Henry in a shit-hole, not suicidal, just holding on—a hand full of nothing.
Microscopic razor-blades flowing through his veins, inter-cellular antagonist at war with Henry inside.
Henry at Wah Wah coffee shop, he would stop off here. Chocolate and coffee for breakfast offering temporary relief of pain, even cocaine was temporary, everything was.
Reading “HOWL” by Allen Ginsburg—
“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…”
Henry thinking on “HOWL” some —a poem of desperation, pathos and modern revolutionary heroes, victims of excess and predators of the “Negro night?”
Henry’s mind a space ship flying no-where he thought.
Reading over today’s writings he realised his mind was gone, afloat on a river of shit, and so it goes.