Allen Ginsberg - Wichita Vortex Sutra #3 lyrics

I'm an old man now, and a lonesome man in Kansas but not afraid to speak my lonesomeness in a car, because not only my lonesomeness it's Ours, all over America, O tender fellows— & spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy in the moon 100 years ago or in the middle of Kansas now. It's not the vast plains mute our mouths that fill at midnite with ecstatic language when our trembling bodies hold each other breast to breast on a mattress— Not the empty sky that hides the feeling from our faces nor our skirts and trousers that conceal the bodylove emanating in a glow of beloved skin, white smooth abdomen down to the hair between our legs, It's not a God that bore us that forbid our Being, like a sunny rose all red with naked joy between our eyes & bellies, yes All we do is for this frightened thing we call Love, want and lack— fear that we aren't the one whose body could be beloved of all the brides of Kansas City, kissed all over by every boy of Wichita— O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me— On the bridge over Republican River almost in tears to know how to speak the right language— on the frosty broad road uphill between highway embankments I search for the language that is also yours— almost all our language has been taxed by war. Radio antennae high tension wires ranging from Junction City across the plains— highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow lanes curving past Abilene to Denver filled with old heroes of love— to Wichita where McClure's mind burst into animal beauty drunk, getting laid in a car in a neon misted street 15 years ago— to Independence where the old man's still alive who loosed the bomb that's slaved all human consciousness and made the body universe a place of fear— Now, speeding along the empty plain, no giant demon machine visible on the horizon but tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky's edge I claim my birthright! reborn forever as long as Man in Kansas or other universe—Joy reborn after the vast sadness of the War Gods! A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear imagining that throng of Selves that make this nation one body of Prophecy languaged by Declaration as Pursuit of Happiness! I call all Powers of imagination to my side in this auto to make Prophecy, all Lords of human kingdoms to come Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with the dogs Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands give up your desire Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquility Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the void Shivananda who touches the breast and says OM Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru William Blake the invisible father of English visions Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes half closed who only cries for his mother Chitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise merciful Chango judging our bodies Durga-Ma covered with blood destroyer of battlefield illusions million faced Tathagata gone past suffering Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of pain Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable Allah the compa**ionate one Jaweh Righteous One all Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis & holymen I chant to— Come to my lone presence into this Vortex named Kansas, I lift my voice aloud, make Mantra of American language now, I here declare the end of the War! Ancient days' Illusion!— and pronounce words beginning my own millennium. Let the States tremble, let the nation weep, let Congress legislate its own delight, let the President execute his own desire— this Act done by my own voice, nameless Mystery— published to my own senses, blissfully received by my own form approved with pleasure by my sensations manifestation of my very thought accomplished in my own imagination all realms within my consciousness fulfilled 60 miles from Wichita near El Dorado, The Golden One, in chill earthly mist houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward in every direction one midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord— Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower where Florence is set on a hill, stop for tea & gas Cars pa**ing their messages along country crossroads to populaces cement-networked on flatness, giant white mist on earth and a Wichita Eagle-Beacon headlines “Kennedy Urges Cong Get Chair in Negotiations” The War is gone, Language emerging on the motel news stand, the right magic Formula, the language known in the back of the mind before, now in black print daily consciousness Eagle News Services Saigon— Headline Surrounded Vietcong Charge Into Fire Fight the suffering not yet ended for others The last spasms of the dragon of pain shoot thru the muscles a crackling around the eyeballs of a sensitive yellow boy by a muddy wall Continued from page one area after the Marines k**ed 256 Vietcong captured 31 ten day operation Harvest Moon last December Language language U.S. Military Spokesmen Language language Cong d**h toll has soared to 100 in First Air Cavalry Division's Sector of Language language Operation White Wing near Bong Son Some of the Language language Communist Language language soldiers charged so desperately they were struck with six or seven bullets before they fell Language Language M-60 Machine Guns Language language in La Drang Valley the terrain is rougher infested with leeches and scorpions The war was over several hours ago! Oh at last again the radio opens blue Invitations! Angelic Dylan singing across the nation “When all your children start to resent you Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?” His youthful voice making glad the brown endless meadows His tenderness penetrating aether, soft prayer on the airwaves, Language language, and sweet music too even unto thee, hairy flatness! even unto thee despairing Burns! Future speeding on swift wheels straight to the heart of Wichita! Now radio voices cry population hunger world if unhappy people waiting for Man to be born O man in America! you certainly smell good the radio says pa**ing mysterious families of winking towers grouped round a Quonset-hut on a hillock— feed storage or military fear factory here? Sensitive City, Ooh! Hamburger & Skelley's Gas lights feed man and machine, Kansas Electric Substation aluminum robot signals thru thin antennae towers above the empty football field at Sunday dusk to a solitary derrick that pumps oil from the unconscious working night & day & factory gas-flares edge a huge golf course where tired businessmen can come and play— Cloverleaf, Merging Traffic East Wichita turnoff McConnell Airforce Base nourishing the City— Lights rising in the suburbs Supermarket Texaco brilliance starred over streetlamp vertebrae on Kellogg, green j**eled traffic lights confronting the windshield, Centertown ganglion entered! Crowds of autos moving with their lightshine, signbulbs winking in the driver's eyeball— The human nest collected, neon lit, and sunburst signed for business as usual, except on the Lord's Day— Redeemer Lutheran's three crosses lit on the lawn reminder of our sins and Titsworth offers insurance on Hydraulic by De Voors Guard's Mortuary for outmoded bodies of the human vehicle which no Titsworth of insurance will customize for resale— So home, traveler, past the newspaper language factory under Union Station railroad bridge on Douglas to the center of the Vortex, calmly returned to Hotel Eaton Carry Nation began the war on Vietnam here with an angry smashing ax attacking Wine— Here fifty years ago, by her violence began a vortex of hatred that defoliated the Mekong Delta— Proud Wichita! vain Wichita cast the first stone!— That murdered my mother who died of the communist anticommunist psychosis in the madhouse one decade long ago complaining about wires of ma**communication in her head and phantom political voices in the air besmirching her girlish character. Many another has suffered d**h and madness in the Vortex from Hydraulic to the end of 17th –enough! The war is over now— Except for the souls held prisoner in n******gtown still pining for love of your tender white bodies O children of Wichita!