I've Had It With These Cheap Sons

The Dumping Of The Mentally Ill, Full Of These New Psychiatric Drugs, Into The Streets Is A Scandal. It's Been Carried Furthest In New York, Where Whole Sections Of The Decayed Upper West Side Are Being Filled With Pensioners And Psychotic Patients On Stelazine, Lithium Carbonate, And Everything Else Under The Sun. They Can't Diagnose The Patient, So They Give Him The Whole Psychiatric Pharmacopoeia At Once, And He Walks Around In A Psychotic Trance Beautifully Painted All Over With Petrochemicals.

I've Had It With These Cheap Sons Of Bitches Who Claim They Love Poetry But Never Buy A Book.

The Holiness Of The Real Is Always There, Accessible In Total Immanence. The Nodes Of Transcendence Coagulate In You, The Experiencer, And In The Other, The Lover.

Any Talented Decadent Can Make Unreality Believable. To Make Reality Convincing Is Another Matter, A Matter For Only The Greatest Masters.

Perhaps This Is What Really Happens In Life To Most Good Men. They Are Not Crucified. They Simply Pass Through Life And Then Die, And Their Passing Influences Just A Few People To Make Them Just A Little Happy.