Homepage . Artwork . Design Services . Sailing . Sitemap ..

While studying the Beat Generation of the 1950's, my teacher gave an extra credit assignment of writing a poem mimmicking Ginsberg's HOWL. Everything in this poem references something that happened to me or that I observed while at LS.

 HOWL for Lincoln-Sudbury

As these words came methodically streaming from my mouth I saw my generation falling in between the many lines of the never-ending list, negligence's torpedo initiated our drift to the bottom of a sea of invisible suburbs,
who see a freshman walking, staring at the floor, mumbling everyday I come to school I wish I had a gun, everyday I come to school I wish I had a gun;
Columbine! Death!
who were then profiled by the giant force of authoritative discipline in guise of good and political strength suppressing those trying to reform their suppressors who should desire to inflict pain upon you befriend them, having no restraint, will, even with their intangible proof do so, their officialism, attitudes, and decisions are rude to all, without even showing it, except for one, known only to intercepted communications,
who jam outcroppings of four corners piercing those who are the flow as they proceed to go slipping by the caf's pillars of selfishness, wax hard floors waiting to consume as they satisfy their minds, starving for interaction, sprinting down the hall on the tips of their polystyrene injected footwear which enclose monsters yearning to be free, trying to escape the Auschwitz of the mind that is instilled by the many institutions that jail the mere fringe of creativity through neglect, snapping their hats at the last possible closure in a meager effort to conform,
who despise stretching of soul that is being so desperately pried open for the good of all, will be purged of their non-compliance by those who know the invincible machinery of progress,
constantly in hypo critic painful motion, driven by the supposedly wretched emotions of the lungs who are forced into maturity by the compound of intelligence, finally receding, forever temporarily residing at the mouth of luscious steel,
who, overjoyed because a table is thrown are silenced by the giant calmness of the doctor, meagerly attempting to crumble obnoxious genius finally brings realization by sacrificing itself to imperialist ways, triumphing in the end,
who send petty change to help that don't have, when your own who don't have seep through the cracks of your life like the sand on the bottom of your sole that destroys livelihood,
who neglect the growing worlds of blades creeping up the dying ramp, speckled tar dimming emotions of happiness, spinning finally toward the never ending end,
who don't know a newspaper from a third world shyster, try slipping through the grate while deals goes down, few multiplied grains go completely unrecognized by their initiator, outdoor cookery and canoe building crushed by the hydraulics of MTV,
who are Californians, cruising in conic projections of yellow while in search of altered corn, residing under sprinkles, resuming into slow motion, wigs and the beeps continuing until Sudbury is returned to the pavement beneath us and find ourselves searching sleazy restaurants only to find that teenagers are wrong,
who have a propeller of ever varying diameter continually driving the cramped minds of the baby ants, the corporation of society crushes our heads in its never ending vice driven by our own creators, done for our own good,
O John, I jump through hoops for you;
O Jean, I jump through hoops for you;
O Jen, I jump through hoops for you;
drawing to a close, never ending until the absolute end of the handshake.

Here is a link to Ginsberg's Version(the original):

Allen Ginsberg's Howl

I have also written a parody of Ginsberg's America