Before I left DC for BK, I took one last nostalgic turn around the national mall. "Beat Memories" was at the national gallery, this collection of portraits by Allen Ginsberg and of all his beat friends, family and lovers.
Jack Kerouac wandering along East 7th Street after visiting Burroughs at our pad, passing statue of Congressman Samuel "Sunset" Cox, "The Letter-Carrier's Friend" in Tompkins Square toward corner of Avenue A, Lower East Side; he's making a Dostoyevsky mad-face or Russian basso be-bop Om, first walking around the neighborhood, then involved with The Subterraneans, pencils & notebook in wool shirt-pockets, Fall 1953, Manhattan.
There was a great quotation on the wall of Ginsberg's that I don't remember well anymore. Something about how wonderful it is to find these old things, captured moments, snap snap snap, cliche, etc.. It was beautiful and poignant and sad to see them as handsome as they were when they were younger, traipsing around new york and telling stories, then their bodies' rapid decline as they aged so unnaturally quickly. It was an amazing life he led, full of good company, the most exquisite backdrops, a lot of running around naked. It was a reminder to pay attention to the progress, and sometimes regression, the people around you are making. And to take more photographs.
This room has a desk, which means more writing, probably about being poor and all my misadventures looking for odd jobs while going to school 48 hours a week. Stay tuned!
No comments:
Post a Comment