when i was in college i had a chance to interview the fine poet for our little newspaper.
and that is why i am putting a piture of a william burroughs novel on my blog on mr ginsbergs birthday.
whats funny was, it wasnt even like i was much of a ginsberg fan, i was way more into wc williams, ee, bukowski, and plath. heck i was even way more into gerald manley hopkins and chaucer and dickinson.
but of all the beats, ginsberg was the only one who i sort of respected because he was a poet through and through and definately out there, but to me ferlingheti did it better.
still, somehow i thought the interview would go better than it did, but it didnt and maybe six months before that i got to chat with robert creeley and i loved him and he told me these great little stories and it was a real conversation and it was really nice and maybe its because not a lot of people were knocking down his door to talk with him.
or maybe it was because he talked slower.
i was interviewed the other day and i was super sick. you can even see how sick i was in this peice. and i hadnt shaved and in certain pictures i might look ok unshaved but the unblinking camera eye tells all and the sad truth is i need to shave every day and i should probably stay away from getting in front of any cameras.
and i need to talk slower and i need to be a little more mysterious.
like never speak.
but i was filled to the rim with robotussin and exhaustion and i was trying to be funny. creeley never tried to be funny.
its 95 degrees here in los angeles today. its 3:10pm.
ive been invited to three birthday parties tonight, all of which i should go to because theyre all good people, there will be hot single ladies everywhere, and probably a job lead or ten.
or i could head down to san diego.
or i could just hang out here at the crib and write all day like mr burroughs would do and wait until 1am when the phone has a very high chance of ringing with an intoxicated young lady on the other end asking to be picked up from a club on hollywood blvd.
and that young lady will be wearing leather boots, or fuzzy ski boots, or only one boot because she lost the other
and when she gets to my house she will take a long shower and somehow smoke two or three cigarettes while in the shower, leave the butts in a soap dish – classy -, and walk out to my computer closet with wet hair, my robe, and my fuzzy slippers, asking me what she thought of her new brazilian cut.
i was under the impression that allen ginsberg had a few of those stories to lay upon me, the college boy, writing for the college paper. aka blow our stupid minds freak man.
instead he told me about the horrors of drinking too much booze.
i was all, dude, drinking is just something for me to do with my hands while at parties.
i dont think he liked me neither.
but there you go bro, happy birthday.