jeffreytaos — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 11:06:10 +0000

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night, with dreams, and drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time in between Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in the submarine light of Bickford’s, floated out and sat through the stale beer afternooon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kaballa because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago… Allen Ginsberg

When you bow deeply to the universe, it bows back; when you call out the name of God, it echoes inside you.

jeffreytaos — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 10:44:40 +0000

Do not fail
To learn from
The pure voice of an
Ever-flowing mountain stream
Splashing over the rocks.

Foster and polish
The warior spirit
While serving in the world;
Illuminate the path
According to your inner light.

Move like a beam of light:
Fly like lightning,
Strike like thunder,
Whirl in circles around
A stable center.

Morihei Ueshiba

The Slow Buffalo Center for Peace

jeffreytaos — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 05:17:51 +0000

Located in Carson, New Mexico, a small off grid area outside of Taos, the Slow Buffalo Center for Peace was founded in the year 007 of the twenty-first century by a group of individuals who desire and believe in peace.

There can be no peace through fighting over ideology. Peace will come in our lifetimes. Upon a great mountain men (and women!) have sat in silent meditation dreaming of end to suffering. And now the dream can become real.

May the Great Spirit shine light upon your journey and may you always walk in peace.

May the Goddess of our ancestors worship bring joy to your heart.

May the blessing of your birth be a boon to all sentient beings.

May the wheel of Dharma always turn and the light of Buddha forever shine.

May Krishna be with you in this heavenly dance.

OM MANI PADMI OM.

SlowBuffaloCenterforPeace

Rainbow Family

When you bow deeply to the universe, it bows back; when you call out the name of God, it echoes inside you.

The Slow Buffalo Center for Peace