weeping, and undressing, but Losellemos’ siren swept them down, swept down the wall, Staten Island’s The ferry boat also cried. They cried out in the empty gym. They were naked and trembling in front of another skeleton machine. They tore the detective on the back of the neck and screamed excitedly in the police car because the crime was just them. They carried out wild **** and drug abuse. They knelt down in the subway and howled, shaking their sexual organs and waving their manuscripts and dragged them off the roof. They let the holy motorcyclist advance behind them and yelled joyfully. They swallowed others and were touched by the human seraphim and aquatic life. It was the touch of love from the Atlantic and the Caribbean. They made love in the early morning at dusk in the rose garden in the park and cemetery grass, their liquid happily Spread to anyone who can reach sex. They hiccuped behind the wall of the Turkish bath, trying to squeeze out a giggle, but they only choked and sobbed, and the blonde naked outdoor envoy rushed forward to pierce through with a sword. They, they lost their lover because of those three ancient destiny gophers, one is a one-eyed heterosexual dollar, one is squeezed out of the womb and blinks the other is the money that cuts the wisdom of the weaver craftsman, they are fanatical and greedy Crossing together, holding a bottle of beer, a lover, a pack of cigarettes, and a candle, rolled off the bed, and continued on the floor and in the living room until the last **** appeared in the eyes and passed out on the wall. Reached at the last moment when consciousness dissipated. They made a million girls trembling in the setting sun enjoy the sweet moments, their sweet eyes were bloodshot in the early morning but still ready to appreciate the joy of sunrise and the fleeting **** in the barn and the nakedness in the lake They wandered around Colorado and raped prostitutes in various stolen night cars, Ni-Ka, is the protagonist of these verses, this Denver rooster and Adonis-his past is pleasant, he has let down countless The girl lifted up the petticoat of the haggard waitress in the empty building base and the back of the dining car, on the swaying chairs in the cinema, in the hole on the top of the mountain, or in the familiar path. Gas stations, toilets and subjectivism in their hometown alleys. They gradually disappeared into the huge dirty movie theater. They were driven out in dreams, awakened in the sudden appearance of Manhattan, the cold wine and the iron and stone dream of Third Avenue. The horror dispelled the hangover in their cellar, and then they fell into the door of the unemployment relief, their shoes soaked blood in their shoes, walking all night on the snow-covered dock, waiting for the eastern river to open the door to a room full of steam and heat. Opium’s room, they climbed to the top of the precipice apartment building on the Hudson River, staged a tragic suicide tragedy under the mercury-like blue moonlight during the war, and their heads will be crowned with laurels in the Hades. They eat imaginary burned mutton or Bauvari digested crabs at the bottom of the filthy ditch. They held a trolley full of onions and inferior music and wept at the romantic songs on the street. They sat desperately and sucked into the darkness under the bridge, and then climbed up to their attic to build a grand piano. , They wore a crown of fire and coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem, the tuberculosis sky was besieged by the theological orangery, they wrote and wrote graffiti all night, chanting profound spells, and rock left a piece of gibberish and nonsense for the cowardly morning, and they cooked the rot. Bad animal lungs, heart, hoof, tail, borscht and maize dream of an abstract plant world. They got into a carnivorous truck looking for an egg, and they dropped the watch from the roof as they cast it for eternity beyond time. Since then, the alarm clock has sounded every day for ten years, and there is no peace. They cut their wrists three times without success, quit washing their hands and were forced to open the antique shop. They felt old in the shop and secretly sorrowful. They were dressed in innocence on Madison Avenue. The flannel suits were tormented, witnessing the carnival of low-level poetry and the drunken laughter of popular iron guys, the screaming of nitroglycerin from advertising fairies and the mustard gas of insidious and wise editors, and they were also taken by the absolutely realistic taxis. Knocked to the ground, they jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge. This is true, and then quietly walked away into the foggy narrow alleys and the water dragon was left in the trance of Chinatown, not even a glass of free beer. They were on the windowsill. He sang in despair, went over the subway window, jumped into the dirty Basek River, pounced on the blacks, cried along the street, danced barefoot on broken wine glasses, smashed the nostalgic German jazz records of Europe in the 1930s and drank whiskey. Moaning and vomiting into the blood-stained toilet, the whistle whispering and deafening suddenly sounded, and they drove along the old road to each other's broken car and martyrdom. The lonely waiting dungeon or the incarnation of Birmingham jazz, they did not drive for 72 hours in a row. Stop over the field to see if you are me or he found the beauty. They want to find eternity. They travel to Denver, they die in Denver, they return to Denver and wait in vain. They watch Denver meditate and lonely in Denver, and finally leave. Looking for time, now Denver is lonely and lonely because they have lost their heroes. They kneel down in the hopeless church and pray for each other's liberation for light and breasts, only for the temporary enlightenment of their souls, and they wait restlessly in prison. The villains with blond hair, waiting for them to sing the melodious blues and the charm of inner reality to the pelican bird, they live in Mexico to cultivate their sexuality, or go to the Rocky Mountains to take refuge The Buddha traveled to Tangier to find old friends or went to the South Pacific to find black locomotives or Harvard to find Narcissus or Woodron to find daisy garlands or graves. They demanded a fair trial and accused the anaesthetist’s radio, but no one asked. Their chaotic consciousness, their hands and the undecided jury, they threw potato salad to drive away the Dadaist speeches in New York City, and then they stepped onto the granite-level lunatic asylum to perform bald and suicidal comic speeches, requesting immediate implementation Lobectomy, and they were given insulin spasm, cardiotonic, electrotherapy, hydrotherapy, letter therapy, occupational therapy. These real emptiness, ping-pong and amnesia, their angry protest only overturned a symbolic ping-pong table, and stopped temporarily because of mental stress. After many years, he made a comeback and was bald with only a **** wig, tears and fingers, and returned to the mad city to the east, the bad luck that the mad people could not escape in this ward, the hall of the pilgrim state, the hall of Rockland, the hall of Graystone The hall was rotten and smelly, they quarreled with the echo of the soul, loneliness-bench-stone house, midnight rock and roll in the kingdom of love, everything in life is like a nightmare, the body becomes stone as heavy as the moon, and finally with their mother-the last one The book was thrown out of the window. The last time the door was closed at four o'clock in the morning, the last phone was thrown on the wall to answer the last furnished room and the room was cleaned up, leaving only the yellow paper rose twisted on the wire hook of the closet. The last piece of spiritual furniture, even this is pure imagination, the whole room is empty and there is a glimmer of hope of illusion-ah, Carl, I am not stable when you are unstable, and now you can really be trapped in the chowder of the times ——So they ran across the cold streets and dreamed of alchemy. The light suddenly flashed, looking for them to omit, arrange, the usage of rhythm and the trembling plane to give them directions. They realized the dream with the image of juxtaposition, letting the living gullies lie across. In time and space, the archangel who caught the soul between two visual images, they connected basic verbs, combined the noun and the dash of consciousness, and jumped for joy in the eternal sense of God of the Almighty Father, in order to reform the sentence of human poverty. And rhythm, they stand in front of you speechless, wise, trembling with shame, rejected but show their hearts, their naked and deep minds adapt to the rhythm of thinking, crazy prodigal sons and angels pressing ideas and percussive, little known, but Still have to leave what you might want to say after death, stand up in the fancy jazz costume, under the shadow of the band’s horn, and play the hardships of courtship in the United States, and play the saxophone in Eli Eli. The cries of Ramallama Saba’s Dani, the wailing smashed the city to the last radio, and the absolute heart of the poem of life excavated from themselves was enough to last a thousand years. II What cement alloy monster knocked open their skulls and ate their minds and imaginations? Vulcan! lonely! Filthy! ugly! Trash cans and unobtainable dollars! The children are screaming under the stairs! The lads are sobbing in the army! Old people are crying in the park! Vulcan! Vulcan! Vulcan's nightmare! Can't get the Vulcan of Eros! Spiritual Vulcan! Vulcan, the judge to punish humans! Vulcan this incomprehensible prison! Vulcan, the skull and femurs are liberalized, the soulless prison, this troubled meeting place! Vulcan's tall buildings are judgments! Vulcan, the boulder of war! The unconscious rule of Vulcan! Vulcan's thoughts are purely mechanical! Vulcan's blood is flowing money! Vulcan's fingers are ten armies! Vulcan's breast is a cannibal generator! Vulcan's ears are a smoking grave! Vulcan's eyes are a thousand blocked windows! Vulcan's skyscrapers stand along the street like countless Jehovah! Vulcan's factory sleeps in the fog, and shouts in the fog! Vulcan's chimney and antenna towered over the city! Vulcan's Aegis is endless oil and stones! Vulcan's soul is electricity and bank! Vulcan's poverty is the ghost of genius! Vulcan's fate is a mass of asexual hydrogen! Vulcan's name is Will! Vulcan I sit in it alone! Vulcan, I dream of angels in it! Crazy in Vulcan! Slutty in Vulcan! Lose love and men in Vulcan! Vulcan, he got into my young soul! Vulcan is in which I have no physical consciousness! Vulcan scared away my natural fun! Vulcan, I abandon him! Awaken in Vulcan! Light bursts out of the sky! Vulcan! Vulcan! Robot apartment! Invisible suburbs! Bone treasure! Blind capital! Devil industry! Ghost country! Incurable lunatic asylum! granite**! Monster Atomic Bomb! They broke their backbone and sent Vulcan to heaven! Brick road, trees, radio, tonnage! Lift the city to the ubiquitous paradise! Dreamland! Omen! phantom! miracle! ecstasy! Submerged in the rivers of America! dream! worship! bright! religion! A whole ship of sensitive lies! burst! Over the river bank! Tossing and torture on the cross! Pour into the flood! High ground! appear! despair! Ten years of animal screams and suicides! mind! New love! Crazy generation! Hit the rock of time! What a holy laughter in the river! It's obvious to all! Those eyes wide open! Holy cry! They waved their hands goodbye! They jumped off the roof! Run towards loneliness! Shake your hand! Bring flowers! Sink into the river! Go out of the street! III Carl-Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland where you're crazier than me. I'm with you in Rockland. You must be fidgeting. I'm with you in Rockland. You imitate the shadow of my mother. I'm with you in Rockland. You murdered your twelve. Secretary, I'm with you in Rockland, where you laugh at this unnoticeable humor. I'm with you in Rockland. There we are great writers typing on the same bad typewriter. I'm with you in Rockland. I'm with you in Rockland where the brain's organs no longer tolerate the worms of the sense I'm with you in Rockland where you drink tea from the **** of the old Utica maidens I'm with you in Rockland where you play a pun on the nurse's body They are Bronx’s Isle of Women. I’m here with you in Rockland. You’re **** in a madman’s clothes and barking. I’m afraid that I’m going to lose the real table tennis match in the abyss. I’m here with you in Rockland. A sick piano soul is innocent and immortal. It will never die absurdly in the armed lunatic asylum. I will be there with you in Rockland and there will be shocks fifty times, and I will not be able to return your soul who went on a pilgrimage to the cross in the void. Flesh, I'm with you in Rockland where you accuse the doctors of insanity and plan your Hebrew-style socialist revolution at the fascist national skull and I will be with you in Rockland where you will split the sky of Long Island from Dig out your living Christ from that superhuman grave. I'm with you in Rockland. There are 25,000 crazy comrades singing the last stanza of the Internationale. I'm with you in Rockland. There we lie on the sheets. Let’s hug and kiss the United States of America that coughs all night and keeps us from falling asleep. I’m with you in Rockland. We woke up from our drowsiness and were shocked by our soul plane roaring on the roof. They flew here to drop angel bombs, and the hospital lights up. The walls that I imagined are falling down one after another, the stars are shining and the sparks are flying, the eternal war has come, the victory, forget your underwear, let us be free, I am with you in Rockland, in my dream, you are dripping with sea travel in my dreams Drops of water came with tears on the avenue across the United States towards the door of my hut, bathed in the western night, San Francisco 1955-1956