III de Allen Ginsberg

Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland
         where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland
      where you must feel strange
I'm with you in Rockland
         where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland
         where you've murdered your twelve secretarie
I'm with you in Rockland
         where you laugh at this invisible humour
I'm with you in Rockland
         where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland
        where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland
         where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland
         where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland
         where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland
         where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss
I'm with you in Rockland
         where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland
         where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland
         where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland
        where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
         where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
         where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
         where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself   imaginary walls collapse   O skinny legions run outside   O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here   O victory forget your underwear we're free
I'm with you in Rockland
         in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night.

PD: Yo no estoy con nadie en ninguna parte

Número de pensamientos inconexos 3:

Sólo los lugares "sobreconocidos" son capaces de generarme nostalgia.

1,2,3 por los que ya no están.

Siento cómo si me hubiera tragado una sábana y no fuera capaz de respirar.