if i seem a little strange... well thats because i am

Daisy | Eighteen | Harry Potter | The Perks Of Being A Wallflower | The Beat Generation | The Great Gatsby | The Smiths | JackSepticEye | Life Is Strange | Undertale | Game Of Thrones | I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.

[neobeatgeneration]

“America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.”

— 

First line of “America”, a poem by Allen Ginsberg, written in 1956.

www.twitter.com/neobeatkusagi

[obfuscator-deactivated20170531]

I sit inside the shell of the old Me.

Allen Ginsberg, “Why I Meditate” (via obfuscator)

[therivernix]

“Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.”

- Allen Ginsberg (via please-call-me-nix)

[irisnyxbatesofficial]

I just won’t sleep, I decided. There are so many other interesting things to do.

Jack Kerouac (On The Road)

[newtmasdoesthedo]

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.

Allen Ginsberg, Howl. (via newtmasdoesthedo)

[ourveryownpeaceofmind]

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angel headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.

Howl. (via ourveryownpeaceofmind)

[so-absurd]

If I had a soul I sold it for pretty words.

Allen Ginsberg (via so-absurd)

[1940s-typewriter]

Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private

Allen Ginsberg (via 1940s-typewriter)

[benmoonartist]

#Ginsberg with #Kerouac

[adrenochromatic]

[lakanen]

Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness.

Allen Ginsberg (via lakanen)

[abigailruthwrites]

So he drank himself to death. Which is only another way of living, of handling the pain and foolishness of knowing it’s all a dream, a great, baffling, silly emptiness, after all.

Allen Ginsberg, on Jack Kerouac (via abigailruthwrites)

[literarystarbucks]

Ginsberg

Allen Ginsberg goes up to the counter and says, “Coffee. God damn it, coffee.”

The drink will cost three dollars and twentyeight cents and there is no more cream left in the jug.

He walks out under the trees and there is a guitarist in the street playing a tune in the moonlight. Ginsberg is young and we are young and the streetlights flicker and go out and the supermarket down the street has no more peaches. It is summer in California and the lukewarm breast of midnight has just started moving down the street. Ginsberg looks up and breathes in the heavy air and smiles the deep smile of memory and baristas who never loved us and the drops of cream left on the counter. Walt Whitman is dead.

The coffee is cold.

[weirdvintage]

Allen Ginsberg, taken December 1963 at The Women’s House of Detention in Manhattan, photo by Benedict Fernandez (via NY Photo Review)

[theparisreview]

It all begins with fucking around and intuition and without any idea of what you’re doing, I think.

Allen Ginsberg, The Art of Poetry No. 8 (via theparisreview)

[nowgofuckyourselfie]

player @ the beginning: god daaamn, nathan is such a fucking prick i hope he fucks off, seriously.

player knowing more about nathan: wait...he...he actually kinda cool...aw man, i kinda wanna give him a hug now, where the dude at??

jefferson: hm? aw naw fam, you're too late i already popped his ass lmao

player: u fucking what

[chloes-pirate-booty]

Are you??