Beatdom issue three From the Warped Minds of David S Wills and Kirsty Bisset

Beatdom Issue Three|March 2008 Created by Kirsty Bisset and David S Wills

Cover Photo (c)David S Wills Regulars

Letters from the Editor Notes of Contributors Poetry Eduardo Jones

Features Who’s Who: A Guide to Kerouac’s Characters

Articles

An overview of the Beat Generation Beatnik Dictionary On the Map The Lost Novel: And the Hippos were Boiled in their Tanks Modern Beat: Tom Waits

The Modern World

Welcome to the Plastic World The American Epidemic

Fiction & True Stories

Tempest Tavern Temptress ADVERTISEMENT Letter from the Editor

Dear Patient Readers, I hit Asia like Ginsberg and Snyder. Maybe one day I’ll get to Latin America like Burroughs… It’s been a long year of constant change since Constantly the fan mail and submissions kept rolling Beatdom last made a foray into the public domain. in, and I realised that I had a duty to the fanbase I Since then I’ve been doing my best to keep the had established with the first two magnificent magazine in the minds and hearts of its fans, but that instalments. The people wanted more, and I had to hasn’t been easy without something for them to give it to them. Out went the drinking, and back read… came the editing. It was February 2008 when Issue Two hit the I started various blogs about life in Asia, uploaded proverbial newsstands, and now we’re in a whole old articles and essays from the first two issues to new year. In that time much has happened. the website, and created a Beat Generation social Firstly there was Beatdom’s first ever public display, network, all to pique the interest of the people. We’d as we were asked to appear at Scotland’s nation lost too many staff members over the year of absence poetry festival, StAnza. In typical form, your humble to rely upon the same contributors. Impatience set editor forgot about the event until the night before, in. The distance became a factor. My old artists and when he was playing a gig with a local band, and illustrators went on to new jobs in Scotland. Eduardo together, he and the band spent the post-gig night Jones, our bat-shit crazy regular, was killed. Rodney both partying and making posters. We were late to Munch went missing somewhere in the Sea of the festival, but still put on a display, selling out our Japan… stock and drawing much interest for the magazine But now we’re back with an issue that takes the and its website. Beat out of the fifties and brings it right back into the Ah, the website. www.beatdom.com has kept the ugly new millennium, where it’s needed the most. magazine alive in the absence of any creative When the world changes too fast, and the hands of endeavour on the part of the staff. Through our high the diabolic wander beyond their stations, the spirit Google rankings, Beatdom has maintained a strong of the restless few must rise and seize the day. internet presence that has ensured a steady flow of fan mail and submissions. I can honestly say that David S. Wills without these, Beatdom would have faded into history. But the reason for this lack of productivity and Beatdom Magazine creativity was the increase of activity in my own life. www.beatdom.com In Scotland I was unemployed and partially employed, and constantly had time to write. But with Cover: Photo courtesy of David S Wills no money and no job prospects, I was forced to emigrate to South Korea. I took a job teaching in a Beatniks: small hagwon in Daegu, and have been here ever Publisher: The Mauling Press/ City of since. Recovery Life in Korea has been too hectic to facilitate much writing. The hours are long and the alcohol is cheap, Regulars: Kirsty Bisset, Steve Patterson, and consequently I found myself not sleeping for five Paul Kay, Nathan Dolby months, but instead working from 10am to 8pm, and drinking from 8pm to 5am, six or seven nights a Editor/ Design: David S Wills week. No writing, no Beatdom. [email protected] When holidays came, I vanished across the seas again – to the Philippines, to Japan, to China. In All letters, submissions & queries to: 2007 I toured American like Kerouac, and in 2008 [email protected] David S Wills - Founder, Editor... Scottish, Californian, Korean writer and booze-hound.

Kirsty Bisset - Founder, Photographer.... Law graduate and global traveller.

Ross Napier - Head of Graphics... Art graduate, scarred for life after the ‘microwave incident’

Richard Cormack - Illustrator... Half man, half fox.

Eduardo Jones - Writer... Voice of the Doomed, wrote Terrorist Performance Art.

Chuck Milbourne - Illustrator... Cosmic Assasin and to Jones who Steadman was to Thompson.

Simon Warner - Music professor and poet from England.

Adi Rajkovic -

Lee Aitkin - A Fife-stuck Beat lover and closet poet.

Ed Leonard - A poet with memories of the Beat Generation.

Christine Timm - Performance poet from the Village

Shelley Wiseberg - Poet

Vince Anello - Poet

J. Ameer - Poet Burroughs controversial writing was also a subject of debate. Much of Burroughs’s inspiration for his Beat novels came from his battles with drug addiction. After finishing his series of drug diaries, Junkie, and By Adi Rajkovic Queer, Burroughs explored a non-linear style of writing. When writing Naked Lunch, Burroughs used There have been many pivotal experiences and a cut-up technique, slicing up phrases and words to events that have influenced my vision as an artist, create new sentences. The avant-garde approach but the most arresting event (historically speaking) proved to be a success once Naked Lunch was has been the Beat Generation. Although short lived published. Soon after publication, it was prosecuted and long ago in the 1950’s, I have learned more as obscene by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. from the astute pantheons of the Beat Generation However, in 1966 the Massachusetts Supreme than I have from the spiritless stars that the current Judicial Court declared the work “not obscene” generation lionizes. based on the criteria developed largely to defend The Beat Generation was a group of people who the book. The case against Burroughs’s novel still had the audacity to rise above the cookie cutter stands as the last obscenity trial against a work of civilization and form a union of aspiring artists that literature. were all bored with society. I identified with the beats Kerouac’s style was unlike that of Burroughs and as individuals and as respected artists. I admired Ginsberg’s. Kerouac’s first acclaimed novel, On the their charisma and virtue. Their motives were sincere, Road, was an account of his adventures while on a and their thesis, competent. The beats were pioneers wild goose chase across America with his friend with no destination, changing the world one impulse Dean Moriarty. Neal Cassady was Kerouac’s muse, at a time. and eventually the inspiration for the character of Jack Kerouac introduced the phrase “Beat Dean Moriarty in On the Road, and later on Cody Generation” in 1948, generalizing from his social Pomeray in Visions of Cody. Cassady’s outlandish circle to characterize the underground, anti- and uncanny personality is also credited as the conformist youth gathering in New York at the time. inspiration for other Beat literature by Allen Ginsberg “Beat” originated from underworld slang - the world and later by Thomas Wolfe (one of the kings of the of hustlers, drug addicts and petty thieves, where counterculture). Kerouac wrote about personal Kerouac and his beat friends sought inspiration. Beat journeys in search of enlightenment. He eventually was slang for “beaten down” or oppressed, but to started writing in a style he called Spontaneous Prose, Kerouac, it symbolized being at the bottom and a literary technique akin to stream of consciousness. looking up. The works of Beats that impacted me the most were With Kerouac as the protagonist of the Beat the novels Naked Lunch, by Burroughs, On the Generation, his entourage served as the other Road and Dharma Bums, by Kerouac, and the characters in this literary revolution. The core Beats poems ‘Howl’ and ‘Reality Sandwiches’, by included: Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, and Ginsberg. The fluent surge of words so bottomless Allen Ginsberg. When these three creative minds and evocative, stirred something deep inside me. came together they formed an intellectual environment Kerouac’s words especially were able to rekindle that soon progressed into an intellectual community, my forsaken spirit. Growing up in a generation and then a generation. consumed by apathy, the fire inside me slowly ceased Ginsberg was notorious for writing the poem ‘Howl’, to burn, remaining dormant for a long time. My aloof which became the focus of the obscenity trials in the perception of the world was shattered by the Beats. United States that helped to liberalize what could I have always believed that the purpose of legally be published. With his radical vocabulary and exceptional art is to make one feel- to defrost unorthodox style of writing, Ginsberg’s poems were emotions and sensations that have been numb for heresy to some and brilliant to others. Being the so long, and that is exactly what their words did for queerest of the group, much of Ginsberg’s poetry me. was inspired by his infatuation towards Burroughs, Candor and humility were part of the thread that Kerouac and other various Beats he encountered. strung together Kerouac’s words, becoming stitches in a boundless fabric that like a Native American deeper level. I experienced a variety of emotions Morning Star quilt, held the traditions of an entire and for once they were not forced. I did not have to generation. The durable thread -now a flexible fabricate my own feelings to satisfy another. I now elastic, traveled through fits of madness, ecstasy, appreciated my emotions; histrionics and all. With death, misery, fleeting infatuations, incessant this surge of clarity I feel more myself than I ever heartbreak, euphoric comas enjoyed by junkies, had. I recognize myself as an individual, not merely remarkable revelations soon to be forgotten, a shadow. The Beats showed me where my heart spontaneous anger, impossible dreams, regretted was, and how to use it. Previously my creativity was altercations…each fiber- an event, an experience, a concealed by the veneer encouraged by society. I message…each fiber, a woven strand that interlaces was overwhelmed by the blaring voice of the tabloids into surrounding strands, forming a pattern, and the explicit images on television. I decided to completing another chapter in time. no longer let my life be defined the toxic tongue of Each word I read was repeated by the voice in my the media. And even though I never verbally endorsed head. Dialogues echoed for days and each sentence the manufacturing of counterfeit smiles on rust consumed was never digested. I embodied each colored Barbie’s, I was still just as responsible as character I met- In Dharma Bums I became a anyone else for the current turmoil for merely spiritual seeker, diligently following the path to watching it happen and not speaking up. My former enlightenment. I befriended a Zen lunatic and an position was the equivalent of a bobby pin in an eccentric librarian who shared my love for Buddhist avalanche of honey comb ringlets securing some philosophy, poetry and the simple life. As I learned peroxide blond bimbos tiara from falling off. I am to appreciate the outdoors, I fell in love with nature’s no longer the metallic black bobby pin laminated in beauty. I preferred the mental rewards of time spent a sticky coat of hairspray, caught in a tangle of teased in solitude rather than the temporary fulfillment of hair- my only purpose being to keep the precious company. When surrounded by the silence of the crown glued to her scalp so that she would not night, I found myself feeling freer than ever. The commit beauty pageant suicide and humiliate herself shining stars frozen in the omnipresent sky promised in front of an audience of twenty people (fifteen of more than a pretty face. The dirt I sank my bare feet which are her immediate family members). into was warmer than any cashmere sweater. The My most recent change in the hierarchy of society soaring leaves spoke of a truth more urgent than has given me an advantage to a wire set of 3cm even a whisper of the words inside my head- the prongs. I decided to make a change. What was leaves, unbiased and respected, a fairer judge than supposed to be a sprinkle of rhinestones in the beauty any in court. The incandescent moon was brighter queen’s hair became a sea and what became a sea than any professor I have ever had. This is the soon became a swamp of crystallized glitter. The education most valuable to the human soul- to be sparkling white summit of plastic jewels erupted. Hot able to feel a sense of belonging in this world that tears stained her cheeks, denting the layer cake of everyone tries so hard to achieve with short lived foundation that she calls a face. Under the heat of possessions and social status. In the greatest poems, her blistering tears, the mask slowly melts away. The I encountered a million hollow dreams; I cringed as elements of the mask are exposed: waxy coats of cigarettes rotted my teeth, I wrapped myself in a tin oxide, starch, carminic acid, titanium dioxide, vine of honey suckles, I watched the sun until It tartarzine, animal fat, glycol, disterate, and bismuth faded, I talked to the sky, I imagined a white wedding oxychloride peel away, revealing organic silky white splattered in paint, I lamented the death of a stranger skin that glistens and sparkles greater than any of at a charcoal funeral, my handkerchief damp with those synthetic stones. This is a complex metaphor grief. of what I would like to accomplish: to one day reveal Through investigating the Beats I have been able to something awe-ing to the world. I have learned from experience a renaissance in my soul. By integrating the Beats that I the only way I can do this is through myself into each character I have been able to feel eradicating the facades of society that camouflage again. I experienced empathy for other people, a the real beauty. feeling that had perished with the rest. And through empathy I have been able to relate to people on a

Terrorist Performance Art By Eduardo Jones Eduardo Jones is THE VOICE OF THE DOOMED, a journalist in a vein of Mr Hunter S Thomp- son, bornand raised in birthplace of Mr Jack Kerouac, and speaking horrific words against those who need taken down a proverbial peg. He is a precious thing: a viotriolic beast of writer, and Beatdom’s newest acquisition. Terrorist Performance Art is a true story, but don’t tell anyone... Unless they care to buy issue four, which contains part two of this evil saga. New York City, late nineteen-ninety-nine… I find myself living in Hell’s Kitchen. I share a one bed Hector never ended up never even booking one room apartment on West 49th Street with an El gig although from time to time I’d come home Salvadorian. His name is Hector. Hector has three to DJ House and DJ Papi Chulo’s Latin disco loves in his life. These loves are drugs, hookers, tech. Located at 549 W.49th St. Apt. 54. They’d and music. have hookers from the neighborhood dancing in So let’s describe the living situation. The floor the shower like it was a fucking cage. Random plan is a simple one small 10x10 bedroom, and Latino’s sucking on pacifiers, while rolling on another 10x10 room attached. The non bedroom ecstasy. It was some sort Latin freaknik in our doubled as kitchen and shower. I can literally tiny one bedroom apartment. It truly was an cook food and shower at the same time. Luckily insane living situation. the toilet is in a small closet between the two rooms. At one point Hector found these five Polish girls I come home one day and look up at the exterior visiting the States for the summer. The bastard of the building. What do I see? Strobe and laser ended up renting them the kitchen to live in for lights flashing out my apartment windows. Latin a hundred bucks each a week. house music bumping through the air at top “Think about it Eddie, now we only got to come decibels. I don’t even touch more than six stairs up with 150 each, man I love rent control.” up the six flights that lead to my apartment. I He will go down in history as the craziest room must know what the fuck he’s doing! mate I’ve ever had! I burst through the door to find Hector and his Now, I loved New York, and it loved me. I fitted friend Ralphy have got some sort of club lighting in perfectly. There’s far too many lunatics living system and CD mixer, complete with fog in that city for me to stick out like the sore thumb machine, operating in the rat’s nest of an like I often do. Constant stimulation and apartment we occupied. creativity are the blood that pumps through the “What the fuck is this?” arteries of this city. For me it was, anyway. “You, me and Ralphy are going to be DJ’s.” “Where?” When I wasn’t working for several different “ Man, wherever people want us, weddings, catering companies in the city, I’d spend my time parties what ever!” with Asend. Asend was the founding father of a “That’s cool I guess, where the fuck did you get graffiti crew called the Hostile Bomb Threat the set-up?” Kids, a crew I call my family to this day. The “Oh shit, Ralphy got the hook up. This only cost man is one of the most brilliantly talented artists like $250.00” of our time. But he’s a master procrastinator. “Whatever man… but do you think we could shut We’d spend every night being some one else. the fog machine off?” That was the great thing about New York - so “Yeah man that’s cool, what you think about the many people. Who was going to be able to find name DJ House?” out if the two drunk lunatics at the bar that day “Hey it’s your name.” weren’t a professional skate boarder and a journalist doing a story on New York Cities skate Shortly after we got a call from our friend scene. Hell, we’d been everything from Jarred Jeremiah. He informed us there was a few gallery Leto’s stand-in for Requiem for a Dream to openings that night and we should hit them up famous artists. It didn’t matter it was a way to for at least free drinks. Fuck it! We decided that entertain ourselves with how far we could push if we can’t make any connections it’s always fun a story. to mind fuck pseudo intellectuals. This period in my life also spawned my writing. The shows all happened to be in Brooklyn so we I’d write countless letter’s to companies and hopped on the L train, and made our way over to politicians making ludicrous demands and Williamsburg, brown-bagged forties in hand. By requests. For instance I once wrote the good the time we got to the first show we were pretty people at General Mills a letter telling them I buzzed. A few complementary vodka red bulls had a six box a day Count Chocula habit. I went and we were ready to get HBTKRAZY! So off on to tell them my local grocer had quit carrying to the next show we went. it, and I was having severe withdrawals and By the time we got to the next show the booze is hoped they could hook a brother up with some really starting to kick in. I reached into my pocket free boxes. Another letter was written to Rudy and found the cap gun I’d forgotten all about. As Giuliani stating I could curb NY C’s rat problem we were making our way to the gallery somehow if he’d just supply me with a single Humvee, with we decided we need to do a performance art a dead rat on the hood, the supplies to make one piece. I chased Asend straight into the gallery thousand gallons of jellied gasoline, a couple screaming that I was going to kill his ass! We flame throwers, a subscription to Soldier of both draw our guns and begin shooting at each Fortune, and three first class tickets for my most other. esteemed colleagues to help me out. He never People were hitting the floor screaming. Women got back to me. were crying, a stampede to the exit erupted. Then Asend always helped fuel my madness. One day everyone realised neither of us was hurt, never we were walking through the city sticker mind shot. We had nothing but harmless cap bombing and I decided to stop at this local guns. An uneasiness settled over the crowd. Some Bodega. In the Bodega I found some cap guns. saw the true art in this performance, a select few. So I bought one for him and one for me. We test Others were just disgusted and called us fired them and found them to be extremely loud. terrorists. Some people are just unaware of true art, and this was art at its finest. That quack Andy Warhol would have been proud of that piece even. It obviously wasn’t as artistic an audience as we had hoped for. In fact most of them were pretty pissed. Fuck’em, we decided, and continued to mingle with the more appreciative members of our audience. The night went on and we found ourselves in some sort of drunken daze, wandering through Williamsburg in a drunken stupor. Somehow we navigated ourselves home. Me to Manhattan and Asend to Hoboken. The next day I was awoken by a phone call from my brother. He said he was coming with his friend Billy for the New Year’s Eve celebration. That just happened to be in two days. He’d be here in the morning, arriving by train. Well, a blizzard of massive proportions rolled in that night. The city was at a standstill. Early the next morning I walked my way through three feet freaks in a tiny apartment was too much and I of snow to Pen Station. I found my brother and was in the midst of a panic attack. Billy already out of their gourds. A few beers at Asend found some of my spray paint and was the bar and we made our way back to my house. like “Fuck it! Lets go paint your roof top.” I was Hector was there upon our arrival. The first down and we made our way up there. Somehow question out my brother and Billy’s mouth was the graffiti bug had bitten everyone including “Can we get some fucking coke?” This lit Hector. He just happened to be so out of his mind Hector’s eyes up like the ball that about to drop he began tagging all the apartment doors in the the next day. After a few phone calls we found a building except ours. With the name of an El delivery service that was willing to oblige. Salvadorian street gang, Wanacos. Which mind Once the coke arrived, my brother, Billy, and you he wasn’t even a member of! Hector started busting out lines. Hector was the The spray paint had run out but I still had the type of guy who did tiny key shots of coke. My urge to bomb. I found a gallon of white paint, brother and Billy were not. and a sponge under the sink, and made my way “Let me show you how to do this shit!” Billy to the door. said. “Where are you going with that?” Asend asked He then proceeded to cut a three inch rail, fat as “You’ll see.” my pinkie, across the mirror. He sniffed that thing Now mind you I lived only two blocks from in a millisecond. My brother followed suit. Times Square. So with the blizzard and the total Hector’s eyes just lit up. lack of human life on the street. I had a once in a “Let me try that!” life time opportunity. I ran trough the snow to a The next thing I know, we’d gone through a giant grey block building. I dipped my sponge quarter ounce of coke that was supposed to last into the paint and proceeded to paint in letters us the night in about an hour and a half. so large it took up half a city block- HOSTILE “More! We need fucking more!” my brother and BOMB THREAT! This was an outstanding NYC Billy screamed. hit. Two blocks from the most heavily trafficked Another call was made this time we needed at and populated part of the city, I had pulled a giant least half an ounce. During the wait Asend made bomb! This only elevated my coke high. his daily visit. I made my way upstairs, basking in my hit. The “Holy shit, you guys are starting early!” Mind rest of the night found us just getting more and you it’s two o’clock in the afternoon. more fucked up. Cases of beer being ordered “Fuck yeah you want a line?” from the local Bodega every two hours. Hector “Of course!” was on some whole other paranoia induced high So there we were, the five of us, sniffing monster and found Jesus and was begging Billy, who was lines of coke all afternoon. now dubbed Billy-Billy to please teach him how Suddenly the already tight walls began to close to pray in English. Asend by this time had had in on us even more. The general consensus was his ill and made his way home. that we needed to get the fuck out of the house. The rest of this trip was spent so fucked out o There still was a blizzard going on outside our minds the only thing I remember is Hector though. Fuck it, we decided, let’s go check out offering to throw me out if my brother and Billy- Times Square. Billy would move in because as he said “ Now Times Square was desolate. It so desolate that you guys know how to fucking party, man.” we were making snow angels in the middle of 42nd street. We made our way for a while geek- Late in the afternoon of January 2, 2000, shortly ed to the max. A couple rounds to the local after Y2K never hit and the banks didn’t collapse, neighborhood bars to take the edge off, and it planes didn’t fall from the sky, and nuclear was back to the house. holocaust never came, I waved from the platform More cocaine filled our nostrils. By this time I to my brother as he boarded a train back to was lying on my bedroom floor clutching my Boston. I wouldn’t see him again for five years, chest. It was too much for me. Five coked up when I finally stopped running. Who’s Who: A Guide to Kerouac’s Characters Anyone who knows anything about the Beat Generation knows that while Ginsberg may have been the movement’s publicist, Kerouac was its archivist. Yet his books are called novels, not autobiographies or non-fiction texts. We can pretty much go through each one of Kerouac’s books and find other sources to verify the accuracy of an event, but all the names, and some of the places, are fictitious. These pseudonyms fool no one, however, and are deliberately transparent. Writing in dangerous times, Kerouac’s publishers demanded he change names to avoid lawsuits and prosecutions, and given the furore surrounding ‘Howl’ and Naked Lunch, it’s probably for the best that he did. But nowadays we are surrounded by books, websites and documentaries about the Beat Generation, and anyone that takes an interest is soon provided with a view of the players in the movement. Their personalities were all unique, and after learning a few key facts, we can take a look at Kerouac’s novels again and remove the masks, revealing the true participants in the fables of the Beat Generation.

Real Name: Bill Cannastra Alan Ansen Bio: Bio: In his short life, Cannastra made a big impression Ansen was big influence on several of the Beats. He upon the early Beat Generation. He was a wild man was never well know outwith the Beat circle, but like Neal Cassady, and celebrated as such. He he made an impact on Kerouac, Burroughs, appears in several Ginsberg poems and in two Ginsberg and Corso. He appeared in both On the Kerouac books. Road and Naked Lunch. Aliases: Aliases: Visions of Cody – Finistra Book of Dreams - Irwin Swenson Book of Dreams - Finistra On the Road - Rollo Greb The Subterraneans - Austin Bromberg Real Name: Lucien Carr Real Name: Bio: William Burroughs Carr was central to the Beat movement. He was the Bio: embodiment of Beat – intelligent yet wild, well read Burroughs should need no brief biography printed but crazy. He introduced Kerouac and Ginsberg. on the pages of Beatdom. If you are reading this, “Lou was the glue,” Ginsberg quipped. He killed then you know his story and his work. If you don’t, David Kammerer and sought refuge with Burroughs then no few lines is enough – buy his books and and Kerouac. books about him. Aliases: Aliases: Big Sur – Julian Book of Dreams - Bull Hubbard Book of Dreams – Julian Love Desolation Angels - Bull Hubbard On The Road – Damion On the Road - Old Bull Lee The Subterraneans – Sam Vedder The Subterraneans - Frank Carmody The Town and the City - Kenneth Wood The Town and the City - Will Dennison Vanity of Duluoz - Claude de Maubris Vanity of Duluoz - Will Hubbard Real Name: Real Name: Carolyn Cassady Bio: She was the wife of Neal Cassady and friends with The Subterraneans - Leroy Ginsberg and Kerouac. Cassady married the Holy On the Road - Dean Moriarty Goof even after finding him in bed with Ginsberg Visions of Cody - Cody Pomeray and his first wife. She was immortalised in On the Road, and wrote her own memoirs, called Off the Real Name: Road. Hal Chase Aliases: Bio: Big Sur – Evelyn Introduced Cassady to Kerouac and Ginsberg, thus Desolation Angel – Evelyn creating the inspiration for so much Beat literature. On the Road – Camille Aliases: The Dharma Bums - Evelyn On the Road - Chad King Visions of Cody - Evelyn Visions of Cody - Val Hayes

Real Name: Real Name: Cathy Cassady Gregory Corso Bio: Bio: Daughter of Neal and Carolyn Cassady. Corso is a hero here at Beatdom. Whereas most Aliases: would think of the holy trinity of Beats – Kerouac, On the Road - Amy Moriarty Ginsberg, Burroughs – we rate Corso among them Visions of Cody - Emily Pomeray as an equal. His life was long and tragic, but his poetry immortalised him as a great. Real Name: Aliases: Jamie Cassady Book of Dreams - Raphael Urso Bio: Desolation Angels - Raphael Urso Daughter of Neal and Carolyn Cassady The Subterraneans - Yuri Gligoric Aliases: On the Road - Joanie Moriarty Real Name: Visions of Cody - Gaby Pomeray Elise Cowen Bio: Real Name: Cowen’s tale is heart wrenching. She was part of John Allen Cassady the Beat group until confined to a mental institution Bio: where she killed herself. Her story explains why so Son of Neal and Carolyn Cassady. Named after few females ever made it to become Beat icons. Kerouac and Ginsberg. Aliases: Aliases: Desolation Angels - Barbara Lipp Big Sur - Timmy John Pomeray Visions of Cody - Timmy Pomeray Real Name: Henri Cru Real Name: Bio: Neal Cassady Cru dated Edie Parker before she married Kerouac, Bio: who was also his friend. Cru is famous as Remi Cassady perhaps the only person on this list more Boncoeur in On the Road, who inspired Kerouac’s famous for his most noted alias – Dean Moriarty. seminal trans-American journey. Kerouac and Cru The legendary Holy Goof inspired so much of the wrote an unproduced screenplay together in San Beat movement and literature, despite having no Francisco. famous literary output of his own. He was Ginsberg’s Aliases: lover and ‘secret hero of these poems’. Desolation Angels - Deni Bleu Aliases: Lonesome Traveler - Deni Bleu Big Sur - Cody Pomeray On the Road - Remi Boncoeur Book of Dreams - Cody Pomeray Visions of Cody - Deni Bleu Desolation Angels - Cody Pomeray Vanity of Duluoz - Deni Bleu The Dharma Bums - Cody Pomeray On the Road - Carlo Marx Real Name: The Subterraneans - Adam Moorad Robert Duncan The Town and the City - Leon Levinsky Bio: The Vanity of Duluoz - Irwin Garden Although his role in the Beat Generation was small, Visions of Cody - Irwin Garden Duncan was a large figure in various counter culture movements of the twentieth century. Real Name: Aliases: Louis Ginsberg Desolation Angels - Geoffrey Donald Bio: Allen Ginsberg’s father, who was a poet and a Real Name: high school teacher. Lawrence Ferlinghetti Aliases: Bio: Desolation Angels - Harry Garden Although he is only listed as appearing in one novel, Ferlinghetti’s importance cannot be overstated. He Real Name: was the founder of City Lights, the Beat publisher Diana Hansen and bookstore. Ferlinghetti encouraged Ginsberg Bio: after the Six Gallery Reading, and fought in defence Another of Cassady’s women, Hansen was of ‘Howl’. introduced to the Adonis of Denver by Kerouac, Aliases: and was soon pregnant. Cassady took Kerouac to Big Sur - Lorenzo Monsanto Mexico to get a divorce from Carolyn, to make the baby ‘legitimate’, but soon went back to Carolyn. Real Name: Aliases: William Gaddis On the Road - Inez Bio: Visions of Cody - Diane Gaddis was never a Beat writer, but counted among his friends many well known Beats. Real Name: Aliases: Joan Haverty The Subterraneans - Harold Sand Bio: Haverty was Kerouac’s second wife. She was a Real Name: friend of Cannatra’s, who met Kerouac, and married Bill Garver him weeks later. She had Kerouac’s daughter, Jan, Bio: but Kerouac refused for years to acknowledge the Burroughs’ addict friend from Mexico City. child. Aliases: Aliases: Desolation Angels - Old Bull Gaines On the Road - Laura Tristessa - Old Bull Gaines

Visions of Cody - Harper Real Name: Luanne Henderson Real Name: Bio: Allen Ginsberg Poor Luanne was integral to the story of On the Bio: Road. At fifteen, she married Cassady, and three As with Burroughs, if you don’t know much about years later was dumped for Carolyn. Yet not long Ginsberg, then perhaps you ought to go and do some after that Carolyn was dumped again for Luanne. more reading. This short biography could never do She was one of the early women to influence the him justice for his role in poetry, and in the Beat Beats. Generation. Aliases: Aliases: On the Road - Mary Lou Big Sur - Irwin Garden The Subterraneans - Annie Book of Dreams - Irwin Garden Visions of Cody - Joanna Dawson Desolation Angels - Irwin Garden

The Dharma Bums - Alvah Goldbrook Real Name: Al Hinkle Book of Dreams - Rosemarie Bio: The Dharma Bums - Rosie Buchanan A friend of Neal Cassady from Denver. Aliases: Real Name: Book of Dreams - Ed Buckle Randall Jarrell On the Road - Ed Dunkel Bio: Visions of Cody - Slim Buckle Kerouac and Cassady visited ‘Random Varnum the great American poet’ and shocked his family with Real Name: their poverty. Helen Hinkle Aliases: Bio: Desolation Angels – Random Varnum The wife of Al Hinkle. ‘A stolid mother Eart figure of indeterminate age’. Real Name: Aliases: Frank Jeffries On the Road - Galatea Dunkel Bio: Visions of Cody - Helen Buckle One of Kerouac’s Denver friends, Jeffries travelled with Kerouac and Cassady to Mexico City. Real Name: Aliases: John Clellon Holmes On the Road - Sam Shepard Bio: Visions of Cody - Dave Sherman The ‘quiet Beat’, Holmes is widely considered to have written the first Beat novel. Go was the story Real Name: of his friendship with Kerouac & co. Perhaps Joyce Johnson Holmes is most famous for when Kerouac used the Bio: word ‘Beat’ to describe to him the nature of their Johnson wrote Minor Characters and Door Wide generation. Open about her relationship with Kerouac during Aliases: the time his fame grew after On the Road. Book of Dreams - James Watson Aliases: On the Road - Tom Saybrook Desolation Angels - Alyce Newman The Subterraneans - Balliol MacJones Visions of Cody - Wilson Real Name: David Kammerer Real Name: Bio: Herbert Huncke Kammerer, a friend of Burroughs, was obsessed with Bio: Lucian Carr until Carr murdered him in 1944. The Huncke was hugely a influential figure on the life of murder was important in Beat history, and inspired Burroughs, and became known in his own right as a several pieces of writing. writer and sub-culture icon. He was a long time drug Aliases: addict and relentless criminal. The Town and the City - Waldo Meister Aliases: The Vanity of Duluoz – Franz Mueller Book of Dreams – Huck Desolation Angels – Huck Real Name: On the Road - Elmer Hassel Lenore Kandel The Town and the City - Junky Bio: Kandel is respected, but not famous, as a poet of

‘holy erotica’. She had a brief relationship with Real Name: Natalie Jackson Kerouac, and participated in the later counterculture. Bio: Aliases: Another of Cassady’s women, Jackson cavorted Big Sur - Romana Swartz with Carolyn’s husband until she could take being second no more, and killed herself. Real Name: Aliases: Caroline Kerouac Bio: The Vanity of Duluoz - Jack Duluoz Kerouac’s older sister. Visions of Cody - Jack Duluoz Aliases: Visions of Gerard - Jack Duluoz The Dharma Bums - Nin Doctor Sax - Catherine “Nin” Duluoz Real Name: Maggie Cassidy - Nin Leo Kerouac Bio: Real Name: Kerouac’s father died in 1946, and shortly after this, Gerard Kerouac Kerouac sat down and wrote The Town & The Bio: City. He promised his dying father that he would Gerard Kerouac died at the age of nine. He was always look after his mother. Jack’s older brother, and a figure that Jack always Aliases: felt incapable of matching. He was revered as a saint Doctor Sax - Emil “Pop” Duluoz by nuns, and throughout his whole life, Kerouac Maggie Cassidy - Emil “Pop” Duluoz never stopped thinking about his brother. The Town and the City - George Martin Aliases: Vanity of Duluoz - Emil “Pop” Duluoz Doctor Sax - Gerard Duluoz Visions of Gerard - Emil “Pop” Duluoz The Town and the City - Julian Martin Visions of Gerard - Gerard Duluoz Real Name: Philip Lamantia Real Name: Bio: Gabrielle Kerouac One of the poets who read at the legendary Six Bio: Galley Reading 1955, Lamantia chose to read poems Kerouac’s mother. She remained a huge influence by a dead friend. Lamantia was involved in on his life, living with him for much of his adulthood. movements before and after the Beat Generation. Her harsh Catholic worldview marked her son with Aliases: a constant guilt about life. She seems an altogether Desolation Angels - David D’Angeli unpleasant figure, and outlived her own son. The Dharma Bums - Francis DaPavia Aliases: Tristessa - Francis DaPavia Doctor Sax - Ange On the Road - Sal’s Aunt Real Name: The Town and the City - Marguerite Martin Robert LaVigne Vanity of Duluoz - Ange Bio: LaVigne was a Beat artist who collaborated with Real Name: Beat writers, including doing graphics for Ginsberg. Jack Kerouac Aliases: Bio: Big Sur - Robert Browning There are dozens of books out there about Kerouac, Desolation Angels - Levesque and his novels are effectively one giant autography, so again, I’m going to miss out on a short bio. Real Name: Aliases: Norman Mailer Big Sur - Jack Duluoz Bio: Book of Dreams - Jack Duluoz The New Journalism exponent is mentioned briefly Desolation Angels - Jack Duluoz during the ‘Passing Through New York’ section of The Dharma Bums - Ray Smith Desolation Angels. Maggie Cassidy - Jack Duluoz Aliases: On the Road - Sal Paradise Desolation Angels - Harvey Marker Satori in Paris - Jack Duluoz The Subterraneans - Leo Percepied Real Name: The Town and the City - Peter Martin Michael McClure Tristessa - Jack Duluoz Bio: McClure is one of the nicest men I have ever had Book of Dreams - Danny Richman the pleasure of meeting. When he spoke to Beatdom, The Subterraneans - Larry O’Hara he spoke of Kerouac’s silky voice, and his own voice Visions of Cody - Danny Richman nearly melted my ears. McClure was one of the poets at the Six Galley Reading. Real Name: Aliases: Peter Orlovsky Big Sur - Pat McLear Bio: Desolation Angels - Patrick McLear Orlovsky is most famous as Ginsberg’s long time The Dharma Bums - Ike O’Shay lover, but was also a poet in his own right (at least after Ginsberg’s provocation). He travelled the world Real Name: and in 1974, joined the Jack Kerouac School of Locke McCorkle Disembodied Poetics at the Naropa Institute, Bio: teaching poetry. A Buddhist neighbour of Kerouac and Snyder, who Aliases: quickly became friends with the two Beats. Book of Dreams - Simon Darlovsky Aliases: Desolation Angels - Simon Darlovsky Desolation Angels - Kevin McLoch The Dharma Bums - George The Dharma Bums - Sean Monahan Real Name: Real Name: Edie Parker Jackie Gibson Mercer Bio: Bio: Parker was Kerouac’s first wife, if only for a short A mistress of Cassady in San Francisco, and later, time and for strange reasons. They married more or Kerouac’s girlfriend during the story of Big Sur. less to get Kerouac out of jail, and split soon after. Aliases: Parker also shared a flat with Joan Vollmer, that was Big Sur – Willamine ‘Billie’ Dabney frequented by many of the Beats in the early days of the movement. Real Name: Aliases: James Merrill The Town and the City - Judie Smith Bio: Visions of Cody - Elly Poet and novelist. Author of The (Diablos) Vanity of Duluoz - Edna “Johnnie” Palmer Notebook.

Aliases: Real Name: Desolation Angels - Merrill Randall Kenneth Rexroth Bio: Real Name: Time Magazine mistakenly labelled Rexroth ‘father John McVey Montgomery of the Beats’, much to the poet’s chagrin. However, Bio: one could forgive their error: Ferlinghetti considers Although Montgomery appears as a clownish Rexroth his mentor; the poet MC’d the Six Gallery character, he was an editor and publisher of Reading; he introduced Ginsberg to Snyder; he Kerouac’s books. spoke in formal defence at Ginsberg’s obscenity Aliases: trial… Desolation Angels - Alex Fairbrother Aliases: The Dharma Bums - Henry Morley The Dharma Bums - Rheinhold Cacoethes

Real Name: Jerry Newman Real Name: Gary Snyder Bio: One of the circle of friends that made up ‘the Bio: Ferlinghetti labelled Snyder ‘the Thoreau of the Beat Subterraneans’, Newman was a record producer Generation’, and the description seems fair. He was and store owner in New York’s Village. the only Beat from an urban background, and with Aliases: little passion for the town. He was to The Dharma Vanity of Duluoz - June Bums what Dean Moriarty was to On the Road. Aliases: Real Name: Big Sur - Jarry Wagner Ed Uhl The Dharma Bums - Japhy Ryder Bio: Uhl was a friend of Cassady’s from Denver. Real Name: Aliases: Allen Temko On the Road - Ed Wall Bio: Visions of Cody - Ed Wehle Temko was an architectural critic and writer, who was portrayed in On the Road as against ‘arty’ Real Name: snobs, but essential snobbish himself. Alan Watts Aliases: Bio: Book of Dreams - Irving Minko Watts was a Zen scholar who became friends with On the Road - Roland Major Kerouac. Visions of Cody - Allen Minko Aliases: Big Sur - Arthur Wayne Real Name: Desolation Angels - Alex Aums Gore Vidal Bio: Real Name: The famous novelist had a homosexual relationship Helen Weaver with Kerouac that was altered into a platonic night Bio: together for The Subterraneans. According to Weaver was Kerouac’s girlfriend in New York for a Norman Mailer, Vidal ‘ruined’ Kerouac by sleeping period, and a friend of Ginsberg. She seems to have with him. been intelligent and attracted to the intellect of the Aliases: Beats. The Subterraneans - Arial Lavalina Aliases: Desolation Angels – Ruth Ileaper

Real Name: Esperanza Villanueva Real Name: Lew Welch Bio: A Mexican prostitute and morphine addict, with Bio: Welch was a poet in San Francisco, who lived with whom Kerouac fell in love and consequently wrote Snyder, Whalen and Felinghetti, at various times, Tristessa. and was much admired by William Carlos Williams. Aliases: In 1971, he disappeared in the Californian mountains Tristessa - Tristessa and left a suicide, but his body was never found.

Aliases: Real Name: Joan Vollmer (Adams) Big Sur - David Wain Bio: Vollmer was the most famous woman of the Beat Real Name: Generation, but for all the wrong reasons. She was Philip Whalen certainly ferociously intelligent, and held her own with Bio: Whalen lived with Snyder and Welch, and read at the men during the early all-night discussions in New the Six Gallery Reading. He was always interested York, but is now know as Burroughs’ wife, whom in Buddhism, and eventually became a monk. he shot and killed in 1951, and also for sleeping Aliases: with Kerouac 175 times. Big Sur - Ben Fagan Aliases: The Dharma Bums - Warren Coughlin On the Road – Jane Lee

The Subterraneans - Jane Real Name: The Town and the City - Mary Dennison William Carlos Williams Bio: The Modernist poet was a huge influence upon many members of the Beat Generation, both through his style and his mentoring. He was friends with Rexroth, taught Snyder, Whalen and Welch, and most famously mentored Ginsberg. Aliases Desolation Angels - Dr. Williams Beatnik Dictionary A guide to the words and phrases used by Beats and Beat wannabes. Action – activity, goings on Jam – swing music Jitterbug – fan of swing music Baby – term of endearment Jive – derogatory, no good Beat – beaten down, exhausted, tired, broken Joint – place, home, location by the world Beatific – against the world, out for kicks Kicks – fun, banter, good times Beatnik – Herb Caen’s mocking term, used Knock – to give sarcastically Blow – to play, musically Latch on – understand Bread - money Later – goodbye Bring down – to depress Lay on – to give, to lend Licks – good musical phrases Capped – beaten, bettered Lock up – certainty Cat – hip fellow Chick – female Man, the – police, authority Collar – to understand Mellow – cool, nothing harsh Cool – hip Mess – cool, good Cool it – calm down Mezz – brilliant Corny – old fashioned Moo juice – milk Cubby – home Murder – brilliant Cut – to leave Nang – cool, brilliant, awesome Dig – appreciate, understand Nod – sleep, boring Down with – cool, ok Nutty – madcap, crazy Drag – unfortunate, disappointing Ofay – white person Flip – go crazy Out of this world – the best Freeby – no charge Fuzz – police Pad – home, bed Peng – brilliant, amazing, the best Gammin’ – showing off Pigeon – young girl Gas – laugh Pops – men Gravy – money Put on – to teach, mock Groovy – cool, great, happy Riff – musical phrase Hard – cool, good Righteous – excellent Hep – knowledgeable Rug cutter – good dancer Hincty – uptight Holding – in possession of (relating often to Sad – lame, poor quality drugs) Scoff – to eat Score – to acquire drugs or money Igg – short for ignore Sharp – neat, cool, smart Skins – drums Skirt – sexy female Slave – any form of work Solid – great, good, cool Spoutin’ – talking Square – boring, lame, uncool Stash – to hide, put away

Take it slow – be careful Tapped – poor, broke Threads – clothes Tossed – searched by the police Too much – praise, brilliant Truck – to go, move Turn on – take drugs

Unhep – not cool, not hep

Wail – talk, sing Wig – brain Wren – a chick, female

Zoot – too much On the Map, Charting Kerouac’s Style Stephanie Posavec is the artist behind the thought Denver, Colorado was the middle of mapping of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. In a nowhere! recent attempt to explore both the nature of mapping and alternative, non-textual On Kerouac’s Work… representations of literature, Posavec created a stunning image that was representative of the I would say that working so intensely on a project sentence structure of the legendary Beat text. relating to Kerouac has changed my perception Here, the artist speaks with Beatdom about her of him. Over all the time I spent analysing and work and her feelings about Kerouac. re-analysing On the Road I would be frustrated with him on a personal level, as if I knew him, On Jack Kerouac… becoming annoyed at certain literary tics and turns of speech that he would use repeatedly I first became interested in Jack Kerouac when I throughout the novel. I think analysing the work was a teenager, when I started reading literature of your heroes so closely makes you realise that from the mid twentieth-century. I suppose that they are, in fact, human, and I’m happy for that, his work resonated with me because of the ideas because it helps you in understanding the place of freedom, spontaneity, and excitement that you and time they lived in. I feel like I understand are just beginning to appreciate and yearn for at him on a human level now rather than a ‘hero’ that age. I just loved his lengthy poetic sentences level. I enjoy his writing because I love his that swooped up and down in such a vibrant way character sketches, his quick depictions of social about the most mundane of things, making you scenes, and how it feels like he isn’t hiding things appreciate them in a new way. The reverence for from the reader when retelling the story, but life, joy, and excitement in his writing made me recounting everything, regardless of whether he realise that I had millions of options in the world, is proud of it or not. and that I could lead a life that was equally colourful. On the Map…

On Denver… ‘Writing Without Words’ was the project completed for my final year on the Living in Denver was probably what made me MA Communication Design course at Central so interested in Jack Kerouac as a teenager, and Saint Martins College of Art especially interested in the novel On the Road. and Design, London, in 2006. The intention of For high school, I went to a Catholic high school this body of work was to explore various methods that used to be a home for boys decades before. of visualising literature without using words. I I was your typical angst-ridden teenager who was wanted to find a way of communicating the frustrated with being in such a restrictive, complexity found in literature as well as highlight conservative school, so learning that Neal the similarities and differences in the writing Cassady had spent some time at my high school styles of various authors.The structure of a novel, when it was a school for boys cheered me up punctuation, parts of speech, and words per immensely. Plus, it was just exciting to read about sentence were used to generate the final complex all these crazy things happening in a novel, and patterns. knowing EXACTLY where the streets were. Any piece of literature can be visualised using There aren’t very many novels written about these approaches, but I chose to focus on the Denver, so this was brilliant for a teenager who novel On the Road by Jack Kerouac because I wanted to analyse a piece of literature I was truly passionate about.

All of the work is colour-coded according to key themes and characters in On the Road. The colours were chosen from automobile paint swatches from the 1940s. The books that were created as part of the project are even created to the same ratio of proportions of the first edition of On the Road. Everything in the project was there for a reason, and the majority of the aesthetic choices were drawn from the era when Kerouac was travelling across the United States.

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Website: www.itsbeenreal.co.uk

Email: [email protected]

Exhibition ‘On the Map’ with Susan Stockwell, Pauline Burbidge, Betty Pepper, Kerr | Noble, Phyllis Pearsall, and Paula Amaral.

At the Millennium Galleries, Sheffield until the 15 June 2008

Millennium Galleries Arundel Gate Sheffield S1 2PP http://www.sheffieldgalleries.org.uk/coresite/ onthemap_html/ The Lost Novel: And the Hippos were Boiled in their Tanks

One famous and pivotal moment in Beat history was Carr was sentenced to a maximum of ten years in the killing David Kammerer by Lucian Carr. It was jail, a light sentenced based on the defence argument the end of some things, the start of others, and above that because Kammerer was homosexual, the all a landmark piece of history that involved some of murder was an ‘honour killing’ that protected Carr the most famous writers of the twentieth century. from being raped. On 13th August, 1944, Lucian Carr was drinking Nonetheless, it changed much. Kerouac was now with Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, his two married, Carr was gone from the circle, and all of Columbia University buddies, when David the writing of the time centred on the infamous event. Kammerer appeared and joined the group. Ginsberg wrote The Bloodsong, but was warned Kammerer was thirty-three, much older than the by the assistant Dean that Columbia didn’t need any young future Beats. Carr was only nineteen years more bad publicity. Kerouac and Burroughs, old, but Kammerer had been sexually obsessed with however, wrote a novel called, strangely, And the him for at least five years, since first guiding Carr’s Hippos were Boiled in their Tanks. Boy Scout group on nature walks. The novel would prove to be a thorn in the side of When Kammerer and Carr left the bar at three in Carr, who emerged from prison a reformed man with the morning, to walk and talk by the Hudson River, little interest in his Beatnik past, and instead had the it was the last time anyone would see Kammerer desire to go straight, without anything to remind him alive. According to Carr, Kammerer tried to sexually or embarrass him for a horrible incident. But now, assault the younger man, and Carr defended himself after Carr’s death, the long awaited literary even by stabbing his attacker twice in the chest with a has come – the release of the lost Beat Generation small Boy Scout knife. In a panic, Carr filled novel that predates all others by many years. Kammerer’s pockets with stones and throw his body In between, there was a description, by Kerouac, into the Hudson River. in Vanity of Duluoz, but the truth was heavily But that was where the story ended between the distorted. Kerouac talked about it with Ann Charters, two parties, as Carr went to seek refuge with for his biography. And two years later, excerpts of Burroughs. Burroughs, a good friend of Kammerer, Hippos appeared in a magazine and Burroughs had simply told Carr to get a good lawyer and turn himself to sue to protect Carr, who was trying to work a in. Indeed, Burroughs’ use of his family’s wealth to stable life as a journalist. A short excerpt, too, came hire good lawyers kept him from a life in jail. in Word Virus, but still there was no great effort Next, Carr went to visit Kerouac, who responded made to bring about this near mythical text. differently, helping Carr to dispose of the murder weapon, and then taking him on a tour of the city to For many years, Burroughs maintained that the title talk about what happened. They went to a museum of the novel came from his memory of a radio report and watched a movie, The Four Feathers. about a fire at the St. Louis Zoo, when the announcer But two days later, Carr broke under the strain of burst into fits of laughter when attempting to read guilt and turned himself in to the police. Burroughs the line. and Kerouac were arrested. Burroughs used his And for years the novel didn’t surface, in spite of family’s money to pay the bail, but Kerouac couldn’t, attempts by both Kerouac and Burroughs. Burroughs and was bizarrely forced to marry Edie Parker in has mentioned that the novel was ‘not a very order for her family to pay his own bail. distinguished work’, but nevertheless it attracted an agent who was willing to push it around and tolerate The key is in both authors calling it ‘hard-boiled’. many, many rejections. When was hard-boiled ever really out and out Most of the rejections came, presumably, because literary? of the totally inappropriate subject matter. This was before Kerouac and Burroughs were famous, able to say what they wished, but they still had elements of their future selves hidden in the text. Taking it turn about, chapter-by-chapter, the two friends each wrote from the point of view of a different protagonist. Kerouac’s chapters contained the original elements of Kerouacian prose, and Burroughs had some of the hallmarks of Junky or Queer, but neither author exposed his true brilliance of his truth style. It seems they limited one another, although not necessarily in a bad way. They could only write what they knew, after all, and they both new different things, both in terms of facts and of style. One can tell when reading portions of the book where something was written by Kerouac or Burroughs. Burroughs’ sections contain strong and mystical descriptions of drug use, gay sex, and hallucinatory violence. Kerouac’s sections ramble on. But neither author goes to the extremes reached in his own books. The result, we now see, is perhaps not a classic work of literature, but certainly an interesting one, and not the epic failure that Burroughs tried to have us all believe with his dismissive comments in the eighties. Instead, there is now something else for Beat fans to read, to learn a little more about Beat history, now that all the players in the scenario are safely entombed beyond the grave. There are no more hurt feelings, no more treading carefully. Perhaps Burroughs said it best in a milder moment:

“It wasn’t sensational enough to make it from that point of view, nor was it well-written or interesting enough to make it from a purely literary point of view. It sort of fell in-between. It was very much in the Existentialist genre, the prevailing mode of the period, but that hadn’t hit America yet. It just wasn’t a commercially viable property.”

Indeed, And the Hippos were Boiled in their Tanks has reached a time when it will be loved, and that raises real questions over its literary merit. But then again, who really cares, so long as it’s a fun read? Tempest Tavern Temptress By Pauly Kay

That night in the Tempest Tavern the place was “Thanks, my friend left me here with it. We swinging like never before. Hip Brooklyn girls were going to share, but she went into the with their eyes on the stars. Drunk guys with their bathroom with that guy in the wheelchair. Want eyes on the girls. Mike was there along with 50 some?” others. A few brunettes were dancing on his lap I put another straw into the bottomless bowl while he spun his wheelchair around. “I hate to ask a really personal question, but is “Keep going baby, spin us faster. It’s not fast your friend a transvestite?” enough,” one said while riding him. “It really depends on the day,” she said. Strange stares came my way as I walked We talked about baseball, we talked about the through the doorway. A cool calm-bomb look Beatles, the sun, lust for life, lust for sanity, entering the drunken ceremony. “Come our way, humanity…the role call of things you can’t come handsome, come play.” usually talk about before the sun and drinks go The girls on pills were crazed like rats running down. through a maze. Kissing each other’s boyfriends Chitter chatter back and forth through the and suited till morning.. The bouncer sat outside coarse of our visit led to the unknown. The smoking a joint with a couple minors who wanted unknown happiness coming from a talk between to get in.. I wasn’t drunk at all and looked like two strangers drunk in a bar at 2 am. Happy nights an outsider till several shots later. paid for by dreary days stuck inside doors Death was dead in the Tempest Tavern on those wanting to run out and play. Friday nights. We killed him with high hopes If only we could hug and kiss strangers while while shouting “go die death!”. Crazy kids boarding the subway trains. Just jump on each running along while the dollar a song jukebox other randomly, moaning and groaning out “I’m kept’em under a spell. The ritual going on at the afraid to. I’m going to die too. I love your eyes, tavern is religious, but far away from the house let‘s talk.” of god. We are all headed to the great unknown so why I sat at the bar overhearing all the small talk shouldn’t we get to know each other before we and watching Mike dry hump a transvestite on get there? The girl’s name was Eve and she his wheelchair. He’s having way too much fun agreed that we had to do something about this (till he realizes it’s somebody’s son). problem in society. Oh baby you got pretty eyes, dance with me. “Fuck it, Paul. You’re right. We should love You got a cigarette? Let me buy you a drink. Do everyone and express it everywhere we go. It I know you from somewhere? I swear I’ve seen shouldn’t have to take drinks in a bar to get to you before. Are you an actress? I shouldn’t drink know people,” gin anymore. Pour me another. Don’t stop till “I completely agree! Let’s start a revolution,” you drop. WOW I’M DRUNK. I fist saw her at the bar sipping out of a fish She grabbed my hand and put it on her breast. bowl sized margarita. A fish out of water drinking “Do you feel my heart?” the bowl because it’s not big enough to jump into. “Yes” I said. Her eyes sparkled and dazzled with a strange “It’s the same as yours. And the girl you last familiarity. She wore designer clothes and could slept with. And that bartender’s over there” have jumped right out of a fashion magazine. “Exactly! Why do people think they’re all “That’s one hell of a drink,” I said. different? It beats the same” She grabbed my arm and we bolted for the door. “She left a message. She said she will see you I wasn’t sure where we were headed but I didn’t again in dreams.” care. Riding the tides of hope and whiskey out “Wait, what happened? Where did she go?” I the door, splashing our wave at the bouncer asked. stoned and dancing on the floor. “She had to go away. I’m sorry, I got to go” We bolted across the street into Penn Station And that was the end of that. She did visit me nearly getting hit by couple cars but we knew in my dreams and seems to always be on my there was no way to kill us. We were riding so mind. I’m not sure what happened to her but that damn high, flying above the common ground. night will always remain a high note in my life’s Penn Station was flinging around everything song. Want to sing along? you could think of. We ran fast through the main We go through life so quickly and forget that concourse, past the bums and hookers begging the run will soon be done. We must have fun. for paper love. She pulled me onto a subway One bang and nature puts out our flames. The platform and began kissing me. A cop strolled bang that is sure to come. BanG with a capital B by staring at us and we stopped for a moment. and G as it will end just as it had begun. It can “Are you paying for that kid?” he asked. happen at anytime, whether we’re loving life or “No, sir.” moaning in our own strife. That’s why we must “Okay, have a good night” keep moving and improving. BanG. With a suave He took off searching for hookers as quickly beat of motion making yourself at peace with as he took off. Only in New York. The city I love the world‘s commotion. Keep writing instead of more everyday. The city of searchers ands fighting. Fighting yourself and let it all be. Let it seekers. Drifters and tweakers. Lovers and all hang out and let go of melancholy. saviors. All sharing the same bathroom. We continued sharing each other in the damp deserted subway terminal. A symphony of sounds surrounded us. Rats, dripping water, crying bums, and laughing drunks played in the background of our waltz. About twenty minutes of sweet subway sex the cop came back and told us we better leave. Outside of Madison Square Garden we said our goodbyes. We held each other. She kissed me and I smothered her. The New York City sidewalk was sparkling from the light rain. The sparkles looked like angel dust coming down to celebrate our love. The heat of our souls together was enough to keep the whole city warm forever. “Goodnight, Eve. I’ll call you tomorrow.” “Promise you’ll still love me tomorrow?” “We will find out.” I watched her cross the street leading onto 7th Avenue towards the train station. A certain skip went to my step on the way home. Beatles songs were playing in my head and everything smelled like Penn Station. I called her the next day and her roommate answered. “Oh you’re the boy she met in the bar last night? “Yes” Welcome to the Plastic World By James Irwin

The coffee you need. You are all drugged. Who cares about kids dying in Iraq when Britney’s flashed her ‘front door’ The TV stations you can’t live without. again?

The car you want. Who cares if our politically representatives are fucking up our futures, because it’s more exciting You can’t explain it but you know you won’t to talk about Pete Doherty’s latest felony. sleep easy without that. Nobody gives a fuck about society while it wears We are a world of addicts. its plastic mask.

I can’t relax without a cigarette. I need a drink. You don’t see the mask because they put it in Where’s my latte? That Jag is all that’s missing fancy packaging, called it organic and you bought in my life... one too.

Just because cappuccino makers are legal doesn’t You are addicted to consumerism. make you any less needy, pathetic and emotionally devoid as the local junkie shooting The one political issue raised this century is up. environmentalism. And guess what? It’s no longer about the trees, the ocean or the sky. It’s a At least he didn’t start his hobby because it’s what label, turned into another consumer item, just all the celebs are doing. another brand.

We’re all travelling down the same road, is it I only buy fair-trade as you cruise off down the really a better journey surrounded by cream provincial high street in your four by four, leather, plugged into your iPod, your life rotting bending nature over and fucking it in the arse. away whilst you watch the latest reality pop star strutting around in clothes you can’t wear, living Fuck phones, car accessories, and the television. out a sleaze plated fantasy, on a small screen on Turn it all off and go live your life. the back seat of your car? You can’t buy love. There is no spiritual store, How much can you really know about yourself if however many miniature deities are on the you’ve never owned a custom designed kitchen? shelves.

The truth doesn’t come from E! You will not find Stop texting and have a proper conversation with enlightenment at the bottom of a Starbucks someone. Read a book. Open your mind and coffee, whatever quote they have on the paper think for yourself. cup. Stop moistening your abdomens with your own You will not find spirituality in a department semen and talk to a real woman. store... although I did once see a Buddha statue in the San Francisco branch of Macy’s... Pornography really does make you go blind.

£100 dollar shirts don’t improve who you are. You all expect and desire a woman with a bust Having someone else’s name on your underwear as wide as a California freeway and an insatiable doesn’t make you interesting. And it certainly desire to have artificially stiffened cock thrust doesn’t make your penis bigger. Neither does down her ass, throat and pussy for hours on end. owning a brand new sports car. It’s never going to happen. It’s a perverted fantasy. It’s never going to happen to you.

If she enjoyed it why do the eyes in her cum splattered face look so dead inside?

It’s just another way for her to afford coffees in branded polystyrene and the latest million mega pixel phone society says she needs...

Not everyone can go to university and become accountants...

But whether you’re playing with numbers or playing with a bald man’s cock on camera, it’s all just another way to accessorize that kitchen.

After all, it’s not going to accessorize itself.

What’s stopping you from being who you are?

Your shitty job?

Why do you do your shitty job?

Because you’ve been raised in a world where people truly believe that if they just have that, that phone, that mp3 player, that car, that coffee table, then their lives will be better; that they will be happier.

They won’t. It’s this forever. At least the heroin addict genuinely wants some smack, its better than being told what you want, what you think...

You are dying in your own shit.

We only have one life.

Do you really want yours to be defined by a three piece suite and a top of the range Volvo? Poetry

Words on the arrival At opening, glasses politely chink, no flasks of Thunderbird passed round the crowd of Kerouac Scroll at But Jack’s muse, and pearl of Dean, Carolyn and Barber Institute of Brit Beat Blake bard Mike Horovitz give glimpse of times when On the Road was backpocket Fine Arts, Bimingham, guide to some existential life-truth

December 5th, 2008 Then new choral piece by one-time Ginsberg guitar man sees Taylor-made visions of Paradise echo through Deco halls By Simon Warner The playwright David Edgar says this long, lean Like Dead Sea diaries unfurled screed of nouns and verbs reminds us of how hard Like Koran unrolled it was to write before computers let us process Like Rosetta Stone re-tooled words to cold, harsh hum of backlit screen Like Egyptian hieroglyphs brought back to cartoon life in C21st light.... The poignant toil of finger crack on oyster keys is now just tap, tap, tap on board aligned with The Kerouac teletype flies long and flat in air- software mind conditioned glass in England for the first time We are, he claims, all Kerouacs now In gallery where Monets and Manets are hung, new master, cool master, dead master, joins Old Yet this icon of fiction, a paperback unpeeled like Masters to crackle and gurgle of shellac jazz, Turin Shroud, that lies quietly, ghostly there, a gazed down upon by first editions, monochrome shimmering, speckled river on-flowing in its plastic snapshots and period artworks coffin, still has power to move and shake: the sharp, sheer cut of ribbon forever scarring paper And poets and readers and the freshly curious with its carbon date take scopophilic delight in dense, block text, hard metal characters, Underwood etching, level and We are, he claims, all Kerouacs now. level of book-skyscraper rising into middle But, oh and oh, to have been Kerouac then distance

How long that book, how long that road? - - - - And what is hidden in the tough, clean coils that bookend this sunset strip? retreat. we create, conceive, express. uninhibited, Burning Twenties without duress. seeking life without bummers. By Lee Aitkin accepting all comers. on a digital surf dive. in a collective impact hive. we’re ready to accept the torch. from those rocking on the porch. [those when does a poet admit to being? who remember hitchhiking without fear, a fist size Corso in his lecturer wisdom says that a nickel bag bought from a stranger, a pony tail and philosopher has to be told goatee were cool, purple haze, Christmas trees, what they are, by a fan or admirer reds, black beautys, sunshine microdots, Hawaiian poets have to admit to themself first redbud, and Acapulco gold were available and “i’m a poet” I can say easy.] but our hair’s not greasy and we don’t have “pretentious more like” they say smokes to prove we’re blokes. we’re anti- FUCKUMM materialistic. we don’t go ballistic. we develop Who could explain the joy and excitement that inner self while sitting on the shelf. If we have our crops up druthers we don’t worry with others. we’re liberal of typing or writing or breathing and seeing and tolerant but don’t care enough to rant. we all around as a romance that’ll never die think this philosophy is about can not can’t. cause we’ll keep on hitting the keys and keying the strings of night - - - - and stringing romantic mind until its final breath who else could enjoy the rising thirst to setlle all the young mind thinks we’ll be no better than we, especially I, was Why Do I Rhyme? before young, many ways naïve like all poets in their twenties should be By Ed Leonard ideas and half-made ideologys part iconoclast, part servant of before compulsive writing a long slow sudden saddened peek at n through kept him fighting God’s Window to find meaning looking through and burning the eyes without demeaning reflective sun glassing yer eye from the starsands without disrupting i’m a poet. CORSO taught em to think or interrupting trust what you think or corrupting write it too his freedom elations don’t be afraid or personal relations - you are after all a Poet.

- - - - blogging on a scroll - giving readers little role - rejecting middle class’s On the Beats narrow minded asses - thoughts others did suppress By Ed Leonard he found easy to express - a dropout with passion who rejected fashion - are we the beats? we sit on our seats writers and his life a ‘beat’itude fighters but not tail biters. we greet your toast with was filled with attitude - no one to roast. down with tyranny and often misunderstood corruption! defeat the old with an assumption! we he couldn’t know he would are little-its, not bigots. each unique. we won’t be labeled a communist for words that he would twist - FREE ENJOYING A NAKED LUNCH BILL BURROUGHS He didn’t like to edit THOUGH THEY HAVE BUILT BURROUGHS so publishers rarely read it - WE SHOULD ALL LIVE AS ONE a famous Buddhist taught MENTALLY the first thought CAST OF IRON is the best thought I WAS CREATED BY THE FUSION and from this arose OF LOVE spontaneous prose - FEELS LIKE I WAS BORN 20 YEARS his stream of conscious style BEFORE ‘77 led him to make a pile MUST BE A FLOWER CHILD of words that only he could see BECAUSE I PRESENT PEACE swimming in his language sea - COLORS OF COPPER AND BROWN a sea of words within us flow REPRESENT MY SKIN that others rarely know EXQUISITE OUTER AND WITHIN WITHIN THIS VESSEL HOLDS THE FINE SANDS OF TIME Kerouac did show a way DISAPPOINTMENTS AND for those who write every day SATISFACTIONS to be less inhibited SMILES AND FROWNS and to be less riveted SO TRANSLUCENT to words that rhyme IF YOU READ THE WORDS I SPEAK and stay in time - PARTIAL HEDONIST ACHIVIEVING ATLEAST PARTIAL HAPPIENESS for learning to turn down the heat BUT NOT SETTLING FOR LESS Kerouac can’t be beat - JUST WANT TO BE THE BEST MOST BUETIFUL EXTREMELY COLORFUL so why do I rhyme? WELL ROUNDED VESSEL ------BOHEMIAN GLASS Pigs with Guns

By J. Ameer B y Shelley Wiseberg EXPLOSIVE BEAUTY I look into a dim mirror deeply COLORS RADIATE I see a the maelstrom of pigs with pistols BUT I GOT THE BLUES RED AND GREEN ACCENT MY MIND SET THOUGH THE CANARY IS YELLOW Bursting through an enemy trench THIS CANARIES BELLY NEVER YELLOWS Pork exploding everywhere, fried flesh REJECTED MAINSTREAM VALUES VALUEING THE MAINSTREAM OF My eyes close for a minute, I open INDIVIUALITY Them and the mirror, projects another vision THIS VESSELS TIME IS NOT CRUNCHED A man facing execution on a pillory At the Behesht-e The king proclaiming his fate Zahra Cemetery in

Sitting comfortably on his canopy Tehran, Iran Shouting obscenities with elocution By Vince Anello I feel like the mirror is showing Corrugated stone slabs Dreams or propagating nightmares sit side-by-side in perfectly aligned rows, Exposing my vestal virgin mind For the sentient sham that it is outlines of solemn figures etched The pigs with guns then march on each and every To a home of peaceful beavers lone surface, Shooting everything in sight sadistically like dominoes Then burning the dam, setting a chain reaction conveniently placed, face-up and dotless, Igniting the forest, decimating the ecology Of all living things happily, as the forest is ablaze just another name, just another number— The militant pork march on, stalking which holds Their next prey, hummingbirds its weight in gold?

The digit or I could no longer look at the grim mirror design? Turning away, my brain is burned with Glass prisons hold their hearts— Turgid images of genocide, I feel Queasy inside, I don’t know whether bound in peeling, pried leather, This was an awful dream their pages ripped Or a coincidental lie….. at humble edges and corners turned - - - - too many times for devoted eyes to remember.

And among the set flowers I find taunting… a peculiar arrangement of hyacinths, Shift. scattered carelessly The man in black sits cross-legged, atop the tomb, on the white sand, mixing the deck, in his focused hands, like a gigantic shuffle, split, shuffle, petal’d and finally, bloodstain. a confident draw.

A woman speaks A gentle flick of his invisible wrist, from behind me; a malevolent sway of his dastardly sleeve, I cannot see her face, and the card injects itself, but I sense into the devil’s terrain, her quivering breath: a face, a grasp, a sinister grin, “They are all my sons.” the Prisoner, stares, Yes, into oblivion. I had forgotten. The man in black rises, They are my sons too... and walks away. I don’t trust his stride; it says he’s got nothing but time— The Prisoner nothing but endless time— in this insipid desert.

By Vince Anello And all the while, he never dares to look at me… A solitary tarot card dances on the breeze, aiming for a cradle between peeling fingertips, There, it sits, mine, actually, and I can see it sway, that card, in the autumn wind, carried like vivid leaves, stuck between the palest grains, that don’t match the surrounding trees, awaiting these brave fingertips, but fall nonetheless. to pluck it from, Another gust and flight prevails, its chosen place. sweeping ruffled card upon a steady stream, I step into the street to reach, All I have to do, and take the message for my own, is reach, alone, and perhaps that’s the meaning, behind the Prisoner, just… and the baboon on his shoulder, reach… brandishing that voracious whip. and… We grow older, but some things stay the same: like the way moths still perish in a brutal flame. Shift. A weakling branch cracks beneath my step, a failing intervention of the divine sort, only a second, only a single card flip, That fucking tarot card, I missed it, but it’s still there, that prophetic piece, wielding a, subtle stare, to skewer and siphon, “Kneel at my feet,” you howl, “I will choke you the skin, with my charm and set loose the poem I wrote for off my disgruntled bones. your curly locks. Hey! (In fact!) Let me grab one Just a couple more steps. now as I am slowly slipping off my high horse.” It’s always just, Allen pokes playboy-tail with rolled-up st mark’s a couple more steps. program. And I need to look in those bloodshot eyes, I yank from above. to remind myself that they’re not mine. We will haul this mad yak to ginzy’s temple in A lighter gust this time allows, record time! the tips to graze a dented face, my thumb positioned to seal the deal, But your shrine hosts newly drawn snapshots – and… Sketched mental notes An overdue glance begs a final wake, I can breeze through your mind and other cool that will never come, unsaved, places. by a desperate recoil, a flashing moment, sit on your lap while you tell tales of minstrels long sparking atonement incomplete, ago and irrational at best, Beating time with tongue and drum but progressed enough, Howling truth into ears of the oblivious to suggest, The sheets are clean and there is enough rum to a peaceful close. drown a shipload of pirates. The cross-hearted artists, aiming, to resuscitate an unavailing masterpiece, How can I say no to a man cling to their tools and techniques, whose twisty antics drive men ditsy but still fall short of victory. whose unrhymed palaver shoot a gal’s knees All things go white— weak the blanket, the shutting doors, whose plopped lovebomb rattles poet heaven the failed artist’s complexion, whose best and only pick up line is his surname and somewhere on a park bench, the Prisoner lays, and waits, O Corso I love you! for another autumn breeze, I want to kiss your clank and eat your thunder to strike up another sweet conversation, Put a lollipop in your mouth or heat up another longing fix. carve your name on my bare ass - - - - Corso slept here track you to Tangiers Sleeping with Gregory Two thumbs out on the highway to poetic passion Please don’t leave me with Orlovsky. Corso He is weird and his comic books are scary!

Wail for CORSO By Christine Timm For CORSO is dead Wail for CORSO wail I gazelle-leap in two step beats But what will we do with your bones Your rum and coke breath flies fast and deep and that beautiful tale? Six flights to allen’s flat I may need to hug your stocky hand to precipice. - - - - You’d like that. so in bed you applaud the snore that roars Sleeping with Amiri but does not nag - or reek Baraka still you think it would be sweet By Christine Timm to seal him in a soundproof tomb. and in the morning the slope-shoulder hangdog The FBI could not hold yr tongue look of ten thousand other mornings meets you in Razor sharp against the thumb the hallway. Throwing yr words like bombs in their direction. stale breakfast eyes scream nothing. nonviolence is great the silence stunning. as long as it works You ain’t bouncin shit off this brick wall. Malcolm knew and so did you in millions of other homes crying thief into the ears of the white open spaces it is the same. oblivious to the history of forced gifts bland plans and burnt out dreams sweat and muscle buried in basement brain and power behind weight training gear they called you leroi he hasn’t seen in years. you screamed Baraka you called me yr star in the sky so you go to work I gave you three wishes and meet more folks with nothing to scream. light feet still, a man who has forgotten how to screw is free words easily replaced and in my palm by another who has forgotten how to screw his poetry wife. in a battered box you wink slyly at the working girls maybe his manila file teeth will not bother them. - - - - But back home Sleeping with Charles he is waiting for Christmas, Bukowski or Labor Day or New Years, and believes if he finds the right words and the weight gear By Christine Timm and if your corner cubicle man does not beat him to punch, one amusing thing is being in bed he just might get his blow job. night after night or something. with a man who has forgotten how to screw - really. they get old, their balls sag they forget to brush their teeth ass and tummy lose all integrity butt-gas beats and blowhard belch bum rush hushed bedchat, and lover’s croon

The American Epidemic: The Lessons the Beats Left us to Ignore by Adi Rajkovic

There are many concerns that I have for today’s talents and passions in fear of judgment. Girls with youth, but the issue I concentrate most on is the genius ability play dumb so that their peers will not growing apathy that has plagued this generation. I label them as nerds. Boys who show the slightest bit have come to notice that, due to the influences of of emotion are ostracized. For teenagers to feel pain the current society, the pursuit of happiness has found is to be weak; now kids are taking drugs not to a new meaning. What was once the cornerstone of expand their mind, but to limit it-to block unwanted the “American Dream” is now but a common topic emotions and fears-to be in complete and utter of trivial debate. The MTV generation, as it is oblivion. They do not just numb their emotions but sometimes called, is unlike any other generation. they numb their minds-and I can talk from Something has changed drastically over the past two experience. I too have been a part of this vain decades. Although there have been many humanity- but luckily I have been able to recover. I technological advances, in some cases we have have seen much of our youth sacrifice their spirit to advanced in the wrong direction. Television has maintain a facade. They are so jaded by society’s become as necessary as the air we breathe and the demands that they can not see their own abilities. toxic tongue of the media has become the word of Potential leaders and artists lose themselves in the God. Actors, singers, entertainers, models- anyone madness, falling into the same mold as every other with a pretty face is lionized, and then duplicated. person. The human race has been colonized by Especially to women, appearance means everything. clones- save the dialect disparity in some states; So if your waist happens to be wider than 24 inches people have surrendered their individuality to become and your bust smaller than a D cup, better not count a living stencil. There is a small majority that truly on making it to the cover of Cosmo. Even men takes advantage of the independence and emphasis compete in this life-long beauty pageant; striving to on individuality that the British blessed us with so have chiseled abs and bulging biceps. This is why long ago. If you focus on this epidemic that has plastic surgery has become a modern marvel, if affected so many innocent civilians, the American wealthy enough. So what about the less fortunate Dream seems to wrinkle and fade into what seems girl who is slightly obese, but can not afford to fix an ancient artifact. But do not get me wrong-I am herself? Are there scholarships for plastic surgery? not writing this paper to be cynical and apocalyptic- Well, not right now, and hopefully values change so I believe there is still hope for the American people. that will not be necessary in the future. And no one Luckily, there is a growing population of steadfast is spared, not even the children. You can never be pioneers who have united to cure this disease. They too young or too old to join the race to perfection. are determined to bring Americans back to their While mom and dad find their inspiration in fitness roots, back to the pursuit of happiness that brings and fashion magazines, children are being joy and love, not leather skin and hair implants. This conditioned to look like their favorite toys. Girls strive is the original definition of patriotism-to show love to look like the classic peroxide blond Barbie and and devotion toward one’s country. Others, too busy boys get to choose between G-I Joe and the to care, declare their allegiance by wearing a Bionicles. Instead of being brought up reading books diamond broach of the American flag and exploding that advocate healthy values like honesty, friendship roman candles on the Fourth of July. However, we and individuality, children are raised watching shows are not doomed. There are enough patriots in this broadcasted by MTV which shun personality and country who are taking action; those that still have instead promote gossip, drama, and above all apathy. their voices are speaking publicly about this issue- People are so consumed with their appearance that bringing awareness to those who want it. A literary nothing else seems to matter. They suppress their reference from the 50’s that portrays this public spirit would be Jack Kerouac, the protagonist of the Beat Easton Ellis, also a satirical writer, creates a similar Generation. During this time Kerouac and his illustration in his novel, Less than Zero. He creates entourage, (Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs- the epitome of an American youth, growing up Los to name two) had the audacity to rise above society Angeles, the nucleus of the virus cell. Ellis includes and make a change. They formed an intellectual all the details of the routine lifestyle - tanning salons, alliance that soon progressed into an intellectual sex, cliques, drugs, MTV, apathy, social expectations community and then a generation. Although short- and parties. lived, the Beats’ achievements will not be forgotten. Other artists use different mediums to convey their Kerouac’s novel, On the Road, marked the own message. Photographer Spencer Tunick speaks beginning of a new age. Ginsberg’s notorious poem, loudly through his images. Some say a picture is ‘Howl’, became the focus of obscenity trials in the worth a thousand words; in Tunick’s case this U.S. that helped liberalize what could legally be statement is very true. Tunick has taken an extreme published. Burroughs’s unorthodox style of writing approach to free expression. His photographs are was also a literary phenomenon. His novel, Naked revolutionary in themselves- he captures people as Lunch, was prosecuted as obscene once it was he thinks they should be-pure and unadorned, in their published. The case against Burroughs’s novel still most organic state, mask less & fashion less- utterly stands as the last obscenity trial against a work of naked. The shock value of his photographs allows literature. The Beats started as pioneers with no people to see themselves as what they are destination; changing the world one impulse at a time- underneath the affectations. Musicians such as Nas and soon catalyzed the counterculture of the 1960’s and Isaac Brock speak to the public through their which furthered the revolution of free expression. In lyrics. From rap to indie rock, they both sing about order to fix the future, we must first look at the past. injustice, fanatical societies, senseless crime, and Does anyone remember Susan B Anthony, Martin shallow infatuations, hoping that people will do more Luther King, Ken Kesey, the Beatles, JFK, Rosa than just listen. Buddha once said “the cessation of Parks, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Jim suffering is the cessation of craving.” This statement Morrison, Gertrude Stein, Mark Twain, Jupiter is the solution to our problems. Once we start Hammon, or Betty Friedman? It seems that in the educating our youth with sincere morals and values past people were more active in the community we can change this vicious cycle of social perfection. because they were working toward the freedom we So in the words of Thomas Wolfe: “To every man, now have. Are we done trying? Maybe the pursuit regardless of his birth, his shining golden of independence has become a trivial matter- too opportunity....the right to live, to work, to be himself, many people do not appreciate the liberty that others and to become whatever thing his manhood and would die and have died for. People need to be vision can combine to make him.” There is a cure to reminded- a nation-wide reality check should be the trivial desires that become unhealthy obsessions, issued. Since the government cannot issue this and there is a loophole to achieve the American message, it is up to the American people to take Dream. You can start by being yourself and not letting action. Writers like Nicole Blackman, Chuck the vain reality of this world blind you. As for the Palahinuk and Bret Easton Ellis are all making rest, only time will tell. progress towards the much needed Cultural Revolution. They all write about the heart, an organ that is but a pump to so many. Nicole Blackman’s profound poetry screams to the reader, encouraging empathy or at least sympathy from a reader- anything but apathy. When reading her poems I can feel every word deep inside me, stirring my forsaken spirit. Chuck Palahniuk uses satire to expose the plastic mask that has suffocated so many innocent civilians in his novel, Invisible Monsters; he illustrates this through killer beauty queens with elastic insides. Bret Modern Beats: Tom Waits In Issue One, David S Wills looked at the songwriter Pete Doherty as a modern day Beatnik, with the promise of finding another for Issue Two. He lied. There was no Modern Beats in Issue Two. But here, belatedly, he brings you the second instalment of the Modern Beats section… This time it’s Tom Waits, legendary pianist and Beat aficionado.

Intro perform, looking as though he’d just stepped off a freight train, after years of footloose wandering. When I was in California, I met a man named Dale. He was an interesting character, who changed from Music day to day, influenced my life, and then left in a few weeks, leaving a trail of confusion and hurt feeling. But it wasn’t just his appearance that smacked of a What grabbed me when I first met him was his Beat influence. Michael Melvoin considered Waits’ appearance – he looked absolutely, one hundred lyrics to be high quality poetry. “I felt I was in the per cent the spitting image of Tom Waits. It was presence of one of the great Beat poets,” he said. staggering. And boy could he talk. The man had spent Bones Howe said Waits performing was like “Allen his life on the road, wandering from odd job to odd Ginsberg with a really, really good band.” job, all over America. He reminded me in character of Jack Kerouac, and not just for the good points. “I guess everybody reads He seemed Byronic, mired in guilt and with a Kerouac at some point in their ferocious battle against alcoholism and abandonment life. Even though I was issues. He was a womaniser and a smooth-talking growing up in Southern environmental crusader. California, he made a He was my inspiration for this article, a link in my tremendous impression on me. head between the Beats, whom I’d gone to It was 1968. I started wearing California to chase, and Tom Waits, whose music dark glasses and got myself a was so often my own theme tune. subscription to Downbeat ... I was a little late. Kerouac died Appearance in 1969 in St Petersburg, Florida, a bitter old man. Tom Waits is often viewed as an heir to the Beat “I became curious about style Generation, and indeed he acknowledges the strong more than anything else. I influence the Bets, and in particular Burroughs and discovered Gregory Corso, Kerouac, have had upon his work. It’s not hard to Lawrence Ferlinghetti ... see in Waits’ work the musical influences of the bop Ginsberg still comes up with artists held in such importance by the Beats, as well something every now and as the lyrical significance of urban, Cold War again.” America, a central tenant of Beat literature. Elvis Costello quipped that around the release of But perhaps his music wasn’t just inspired by reading ‘Swordfishtrombones’ and ‘Raindogs’, Waits shed too much Beat poetry. Perhaps it was more to do an image that was entirely built upon the legends of with a shared heritage and environment. Waits didn’t the Beat Generation, and partially on those who love jazz because the Beats loved jazz, and likewise influenced the Beats. He called it “this hipster thing he didn’t write about the city just because they wrote he’d taken from Kerouac and Bukowski, and the about the city. With the exception of Gary Snyder, music was tied to some Beat/ Jazz thing.” Indeed, the Beats were pretty much all city-dwellers, left many remember meeting Waits or even seeing him disaffected by a cold and desolate world. At night there were no stars or owls in the distance; it was neon light, sirens, 24hr stores, and a world that music, that didn’t have any music in it, but had music refused to sleep. These things are evident anywhere all over it.” in the annals of Beat literature, as in the lyrics of But we shouldn’t get too carried away with the Tom Waits, who conjures up a world of hookers, connections, no matter how obvious they are. We waitresses and truckers after the fall of darkness. don’t want to get our asses kicked… A 1975 Melodymaker article says Waits had “a continuing fascination with the ephemeral ecstasies A lot of people when they talk previously explored by such writers as Jack to me, they talk about Kerouac, Lawrence Ferlinghetti [and] Allen Kerouac, and get this Ginsberg.” impression that I’m trying to The influence didn’t just stop with reading Kerouac recreate the beat scene or some or sharing the same heartless world, however, as bullshit. Pure folly. I think it’s Waits eyed the poetry readings that made Ginsberg redundant, and I think it just famous. The Beats were always associated with shows their own stupidity. jazz, but jazz wasn’t just their influence. Many Beat poets – Ginsberg being the most famous, of course Collaboration – used jazz as the background to their readings. It didn’t distract from the words, but instead brings Of course, one could claim any number of late out the words in a special light. Likewise, Waits twentieth century artists to be heirs of the Beat frequently performed alone or with a light jazz Generation, such was the impact upon the culture accompaniment. held by these writers, but Waits is unique in the extent The 1957 album, ‘Kerouac/Allen’ helped influence of his collaboration, and of course the fact that he is Waits, as it featured Kerouac telling stories with still active today and still carrying the Beat torch. Steve Allen playing the piano. It’s not hard to listen Whereas Doherty, as explained in Issue One, to Waits and see the connection. maintains a Beat ethos and shares a similar style and line of literary and musical influence to the Beats, “The first time I heard any Waits’ connection is far more direct. In 1987, Waits spoken word that I was really was involved with William S Burroughs and Nick impressed with was an album Cave in releasing ‘Smack my Crack’, a spoken called ‘Kerouac/Allen’ - Steve word album, released through Giorno Poetry Allen & Jack Kerouac and he Systems. talked while Steve Allen played A year later, theatre director Robert Wilson some stuff and he just talked approached Waits with the idea of aligning with over the top of it and it was Burroughs to create The Black Rider: The Casting real, real effective - I had never of the Magic Bullets. The play showed at the Thalia heard anything like it” Theatre in Hamburg, in 1990, and has since toured Europe and America. Burroughs wrote the story, Waits is frequently asked about Kerouac, and he based on a German folktale, while Waits wrote and claims to have read everything of his, including all performed the music and lyrics, released on a highly the articles hidden away in skin mags and other such successful album of the same name. publications. In 1979 he told New Music Express that he dreamed about Kerouac and that Kerouac was his hero, even years after discovering the author. Kerouac was obvious a massive influence on the art of Waits, but whenever ask, offers a glimpse of his literary predecessors, who include Corso, Ferlinghetti, Lord Buckley and Ken Nordine. But it always came back to Kerouac, and reading On the Road at eighteen: “It spoke to me. I couldn’t believe that somebody’d be making words that felt like