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Le luci in alto lampeggiavano deboli e irregolari. Fece per afferrare la maniglia della porta, magli rimase nella mano. La forma moribonda si contorse con un sussulto posandosi su un fianco. Sui finestrini rotti si rifletteva la luce delle stelle. Un breve guizzo di solidità percorse il telaio massiccio della vettura. I negozi e le automobili sui due lati della strada erano sporchi e in rovina. In tutti e tre i casi citati essa ha una causa specifica che in qualche modo ne limita la portata.

Qui il processo di sfaldamento comincia a installarsi nel cuore stesso della realtà, tanto che Dick è costretto a inventare nuovi termini per indicarlo. Nel primo romanzo Manfred vede, nel futuro, la distruzione dei corpi e della civiltà concentrata nei grandi palazzi Am-Web sulle montagne FDR, che gli si presentano vecchi e cadenti. Ecco una riflessione del potente Arnie Kott:.

A volte gli sembrava di essere a capo di un enorme deposito di rottami. In gubble confluiscono infatti, a livello fonetico, almeno tre diversi termini: Il kipple questo è il nuovo neologismo dickiano si presenta quindi per la prima volta nel romanzo a proposito del palazzo di Isidore:.

Un edificio che, come tutti quelli simili, cadeva, di giorno in giorno, in uno stato sempre maggiore di rovinosa entropia [into greater entropic ruin]. Ma gli androidi sognano pecore elettriche? Ed è sempre Isidore a dare la definizione di kipple a enunciarne le leggi:. Cresce, continua a crescere, non smette mai. Appostato, il vero Dio tende letteralmente degli agguati alla realtà e a noi stessi.

Dio, in verità, ci attacca e ci ferisce, nel suo ruolo di antidoto. Antonio Caronia e Domenico Gallo "La macchina della paranoia. Salvador Brquez, Dolores del Rios as Ramona In the velvet darkness Of the blackest night Burning bright There's a guiding star No matter what or who you are Brad and Janet. There's a light Chorus. Over at the Frankenstein place Brad and Janet. Burning in the fireplace Brad and Janet. There's a light, light In the darkness of everybody's life.

The darkness must go Down the river of night's dreaming Flow morphia slow Let the sun and light come streaming Into my life, into my life Brad and Janet. Burning in the fireplace There's a light, a light Brad and Janet. In the darkness of everybody's life. I fotografi volontari di S4C sono impegnati quotidianamente a raccontare le situazioni di crisi e disagio sociale ed ambientale dimenticate, sottovalutate o, peggio, ignorate.

S4C è a disposizione, inoltre, per ONG, Associazioni, Istituzioni, nazionali ed internazionali che intendano raccontare le proprie attività ed abbiano intenzione di affidarsi ad un network internazionale.

Data la natura no profit di S4C i rapporti con questi soggetti vengono di volta in volta concordati a partire da condizioni di rimborso spese per i fotografi coinvolti. Thoreau, "What's the Railroad to Me? What's the Railroad to Me? What's the railroad to me? I never go to see Where it ends. It fills a few hollows, And makes banks for the swallows, It sets the sand a-blowing, And the blackberries a-growing. The Thoreau Reader http: This was I think my first meeting schizophrenia or something much resembling it - Allen Ginsberg's mournful and luminous evocation of his mother's life, disease, death in a mental hospital- and his meditation on the sense of it all.

For Naomi Ginsberg, And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers--and my own imagination of a withered leaf--at dawn Dreaming back thru life, Your time--and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse,.

No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance,. It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder, Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shouldering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant--and the sky above--an old blue place.

Toward education marriage nervous breakdown, operation, teaching school, and learning to be mad, in a dream--what is this life? Toward the Key in the window--and the great Key lays its head of light on top of Manhattan, and over the floor, and lays down on the sidewalk--in a single vast beam, moving, as I walk down First toward the Yiddish Theater--and the place of poverty.

Myself, anyhow, maybe as old as the universe--and I guess that dies with us--enough to cancel all that comes--What came is gone forever every time That leaves it open for no regret--no fear radiators, lacklove, torture even toothache in the end Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul--and the lamb, the soul, in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change's fierce hunger--hair and teeth--and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin, braintricked Implacability.

We are in a fix! And you're out, Death let you out, Death had the Mercy, you're done with your century, done with God, done with the path thru it--Done with yourself at last--Pure--Back to the Babe dark before your Father, before us all--before the world No more suffering for you. I know where you've gone, it's good. No more flowers in the summer fields of New York, no joy now, no more fear of Louis,. No more of sister Elanor,--she gone before you--we kept it secret--you killed her--or she killed herself to bear with you--an arthritic heart--But Death's killed you both--No matter Nor your memory of your mother, tears in silent movies weeks and weeks--forgetting, agrieve watching Marie Dressler address humanity, Chaplin dance in youth,.

You made it--I came too--Eugene my brother before still grieving now and will gream on to his last stiff hand, as he goes thru his cancer--or kill--later perhaps--soon he will think And it's the last moment I remember, which I see them all, thru myself, now--tho not you.

I didn't foresee what you felt--what more hideous gape of bad mouth came first--to you--and were you prepared? In that Dark--that--in that God? A Lord in the Void? Like an eye in the black cloud in a dream? Adonoi at last, with you?

Not merely the yellow skull in the grave, or a box of worm dust, and a stained ribbon--Deathshead with Halo? Is it only the sun that shines once for the mind, only the flash of existence, that none ever was? Nothing beyond what we have--what you had--that so pitiful--yet Triumph,. No flower like that flower, which knew itself in the garden, and fought the knife--lost. Cut down by an idiot Snowman's icy--even in the Spring--strange ghost thought--some Death--Sharp icicle in his hand--crowned with old roses--a dog for his eyes--cock of a sweatshop--heart of electric irons.

All the accumulations of life, that wear us out--clocks, bodies, consciousness, shoes, brests--begotten sons--your Commmunism--'Paranoia' into hospitals. You once kicked Elanor in the leg, she died of heart failure later. Max grieves alive in an office on Lower Broadway, lone large mustache over midnight Accountings, not sure. His life passes--as he sees--and what does he doubt now?

Still dream of making money, or that might have made money, hired nurse, had children, found even your Immortality, Naomi? I'll see him soon. Now I've got to cut through--to talk to you--as I didn't when you had a mouth. And we're bound for that, Forever--like Emily Dickinson's horses--headed to the End. They know the way--These Steeds--run faster than we think--it's our own life they cross--and take with them.

Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed--Ass and face done with murder.

In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under pine, almed in Earth, balmed in Lone, Jehovah, accept. Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless, Father in death. Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some of my Time, now given to Nothing--to praise Thee--But Death. This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping--page beyond Psalm--Last change of mine and Naomi--to God's perfect Darkness--Death, stay thy phantoms!

Over and over--refrain--of the Hospitals--still haven't written your history--leave it abstract--a few images. By long nites as a child in Paterson apartment, watching over your nervousness--you were fat--your next move By that afternoon I stayed home from school to take care of you--once and for all--when I vowed forever that once man disagreed with my opinion of the cosmos, I was lost By my later burden--vow to illuminate mankind--this is release of particulars-- mad as you -- sanity a trick of agreement But you stared out the window on the Broadway Church corner, and spied a mystical assassin from Newark,.

So phoned the Doctor--'OK go way for a rest'--so I put on my coat and walked you downstreet--On the way a grammarschool boy screamed, unaccountably--'Where you goin Lady to Death'? And was the driver of the cheesebox Public Service bus a member of the gang? Ride 3 hours thru tunnels past all American industry, Bayonne preparing for World War II, tanks, gas fields, soda factories, diners, locomotive roundhouse fortress--into piney woods New Jersey Indians--calm towns--long roads thru sandy tree fields Bridges by deerless creeks, old wampum loading the streambed--down there a tomahawk or Pocahontas bone--and a million old ladies voting for Roosevelt in brown small houses, roads off the Madness highway All the time arguing--afraid of strangers in the forward double seat, snoring regardless--what busride they snore on now?

Last week I saw her, dressed in pants like an old man, with a sack on her back, climbing up the brick side of the apartment. Whatzis rest home--she hid behind a closet--demanded a blood transfusion. We were kicked out--tramping with Valise to unknown shady lawn houses--dusk, pine trees after dark--long dead street filled with crickets and poison ivy Neat room in attic with friendly bedcover--lace curtains--spinning wheel rug--Stained wallpaper old as Naomi.

I left on the next bus to New York--laid my head back in the last seat, depressed--the worst yet to come? Would she hide in her room and come out cheerful for breakfast? Or lock her door and stare thru the window for sidestreet spies? Listen at keyholes for Hitlerian invisible gas?

Dream in a chair--or mock me, by--in front of a mirror, alone? Or back at Normal School in Newark, studying up on America in a black skirt--winter on the street without lunch--a penny a pickle--home at night to take care of Elanor in the bedroom First nervous breakdown was she stayed home from school and lay in a dark room for three weeks--something bad--never said what--every noise hurt--dreams of the creaks of Wall Street Before the gray Depression--went upstate New York--recovered--Lou took photo of her sitting crossleg on the grass--her long hair wound with flowers--smiling--playing lullabies on mandolin--poison ivy smoke in left-wing summer camps and me in infancy saw trees I got home late that nite.

How could I be so--didn't I think? I shouldn't have left her. Phone the home in the pines. Went to bed exhausted, wanting to leave the world probably that year newly in love with R my high school mind hero, jewish boy who came a doctor later--then silent neat kid I later laying down life for him, moved to Manhattan--followed him to college--Prayed on ferry to help mankind if admitted--vowed, the day I journeyed to Entrance Exam I wanted to be President, or Senator.

Later a mortal avalanche, whole mountains of homosexuality, Matterhorns of cock, Grand Canyons of asshole--weight on my melancholy head The telephone rang at 2 A. Terror, that woke the neighbors--old ladies on the second floor recovering from menopause--all those rags between thighs, clean sheets, sorry over lost babies--husbands ashen--children sneering at Yale, or putting oil in hair at CCNY--or trembling in Montclair State Teachers College like Eugene Her big leg crouched to her breast, hand outstretched Keep Away, wool dress on her thighs, fur coat dragged under the bed--she barricaded herself under bedspring with suitcases.

Louis in pajamas listening to phone, frightened--do now? He took the morning train to Lakewood, Naomi still under bed--thought he brought poison Cops--Naomi screaming--Louis what happened to your heart then?

Have you been killed by Naomi's ecstasy? Dragged her out, around the corner, a cab, forced her in with valise, but the driver left them off at drugstore.

Bus stop, two hours' wait. I lay in bed nervous in the 4-room apartment, the big bed in living room, next to Louis' desk--shaking--he came home that nite, late, told me what happened. Naomi at the prescription counter defending herself from the enemy--racks of children's books, douche bags, aspirins, pots, blood--'Don't come near me--murderers!

Promise not to kill me! Louis in horror at the soda fountain--with Lakewood girlscouts--Coke addicts--nurses--busmen hung on schedule--Police from country precinct, dumbed--and a priest dreaming of pigs on an ancient cliff?

Smelling the air--Louis pointing to emptiness? Bus arrives, the drivers won't have them on trip to New York. Naomi, Naomi--sweating, bulge-eyed, fat, the dress unbuttoned at one side--hair over brow, her stocking hanging evilly on her legs--screaming for a blood transfusion--one righteous hand upraised--a shoe in it--barefoot in the Pharmacy The enemies approach--what poisons?

Zhdanov hiding behind the counter? Trotsky mixing rat bacteria in the back of the store? Uncle Sam in Newark, plotting deathly perfumes in the Negro district? Uncle Ephraim, drunk with murder in the politician's bar, scheming of Hague? Aunt Rose passing water thru the needles of the Spanish Civil War? And back to Greystone where she lay three years--that was the last breakthrough, delivered her to Madhouse again On what wards--I walked there later, oft--old catatonic ladies, gray as cloud or ash or walls--sit crooning over floorspace--Chairs--and the wrinkled hags acreep, accusing--begging my year-old mercy And Eugene, my brother, her elder son, away studying Law in a furnished room in Newark He worked 8 hrs.

Unlaid, poor virgin--writing poems about Ideals and politics letters to the editor Pat Eve News-- we both wrote, denouncing Senator Borah and Isolationists--and felt mysterious toward Paterson City Hall Silent polished desks in the great committee room--Aldermen? Then have some chicken soup, Eugene. The Man of Evangel wails in front of City Hall.

And this year Lou has poetic loves of suburb middle age--in secret--music from his book--Sincere--he longs for beauty No love since Naomi screamed--since ? And Metrazol had made her fat. She never remembered it all. Examined the doilies--and the dining room set was sold She went to the backroom to lie down in bed and ruminate, or nap, hide--I went in with her, not leave her by herself--lay in bed next to her--shades pulled, dusky, late afternoon--Louis in front room at desk, waiting--perhaps boiling chicken for supper Poor love, lost--a fear--I lay there--Said, 'I love you Naomi,'--stiff, next to her arm.

I would have cried, was this the comfortless lone union? Was she ever satisfied? And--by herself sat on the new couch by the front windows, uneasy--cheek leaning on her hand--narrowing eye--at what fate that day May have heard radio gossip thru the wires in her head, controlled by 3 big sticks left in her back by gangsters in amnesia, thru the hospital--caused pain between her shoulders Into her head--Roosevelt should know her case, she told me--Afraid to kill her, now, that the government knew their names--traced back to Hitler--wanted to leave Louis' house forever.

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Video porno fr escort girl aulnay Phone the home in the pines. Blessed be you Naomi in tears! Blessed Blessed Blessed be He! The relatives call me up, she's getting worse--I was the only one left--Went on the subway with Eugene to see her, ate stale fish Ora, dicono con rabbia i residenti, il villaggio sarà ricordato come la località che ha tradito Mladic, "una persona onesta e corretta, un vero soldato, abile e professionale".
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Max grieves alive in an office on Lower Broadway, lone large mustache over midnight Accountings, not sure. His life passes--as he sees--and what does he doubt now? Still dream of making money, or that might have made money, hired nurse, had children, found even your Immortality, Naomi?

I'll see him soon. Now I've got to cut through--to talk to you--as I didn't when you had a mouth. And we're bound for that, Forever--like Emily Dickinson's horses--headed to the End. They know the way--These Steeds--run faster than we think--it's our own life they cross--and take with them. Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed--Ass and face done with murder.

In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under pine, almed in Earth, balmed in Lone, Jehovah, accept. Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless, Father in death.

Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some of my Time, now given to Nothing--to praise Thee--But Death. This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping--page beyond Psalm--Last change of mine and Naomi--to God's perfect Darkness--Death, stay thy phantoms!

Over and over--refrain--of the Hospitals--still haven't written your history--leave it abstract--a few images. By long nites as a child in Paterson apartment, watching over your nervousness--you were fat--your next move By that afternoon I stayed home from school to take care of you--once and for all--when I vowed forever that once man disagreed with my opinion of the cosmos, I was lost By my later burden--vow to illuminate mankind--this is release of particulars-- mad as you -- sanity a trick of agreement But you stared out the window on the Broadway Church corner, and spied a mystical assassin from Newark,.

So phoned the Doctor--'OK go way for a rest'--so I put on my coat and walked you downstreet--On the way a grammarschool boy screamed, unaccountably--'Where you goin Lady to Death'? And was the driver of the cheesebox Public Service bus a member of the gang? Ride 3 hours thru tunnels past all American industry, Bayonne preparing for World War II, tanks, gas fields, soda factories, diners, locomotive roundhouse fortress--into piney woods New Jersey Indians--calm towns--long roads thru sandy tree fields Bridges by deerless creeks, old wampum loading the streambed--down there a tomahawk or Pocahontas bone--and a million old ladies voting for Roosevelt in brown small houses, roads off the Madness highway All the time arguing--afraid of strangers in the forward double seat, snoring regardless--what busride they snore on now?

Last week I saw her, dressed in pants like an old man, with a sack on her back, climbing up the brick side of the apartment. Whatzis rest home--she hid behind a closet--demanded a blood transfusion. We were kicked out--tramping with Valise to unknown shady lawn houses--dusk, pine trees after dark--long dead street filled with crickets and poison ivy Neat room in attic with friendly bedcover--lace curtains--spinning wheel rug--Stained wallpaper old as Naomi.

I left on the next bus to New York--laid my head back in the last seat, depressed--the worst yet to come? Would she hide in her room and come out cheerful for breakfast?

Or lock her door and stare thru the window for sidestreet spies? Listen at keyholes for Hitlerian invisible gas?

Dream in a chair--or mock me, by--in front of a mirror, alone? Or back at Normal School in Newark, studying up on America in a black skirt--winter on the street without lunch--a penny a pickle--home at night to take care of Elanor in the bedroom First nervous breakdown was she stayed home from school and lay in a dark room for three weeks--something bad--never said what--every noise hurt--dreams of the creaks of Wall Street Before the gray Depression--went upstate New York--recovered--Lou took photo of her sitting crossleg on the grass--her long hair wound with flowers--smiling--playing lullabies on mandolin--poison ivy smoke in left-wing summer camps and me in infancy saw trees I got home late that nite.

How could I be so--didn't I think? I shouldn't have left her. Phone the home in the pines. Went to bed exhausted, wanting to leave the world probably that year newly in love with R my high school mind hero, jewish boy who came a doctor later--then silent neat kid I later laying down life for him, moved to Manhattan--followed him to college--Prayed on ferry to help mankind if admitted--vowed, the day I journeyed to Entrance Exam I wanted to be President, or Senator.

Later a mortal avalanche, whole mountains of homosexuality, Matterhorns of cock, Grand Canyons of asshole--weight on my melancholy head The telephone rang at 2 A.

Terror, that woke the neighbors--old ladies on the second floor recovering from menopause--all those rags between thighs, clean sheets, sorry over lost babies--husbands ashen--children sneering at Yale, or putting oil in hair at CCNY--or trembling in Montclair State Teachers College like Eugene Her big leg crouched to her breast, hand outstretched Keep Away, wool dress on her thighs, fur coat dragged under the bed--she barricaded herself under bedspring with suitcases.

Louis in pajamas listening to phone, frightened--do now? He took the morning train to Lakewood, Naomi still under bed--thought he brought poison Cops--Naomi screaming--Louis what happened to your heart then? Have you been killed by Naomi's ecstasy?

Dragged her out, around the corner, a cab, forced her in with valise, but the driver left them off at drugstore. Bus stop, two hours' wait. I lay in bed nervous in the 4-room apartment, the big bed in living room, next to Louis' desk--shaking--he came home that nite, late, told me what happened.

Naomi at the prescription counter defending herself from the enemy--racks of children's books, douche bags, aspirins, pots, blood--'Don't come near me--murderers! Promise not to kill me! Louis in horror at the soda fountain--with Lakewood girlscouts--Coke addicts--nurses--busmen hung on schedule--Police from country precinct, dumbed--and a priest dreaming of pigs on an ancient cliff?

Smelling the air--Louis pointing to emptiness? Bus arrives, the drivers won't have them on trip to New York. Naomi, Naomi--sweating, bulge-eyed, fat, the dress unbuttoned at one side--hair over brow, her stocking hanging evilly on her legs--screaming for a blood transfusion--one righteous hand upraised--a shoe in it--barefoot in the Pharmacy The enemies approach--what poisons?

Zhdanov hiding behind the counter? Trotsky mixing rat bacteria in the back of the store? Uncle Sam in Newark, plotting deathly perfumes in the Negro district? Uncle Ephraim, drunk with murder in the politician's bar, scheming of Hague? Aunt Rose passing water thru the needles of the Spanish Civil War? And back to Greystone where she lay three years--that was the last breakthrough, delivered her to Madhouse again On what wards--I walked there later, oft--old catatonic ladies, gray as cloud or ash or walls--sit crooning over floorspace--Chairs--and the wrinkled hags acreep, accusing--begging my year-old mercy And Eugene, my brother, her elder son, away studying Law in a furnished room in Newark He worked 8 hrs.

Unlaid, poor virgin--writing poems about Ideals and politics letters to the editor Pat Eve News-- we both wrote, denouncing Senator Borah and Isolationists--and felt mysterious toward Paterson City Hall Silent polished desks in the great committee room--Aldermen?

Then have some chicken soup, Eugene. The Man of Evangel wails in front of City Hall. And this year Lou has poetic loves of suburb middle age--in secret--music from his book--Sincere--he longs for beauty No love since Naomi screamed--since ? And Metrazol had made her fat. She never remembered it all. Examined the doilies--and the dining room set was sold She went to the backroom to lie down in bed and ruminate, or nap, hide--I went in with her, not leave her by herself--lay in bed next to her--shades pulled, dusky, late afternoon--Louis in front room at desk, waiting--perhaps boiling chicken for supper Poor love, lost--a fear--I lay there--Said, 'I love you Naomi,'--stiff, next to her arm.

I would have cried, was this the comfortless lone union? Was she ever satisfied? And--by herself sat on the new couch by the front windows, uneasy--cheek leaning on her hand--narrowing eye--at what fate that day May have heard radio gossip thru the wires in her head, controlled by 3 big sticks left in her back by gangsters in amnesia, thru the hospital--caused pain between her shoulders Into her head--Roosevelt should know her case, she told me--Afraid to kill her, now, that the government knew their names--traced back to Hitler--wanted to leave Louis' house forever.

One night, sudden attack--her noise in the bathroom--like croaking up her soul--convulsions and red vomit coming out of her mouth--diarrhea water exploding from her behind--on all fours in front of the toilet--urine running between her legs--left retching on the tile floor smeared with her black feces--unfainted At forty, varicosed, nude, fat, doomed, hiding outside the apartment door near the elevator calling Police, yelling for her girlfriend Rose to help Once locked herself in with razor or iodine--could hear her cough in tears at sink--Lou broke through glass green--painted door, we pulled her out to the bedroom.

Then quiet for months that winter--walks, alone, nearby on Broadway, read Daily Worker--Broke her arm, fell on icy street. Began to scheme escape from cosmic financial murder plots--later she ran away to the Bronx to her sister Elanor. And there's another saga of late Naomi in New York. Or thru Elanor or the Workmen's Circle, where she worked, addressing envelopes, she made out--went shopping for Campbell's tomato soup--saved money Louis mailed her Later she found a boyfriend, and he was a doctor-Dr.

Isaac worked for National Maritime Union--now Italian bald and pudgy old doll--who was himself an orphan--but they kicked him out--Old cruelties Sloppier, sat around on bed or chair, in corset dreaming to herself--I'm hot--I'm getting fat--I used to have such a beautiful figure before I went to the hospital--You should have seen me in Woodbine--' This in a furnished room around the NMU hall, Looking at naked baby pictures in the magazine--baby powder advertisements, strained lamb carrots--'I will think nothing but beautiful thoughts.

Revolving her head round and round on her neck at window light in summertime, in hypnotize, in doven-dream recall Or a No-shake of her body, disgust--some thought of Buchenwald--some insulin passes thru her head--a grimace nerve shudder at Involuntary as shudder when I piss --bad chemical in her cortex--'No don't think of that.

She reads the Bible, thinks beautiful thoughts all day. Well, in the afternoon I climbed up a ladder--he has a cheap cabin in the country, like Monroe, N. He was a lonely old man with a white beard. Why don't you put a stop to it? He's a bachelor so long, and he likes lentil soup. Her smells--and oft naked in the room, so that I stare ahead, or turn a book ignoring her. One time I thought she was trying to make me come lay her--flirting to herself at sink--lay back on huge bed that filled most of the room, dress up round her hips, big slash of hair, scars of operations, pancreas, belly wounds, abortions, appendix, stitching of incisions pulling down in the fat like hideous thick zippers--ragged long lips between her legs--What, even, smell of asshole?

I was cold--later revolted a little, not much--seemed perhaps a good idea to try--know the Monster of the Beginning Womb--Perhaps--that way. She needs a lover. Yisborach, v'yistabach, v'yispoar, v'yisroman, v'yisnaseh, v'yishador, v'yishalleh, v'yishallol, sh'meh d'kudsho, b'rich hu.

Once I came home, after longtime in N. That we'd left him--Gene gone strangely into army--she out on her own in N. So Louis walked downtown to postoffice to get mail, taught in highschool--stayed at poetry desk, forlorn--ate grief at Bickford's all these years--are gone.

Eugene got out of the Army, came home changed and lone--cut off his nose in jewish operation--for years stopped girls on Broadway for cups of coffee to get laid--Went to NYU, serious there, to finish Law. And Gene lived with her, ate naked fishcakes, cheap, while she got crazier--He got thin, or felt helpless, Naomi striking poses at the moon, half-naked in the next bed. But then went half mad--Hitler in her room, she saw his mustache in the sink--afraid of Dr.

Isaac now, suspecting that he was in on the Newark plot--went up to Bronx to live near Elanor's Rheumatic Heart And Uncle Max never got up before noon, tho Naomi at 6 A. Max's sister Edie works years bookkeeper at Gimbels--lived downstairs in apartment house, divorced--so Edie took in Naomi on Rochambeau Ave Woodlawn Cemetery across the street, vast dale of graves where Poe once--Last stop on Bronx subway--lots of communists in that area.

Humans sitting on the grass in some Camp No-Worry summers yore--saints with droopy faces and long-ill-fitting pants, from hospital Brides in front of Lower East Side with short grooms--lost El trains running over the Babylonian apartment rooftops in the Bronx Sad paintings--but she expressed herself.

Her mandolin gone, all strings broke in her head, she tried. But started kicking Elanor, and Elanor had heart trouble--came upstairs and asked her about Spydom for hours,--Elanor frazzled. Max away at office, accounting for cigar stores till at night. Edie worked all day and couldn't take it--She was organizing the union.

The relatives call me up, she's getting worse--I was the only one left--Went on the subway with Eugene to see her, ate stale fish I banging against her head which saw Radios, Sticks, Hitlers--the gamut of Hallucinations--for real--her own universe--no road that goes elsewhere--to my own--No America, not even a world I've seen your grave!

Your last night in the darkness of the Bronx--I phonecalled--thru hospital to secret police. Nor will forget, the doorknock, at your fright of spies,--Law advancing, on my honor--Eternity entering the room--you running to the bathroom undressed, hiding in protest from the last heroic fate Protests from the bathroom--Said you were sane--dressing in a cotton robe, your shoes, then new, your purse and newspaper clippings--no--your honesty The ride then--held Naomi's hand, and held her head to my breast, I'm taller--kissed her and said I did it for the best--Elanor sick--and Max with heart condition--Needs To me--'Why did you do this?

I saw her led away--she waved, tears in her eyes. Two years, after a trip to Mexico--bleak in the flat plain near Brentwood, scrub brush and grass around the unused RR train track to the crazyhouse Asylum spreads out giant wings above the path to a minute black hole--the door--entrance thru crotch I went in--smelt funny--the halls again--up elevator--to a glass door on a Women's Ward--to Naomi--Two nurses buxom white--They led her out, Naomi stared--and I gaspt--She'd had a stroke Too thin, shrunk on her bones--age come to Naomi--now broken into white hair--loose dress on her skeleton--face sunk, old!

O Russian faced, woman on the grass, your long black hair is crowned with flowers, the mandolin is on your knees Communist beauty, sit here married in the summer among daisies, promised happiness at hand Tortured and beaten in the skull--What mad hallucinations of the damned that drive me out of my own skull to seek Eternity till I find Peace for Thee, O Poetry--and for all humankind call on the Origin. Death which is the mother of the universe!

O beautiful Garbo of my Karma--all photographs from in Camp Nicht-Gedeiget here unchanged--with all the teachers from Newark--Nor Elanor be gone, nor Max await his specter--nor Louis retire from this High School Gaunt immortality and revolution come--small broken woman--the ashen indoor eyes of hospitals, ward grayness on skin Did Louis send you?

Two years since I'd been there--I started to cry--She stared--nurse broke up the meeting a moment--I went into the bathroom to hide, against the toilet white walls. I came back she yelled more--they led her away--'You're not Allen--' I watched her face--but she passed by me, not looking Opened the door to the ward,--she went thru without a glance back, quiet suddenly--I stared out--she looked old--the verge of the grave--'All the Horror! Another year, I left N. Returning from San Francisco one night, Orlovsky in my room--Whalen in his peaceful chair--a telegram from Gene, Naomi dead Outside I bent my head to the ground under the bushes near the garage--knew she was better She wrote--'The key is in the window, the key is in the sunlight at the window--I have the key--Get married Allen don't take drugs--the key is in the bars, in the sunlight in the window.

In the world which He has created according to his will Blessed Praised. In the house in Newark Blessed is He! In the madhouse Blessed is He! L'hotel fa parte della catena hotelF1.

La metro Villepinte è a 7 minuti. Nuovo look, nuove camere per due o tre persone per i vostri viaggi di lavoro o di piacere. Apprezzato dagli ospiti in viagg. L'albergo offre numerosi servizi tra cui Ristorante, Servizio in camera, Bar, Reception 24 ore su 24, Quotidiani, Camere. L'hotel dispone di 85 camere climatizzate e si trova a 20 km da Parigi, a meno di cinque minuti.

Situato nella parte nord-est della. Le cancellazioni o le modifiche comportano l'addebito del costo della prima notte. Le mancate presentazioni comportano l'addebito del costo della prima notte. Questo confortevole albergo offre splendid.

We are in a fix! Promise not to kill me! Nor will forget, the doorknock, at your fright of spies,--Law advancing, on my honor--Eternity entering the room--you running to the bathroom undressed, hiding in protest from the last heroic fate I was cold--later revolted a little, not much--seemed perhaps a good idea to try--know the Monster of the Beginning Womb--Perhaps--that way. There's a light Chorus. All the time arguing--afraid of strangers in the forward double seat, snoring regardless--what busride they snore on now?

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