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urbaniak)- I'm gonna get in prison,
I'm gonna hurt the cops,
I'm gonna get drunk,
And I'm gonna steal money.
I don't give a care!
Got that?
PEACE OUT!
(c/o
gomezticator.)
FEETby Frances Farmer
My feet go running.
I think they sing
A song to themselves,
A crazy thing of
"Run, run, run,
And keep to the track.
But don't look forward
And never look back!"
I ask my feet
"How do you know
That the way you are taking
Is the best to go?"
But a foot can't answer.
Each in it's shoe
Goes running onward.
I go too.
She was sent to hospitals on as little as a whim. Suffering lobotomies, insulin shock treatments, rape and other abuses, she finally "gave up" with the following statement: "Psychiatry has systematically destroyed the only thing I have ever been able to hold onto in life....my faith in my artistic creativity"
- I went out into the woods today and it made me feel, you know, sort of religious.
- We’re not getting any younger.
- It sure is cold and lonely (a) without you, honey, or (b) with you, honey.
- Sadness seems but the other side of the coin of happiness, and vice versa, and in any case the coin is too soon spent and on what? we know not what.
don't say it can't be done
the battle's just begun
take it from doctor king
you, too, can learn to sing
so drop the gun!
Hey Jack Kerouac, I think of your mother
and the tears she cried,
she cried for none other
than her little boy lost
in our little world that hated
and that dared to drag him down.
Her little boy courageous
who chose his words
from mouths of
babes got lost in the wood.
Hip flask slinging madman,
steaming cafe flirts,
they all spoke through you.
Hey Jack, now for the tricky part,when you were the brightest star
who were the shadows?
Of the San Francisco beat boys
you were the favorite.
Now they sit and rattle their bones
and think of their blood stoned days.
The hip flask slinging madman, steaming cafe flirts,
nights in Chinatown howling at night.
Allen baby, why so jaded?Have the boys all grown up and their beauty faded?
Billy, what a saint they've made you,
just like Mary down in Mexico on All Souls' Day.
You chose your words from
mouths of
babes got lost in the wood.
Cool junk booting madmen,
street minded girls
in Harlem howling at night.
of the world,
you've gone away without
saying goodbye.
Fame Level: Somewhat
Raymond Carver re-invented the American short story and died in Port Angeles, Washington State in 1988. In 1977, Raymond had two months to live. He had married his first love and struggled with two children, writing stories poor. Then he became a little known, then a bit more, and he came to drink like few. In 1977, he stopped drinking. He never drank again.
Before his death, and after his decision, he wrote short stories said to have saved the American voice. His work is compared to Hemingway and Chekov.Gettin Paid
In 1983 Carver received the prestigious Mildred and Harold Strauss Living Award which gave him $35,000 per year tax free and required that he give up any employment other than writing.Sometimes Carver's work sold on a single, strong title:
- So Much Water So Close To Home
Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?
Soda Crackers
lean, loose hands
- "It's strange. You never start out life with the intention of becoming a bankrupt or an alcoholic or a cheat and a thief. Or a liar."
- And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
