and don't you know that god is pooh bear? jack kerouac |
a boy you should know |
a song don't hafta be sung if it's in your heart. |
bootless apologia. |
by their fruits you shall know them, not their disclaimers. |
i came to a crossroad |
of day for night. |
dharma bum. |
don't worry mister, i mo take you to pebble beach with a golden boy soon. |
flow bear |
Add caption |
godevil |
i'm prouda you son. |
talk slow |
it ain't none of it my fault. |
joy and suffering at a certain point become one taste, because it's existence itself, the crying over existence, the tears are an appreciation of existence, |
and the suffering of existence, which is so deep it's joyful, |
and the beauty and mortality and sadness of leaving existence. allen ginsberg |
the pleasure and pressure of not appearing. |
outlaw of the sensorium. |
we're practicing the dharma together, though he would not perhaps put it that way as he's not as affected as me, |
and he's far more poetic. |
salty tree by l.s.d.
save yourself, but don't forget about me. |
sagittarius |
a snowflake melts on a warm nose in the sun. |
spare me the diseased alchemy of mercenary politicians. |
spirit is a hard, tough, baby. gregory corso |
spondee heart, |
stuttering odes to the cold cold city. |
talk slow |
the head emerges from the shadow and the shadow emerges from the head and so on. |
the right distance near as possible. |
the spirit hits you and you fall down. |
i throw myself to the dogs of eternity. |
tree tings. |
weeping over the passion |
when you get to the end you go back again. |
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