Thought Is Just An Apprehension Of Touch.

I Don't Know Of Any Other City Where You Can Walk Through So Many Culturally Diverse Neighborhoods, And You're Never Out Of Sight Of The Wild Hills. Nature Is Very Close Here.

I Never Did Know Exactly What Was Meant By The Term "the Beats," But Let's Say That The Original Meeting, Association, Comradeship Of Allen Ginsberg, Myself, Michael Mcclure, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Philip Whalen, Who's Not Here, Lew Welch, Who's Dead, Gregory Corso, For Me, To A Somewhat Lesser Extent (i Never Knew Gregory As Well As The Others) Did Embody A Criticism And A Vision Which We Shared In Various Ways, And Then Went Our Own Ways For Many Years.

Sometime In The Last Ten Years The Best Brains Of The Occident Discovered To Their Amazement That We Live In An Environment. This Discovery Has Been Forced On Us By The Realization That We Are Approaching The Limits Of Something.

Clambering Up The Cold Mountain Path, The Cold Mountain Trail Goes On And On: The Long Gorge Choked With Scree And Boulders, The Wide Creek, The Mist-blurred Grass. The Moss Is Slippery, Though There's Been No Rain The Pine Sings, But There's No Wind. Who Can Leap The World's Ties And Sit With Me Among The White Clouds?

Streams And Mountains Never Stay The Same.