Rong Radio Station

Benjamin Zephaniah

Rockadelic Warrior

Self proclaimed Rockadelic Warrior Slippereal who says in another video he once took 50 tabs of acid in a week and he's never had a day job this Millenium. Rock on Mike Brown.

Radical man

Change the World. Start where you are. Say something.
From Blunty3000 on youtube.

The Way of Graff

You're the graff warrior
pushin' all the barriers,
Smoke weed all day
and follow The Way.

Your clunking brain shouts "Global Revolution!"
but what we need here is inner evolution.
You got to liberate your mind
but you're 'fraid of what you'll find.
Look into your dreams.
Reveal the Unseen.
You sure are keen
but you don't know what it means.

You're the graff warrior
pushin' all the barriers,
Smoke weed all day
and follow The Way.

Some may say you're a geek
but you're just searching for peaks.
You peer into the heart of mystery
and have visions of Infinity.
Just can't stop the growing rage
when you see the world's a stage.
Overwhelmed by what you think you know,
you claim to perceive the eternal flow.

Yeah, you're the graff warrior
pushin' all the barriers,
Smoke weed all day
and follow The Way.

So now, you've got the knowledge curse,
the only escape is to put it in verse.
So you pick up your pen
and write the Way of zen.
The dharma's in all things
and God's beneath your skin.
It seems you have enlarged your range
as you watch the shifting city change.

Patchwork Orange

Write yourself out of a tight birdcage finale.
Set sail for the land of toucan sunsets.
Suburban mind clouds fall twisting
from the freight train night.
Treading the same streets,
old moments arising from the ground,
each step a new piece of patchwork
in the Cambridge tapestry,
faces weaving in harmony.

To Skunk Cannabis

Last year I fell in love with you.
We walked together
thru the concrete paradise,
and made love many times
in the endless night.
You enticed me with promises of Infinity
and I chased you every day
trying to comprehend your mysterious rhythms.
As I pushed on in search of The Answer
you opened up the sky
and shat on my face.
You taught me some things it's true
but now I'd rather fuck your sister hash instead.

Shakespeare

"You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful sir.
Our revels are now ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on;
and our little life
is rounded with a sleep."

The Tempest (IV, i, 145).


"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts."

As You Like It (II, vii, 140).

Allen Ginsberg

Sunset S.S.Azemour

As orange dusk-light falls on an old idea
I gaze thru my hand on the page
sensing outward the intercoiled
weird being I am in
and seek a head of that - Seraphim
advance in lightening flash
through aether storm
Messengers arrive horned bearded
from Magnetic spheres
disappearing radios receive aged galaxies
immensity wheels mirrored in every direction
Announcement swifting from Invisible to Invisible
Eternity-dragon's tail lost to the eye
Strange death, forgotten births,
voices calling in the past
"I was" that greets "I am"
that writes now "I will be"
Armies marching over and over the old battlefield -
What powers sit in their domed tents
and decree Eternal Victory?
I sit at my desk and scribe
the endless message from myself
to my own hand

Marseilles, Tanger, 1961.

William Burroughs

The endlessly quotable Burroughs... will edit more in as I find them...

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted"

"Keep your snout in the public trough" - ("Act normal at all times"-Mick)

"Cut the pre-recordings into air, into thin air"

His dying words, written in his journal:

"What there is. Love."

Jack Kerouac

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say commonplace things, but burn like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes ‘AWWW!’”


Mexico City Blues. 6th Chorus

This thinking is stopped.
Buddha's secret moonlight: - is
the Ancient Virtue of laying up
and thinking happy & comfortable
thoughts - This, which modern
society has branded "Loafing", is
made available to people now
apparently only by junk.

Self depends on existence of other
self, and so no Solo Universal self
exists - no self, no other self,
no innumerable selves, no
Universal self and no ideas
relating to existence or non-existence thereof -

The Greatest, Who Has Undertaken
to Comfort Innumerable Beings.
The Kind One
The Art of Kindness Master
The Master of Wisdom
The Great Ferryman
The Great Vehicle Being.

Indigo Cut Shuffle. . .

Flute melancholia, the passing back
down of something vaguely familiar.
The Beats must've had a clickety
typrewriter frenzy unrolling before them.
Each moment begins again
and the folded paper in my pocket
becomes obselete.
More words, beautiful words!
Metaphorical journeys of the unseen heart.
Oh blog, what a silly, functional word you are.
Hold my hand and let's dance
around the golden minarets.
Pure Disney fantasies.
Sheet upon sheet of magic lightning
glistening with unbearable dew.
Fold your hands upon corduroy'd knee
and I'll shoot you in the head.
Don't quack your mindless politic at me.
Indigo cut shuffle...

A band of fluid Zimbabweans at hotdog corner
circled by tight jeaned westerners.
Loose rhythms and smiling faces
as Syd watches from the roof.
Original singing, a healthy heartfelt
plea to the gods for peace.
Each one moving with his own inspiration.
They act out the ancient story
of man and woman..
Chop dissolve to the ruby red
corridors of my own land.

Thinking is a narcotic
-the words of another.
I am ready to build a castle of verse.
On the edge of the dream
I pull back and let my arrow fly
into the soul of a passing onlooker.
Electric cardinals, beasts of desire,
a conglomeration of wandering angels.
We must fall now
if but for a moment
into that illumined cavern.
Speak softly for they are far behind. . .
The tincture tingles beneath the tongue.
Sublingual murmurings,
clouds breathe behind the eyes.
Music enters your ears.
Into what? Into air, into thin air.
Perpetual beating of the mind,
it rises and revolves again,
from feet to scalp a million doors,
all open.
But inevitably we must fall again.
Back to the world of banalities.
Few know the true power of words.

meh

I am
the Universe
but sometimes
I forget