Wreck: Ginsberg & other Insanities
- wReck thiS meSS ~ Radio Patapoe 88.3 ~ Amsterdam
Ethno-Illogical Psycho-Radiographies: 369 [966*]: Ginsberg [10 years
dead] & 20-something
PTP in the ether: 88.3FM
Where purity & puerility are synonymous
streaming via internet:
2 April 2007 // 17.00-19.00
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
o Allen Ginsberg, "America"
America > Allen Ginsberg 
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
* Allen Ginsberg, "America"
+ Dawn > Wild Shores 
Disconnnection > Tackhead 
Scribble > Allen Ginsberg 
Complaint of the Skeleton to Time > Allen Ginsberg 
Ghetto Thang > De La Soul 
Aunt Rose > Allen Ginsberg 
Please Master Please > Allen Ginsberg 
+ Thule Ultima > Wild Shores 
The Lion for Real > Allen Ginsberg 
Transmitting Live from Mars > De La Soul 
Eye Know > De La Soul 
De Begrafenis van de Dichter > J. Bernlef 
Refrain > Allen Ginsberg 
The Shrouded Stranger > Allen Ginsberg 
Audio Visual Attack > Tackhead 
Man in a Suitcase > Tackhead 
Gregory Corso's Story > Allen Ginsberg 
Cleveland, Ohio > Allen Ginsberg 
Broken Edge > Deadline 
A Supermarket in California [Ginsberg] > Laurel Lefkow 
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops?
What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you,
and followed in my imagination by the store detective.
o Allen Ginsberg, "A Supermarket in California"
+ Low Space Monitor > Transonic
Potholes in My Lawn > De La Soul 
Howl Controversy on Pacifica > NPR
Pushing obscene odes on the windows of the skull
o Allen Ginsberg
Howl > Allen Ginsberg 
+ Terror Beats > Renegade Sound Wave
+ Drum Solo > Iron Butterfly
Plug Tunin' > De La Soul 
The End > Allen Ginsberg 
Stanzas: Written at Night in Radio City > Allen Ginsberg 
I Saw the Best Mind of My Generation Rot > Fugs 
Picture Disc Sound > Goodiepal vs Jessica Ryan 
Eye Know [the Know It All Mix] > De La Soul 
 "Poetry on Record: 98 Poets Read Their Work, 1888-2006" on Shout
Factory <shoutfactory.com>. Thanx Nina for the great 2006 birthday
present. Incredibly beautiful seductive package. Some amazing
recordings. Walt Whitman (maybe!). Beautiful package although the
editors and compilers stuck pretty much to the straitjacketed canon.
And the new/younger poets on CD 4 includes not a single soul I know.
Really missed the boat by avoiding all the vital poets out there in
NY and elsewhere. Ginsberg does a rousing stand-up comedy version of
one of his last great poems. He is drunk and he is illuminated.
 "Instant Music" on Taktic Music. Already 10 years old, this is a
great cd of post-Zoviet France music by the artist's collective from
 "Tackhead Sound Crash" on On-U. Effective sound-crunching by the
master Sherwood. Crams an entire sound legacy into 1 CD.
 "The Lion for Real" on Island, 1989. Effective production by Hal
Willner [if i'm not mistaken] makes Ginsberg seem au courant for a
 "3 Feet High and Rising" on Tommy Boy. Hippie hip hop at its
all-time non-macho non-gangsta best. A Great record.
 "Totally Corrupt" on Giorno Poetry Systems. This patchy series of
mixing in big names with real poets is at its best precisely because
it had not yet been totally infected by the star-fucking disease.
cool stuff by Frank O'Hara, Burroughs, Ginsberg, Kesey, Sanders,
Cage, WC Williams, Girono, Dorn, Anne Waldman...
 "One World Poetry: Live from Amsterdam" on Giorno Poetry Systems
/ Knipscheer / MilkyWay. As produced by the long-dead Benn Possett,
deliriously blends Dutch and Anglo poets for a really nice record of
resistance poetry with a sense of humor. Recorded live in Amsterdam
in 1980. Stay tuned for more on the Benn Possett memorial reading to
happen in Amsterdam in 2008. Anyone who appeared at one of his events
is invited to perform. It will be a full gala event.
 "Dissident" on Day Eight. 1991 release of a band that inc. 3
bassists [Laswell, Bootsy Collins and Jonas Hellborg]. The disaster
is an inspired one.
 "Beat Poets" Courtesy of Black Sifichi. Interesting throughout.
Best or most fascinating are Ian Dury's interpretations of the Beats.
Seems like a natural affinity somehow. Also with William Marsh, Diane
Di Prima, Anne Waldman and some great stuff by Tuli Kupferberg. His
'Paint it Red (and Black)' is an anarcho-syndicalist rewrite of the
Rolling Stones song.
 "Howl" is a long poem, a howl at the injustices of a world
turned upside down by the powers that be. It is Ginsberg's big bang
theory. A huge frothing inspired messy sprawling denunciation of
reality as fed to us by the straight men of the world ca. mid-1950s.
It is celebrating its 50-something anniversary since publication.
 "Virgin Fugs" on ESP vinyl. Genius touchstone record, extended
beatness as critique for straightness beyond the 50s into the hippie
era, lent anarcho-syndicalist edge [in a Groucho Marx style] to
 "Big Mag no. 1" on de Player <www.stdsps.nl> <www.deplayer.nl>.
Amazingly interesting old-style zine done in new style. Vital, DIY,
handmade, professional, warm, intriguing, iconoclastic and
full-color. The OUTSIDER issue. Includes my article on outsider Mike
Johnson, a black country-singin yodelin' truck driver from Virginia.
Order today. No disappointment possible. For more info check the
o These are all 20 [or 30] -somethinganniversaries or something in
that area... I've been on the radio airwaves 20 years:
o I first played De la soul's first single, "Plug Tunin" in 1987. I
think we were one of the first radio stations to receive the
[label-less/white label] 12-in single. I think I just happened to be
there when the music director was opening the mail and got to play
it. Coincidence. But I think I can safely say that I was probably one
of the first radio DJs to play it in the world. I mean, what does it
o 1989's De la soul was the first major hippie hop, being less urban,
less hardass and more fun than earlier hardening of the vinyl
o I grew up in Ginsberg's "Nowhere zen New Jersey", lived just
outside of Paterson in Hawthorne above a garage, then above a
luncheonette with a loud jukebox that droned into the night and
through my mother's skull. She in night dress, squinting in curlers,
pink and alien, going down to ask, tell, plead with them to turn down
the music. She being called a foreigner, laughed at for her accent,
then them turning up the music, never thinking of calling the police.
Then moving out further away from the very people we had emigrated
o Ginsberg first proposed to me [not with "Please Master Please, but
not much less or different] while he was autographing copies of his
books for others, whileI was a longhair student at UofM in Ann Arbor.
He said something like "I want to go down on you." It was less poetic
and more pleading than one might expect. "You're a pretty thing. Are
you coming out with the rest of us?" Or something along those lines.
I did not go. I was not disgusted. Had weird sex with a niece of
Hemingways's instead. she was from Ketchum Idaho - and psychiatric
couch Manhattan - beautiful, powerful, fearless, adventure and
danger-obsessed. Proposed a relationship to me in the middle of a big
lecture hall during a college professor's lecture on Lina Wertmuller
- aloud, brash, rambunctious Sex in the basement of a blues club,
right near a bit of dark outside the heavy-traffic toilet, sex in my
taxicab while I was driving, orgasm as we headed magnetically toward
the headlights of oncoming traffic or so we would both rewrite our
trysts in the filmic version of it in our own journals. Handjob in
front seat while I was taking a fare home, meter ticking, running,
and trying to disguise my arousal in small talk and radio blaring
late night jazz on the college station.
o this after-reading encounter with Ginsberg did point out that he in
his ability to wield power and influence and boldly ask for what he
wanted he was both revolutionary and standardly predatory - like
bosses in a dingy office who can fire a gal for not going out with
him or rock stars who can have anyone they want. In this show of
might he simultaneously seemed pathetically small, human, pleading,
lonely. And that was part of Ginsberg too. Amazingly bardic and yet
pathetically concerned about book sales [as one friend noted, he
would come in regularly into Eastside Books (RIP) in the East
Village] to control book sales like some petty accountant. He
embodied all of that and his poetry tried to capture those human
inconsistencies, those national hypocrisies, those crises of faith of
the human spirit. He lived passionately and messily and with full
ragged flaws showing. A bulging ego who preached downward that
egolessness was the way to go. Committed to political activism and
somehow mucking that up with human foibles. He did write his
Whitmanesque material 'Howl', 'Kaddish', 'America' 'Supermarket' as
he had desired and set out to do and became the living embodiment of
a land dealing with its devils, its garbage, its misgivings, its
hopes and that he seemed to take on gladly, with honor. He was the
spokesman [and like Burroughs] was able to avoid ageism, and other
prejudices that straight-laced culture would try to foist upon the
Beats - the New Yorker style persnickety ridicule and satire of all
that was Beatnik, for instance. He weathered it all even recorded a
punk single with the glu-ons, which was moaning rap in the style of
his hero Dylan. One of the great samples of 1990s music was his
"let's all make love in London" taken from some film and reused by
Dub Syndicate for their Love 2001 single.
In depression year 1986, delirium and heat, lack of success and
compensation via feminine attentions, I co-founded [not consciously
mind you] the Unbearable Beatniks of Lite [of Life, of Light, etc.],
which was eventually shortened to the Unbearables. I did not know,
and Matty did not know, and Ron did not know, and Mike did not know,
and Max did not know, and Peter did not know that this was to spawn
one group that would rival the Beats as a group to turn to when you
want a parody of urban lit, of buffoonery, of enlightened
inebriation, of iconoclasm protoplasm, of nonsense and beyond sense.
We weree to be reckoned with and totally ignored nonetheless. We
became a group of some 40 strong/weak and devolved/melted down into
flop, a mere coincidence, a joke not laughed at, intracine squabling,
a core group of some inspired writing that rather than be noticed as
part of a group dynamic got buried in the hype. If hype is a lot of
meaningless words about nothing - as the Dutch say 'baked air' - then
we were it or at least its victims altho we perceived it as triumph.
Self-serious, self-denigrating, self-reflexive, self-delusional,
self-publishing - we went at it like a drunk stuck in a paper bag.
And what emerged was a messy random pattern scatter-shot of genius
works all but forgotten - this is in part because we believed that
good writing, inspiration had to find its just rewards [by being
ignored] and we remained eternally naive about the other part of the
equation [with handwriting everywhere on every wall] that talent and
production don't mean a thing if you aint got the backing/money to
make it sing. we had no INSIDERS who whispered in the ears of the
editors and decisionmakers and thus... This is not regret, however.
This is truth. Or at least some vague semblance of an inkling about
something we once read about truth.
Anyway, along the way some productions happened, readings, zines,
scenes, hanging out, pontificating, in-fighting, in-breeding, and
some anthologies including Semiotext[e] SF [peripherally],
Unbearables [a sprawling anthology of downtown Unbear-related
scriveners] and Crimes of the Beats, which addresses precisely that:
the crimes the Beats committed. This was mostly about their allowing
themselves to be commodified [how do you stop it?], ginsberg becoming
the CEO of Gins.com, Beatnik chic, Beatnik ads Anyway, we weren't so
much blaming them as people or poets but critiquing society for
making everything over into consumable cliché.
The anthology, a good and lively one, is still available from
Autonomedia <www.autonomedia.com>. and it features some acerbic
writing by Unbearables like Jill Rapoport, Alfred Vitale, Mike
Golden, Ron Kolm, and all of the rest of criminals.
We protested in front of a major Beatnik event that took place at
reputable Town Hall, a bunch of still-alive Beats pontificating for a
tie and gown crowd at $15 or $20 [I think] a seat. This was in their
eyes their legitimation in all its domesticated forms. The Beats
could now rant and be taken seriously and thus not at all In the
package, regardless of vacuum seal, you rot. Anyway, there we were in
Mid-Manhattan with our chants and signs when suddenly, the epiphany,
the moment we were all waiting for once in a lifetime happened -
Gregory Corso [the most real of the originals] joined our picket line
as his disgruntlement transformed into bemusement. Down with the
Beats he chanted.
This is a long-winded way of saying Ginsberg has inhabited this
planet like few of us ever have and he didn't mind pushing your face
into that fecal fact - vain and small-minded one moment, magnanimous,
all-embracing the next. Woman-suspicious or some would say hating one
moment and then the next offering a woman poet criticism, praise,
assistance and as in the case of SM, a letter of recommendation she
carried around with her in triplicate for years, a letter that opened
doors, legs, academies, safes
He was to ask/beg me again some 10 years [1987ish?] later in NYC. I
think I had a clever rejoinder or imagined I did or it came later,
the cinematic comeback line popping up long after everything had
dissipated and fallen apart. Fiction [books and films] are the
revenge of those terrorized at the moment of confrontation. They get
to mouth their great lines - mine was 'no thanks, I got a Hoover does
as good a job as you.' Line 2: 'I will ask my girl friend. She likes
to watch. And will you sign the photos she will make?'
Anyway, I have always had a very questionable, tenuous, tense
relationship with the famous, fame, those who love fame. I was
petrified of anyone famous when young, low self-esteem, whatever. But
also very suspicious of its workings on the soul, ego, etc. The
terror fused with the suspicion and became a lifelong iconoclasm or
at least a suspicious glance at everything that seems to be more
famous than it should be. And this was borne out by my relations to
Ginsberg and Co. and all those who herded around them. I just could
not deal with inequality in this realm, this top-down kind of
In 1987 or so I played the news reports about Howl and the
controversy of the ideas - no, really just about swear words and
obscenity... absurd and then played "Howl" itself on my WFMU radio
show in its entirety as a protest against the censorship of the NPR's
or no Pacifica's anniversary playing of "Howl" and being charged with
obscenity by the FCC, penalized thousands of dollars as a strong arm
tactic to punish all those who stupidly believe that freedom of
expression has anything to do with freedom. I was supposed to censor
the few curse words, had even plotted it out - would do it live,
manually and this was to fail, which almost got ME suspended for
airing it [without censoring it] but in the end the insanity that
was/is WFMU was a saner and friendlier kind of insanity than the
official nationalistic insanity that defines the US to this very day.
o The Ex, the best non/ex-punk band still in existence, going into year 28 now.
o It is interesting that in various countries [maybe most], the news
media [papers, radio, TV] don't report or under-report on suicides.
Certainly if they do it is only the most intriguing or unavoidably
public ones. This is partly to do with a wisdom that says if you
begin to report ALL of the [supposedly] too many suicides, more
people will copycat that and follow suit. How does that work exactly?
Desperate people without a clue suddenly hear about an ingenious
method to commit suicide and they go, 'oh yeah, now that seems like
the way to go'? In any case, this is NOT a good advertisement for the
societies we live in - that suicide can only be held back by denying
that they happen
OTHER PATAPOE SHOWS:
o Jonges v/d Vlakte [Boys from the Plains]: "De cottonpickin' Jongens
van de cottonpickin' Vlakte" play a piquant, illuminating, and
playfully irritating mix of faulty music, of near-misses, of obscure
failures, of world music that is not from this world 19.00-20.30
[Dutch time, subtract 1 hr for UK, subtract 6 hrs for US East Coast]
Mondays @ PTP
o Dr. Doo Wop is one of the most eccentric and stimulating radio
shows anywhere. Sartre, DeSade, Doo Wop and music from the gonads.
Now on Radio Patapoe on Sunday 17.00-18.00 Amsterdam time
o Solus: Minimal electro techno acid french hiphop / Thursdays 22.00
o Super Nova is a big potpourri of sounds influences and information
both local and elsewhere. Can you picture a sound? On Sundays
o Wildcat Radio: Anarchist organization presents radio as it should
be - in your ear. Saturdays 18.00-20.00.
o De Oktoskoop: Kinderen /kid /children /rugrats and other
visionaries. Sat. 11.30-13.30
o POLYPHAKE PLAPPERLAPAPP: "polyphone audioerosion featuring
occasional beatweirdniks in an plaperlappap assemblage hosted by
F.Fiasko 22:30-?? Wednesdays
o Radio Worm: Rotterdam-based radio collective presents inventive
programming to baffle all preconceptions. Midnight Sundays and in
o HET PROGRAMMA: industrial lounge for collapsing people. Tuesdays 21:00
* Wreck This Mess-Paris @ Radio Libertaire, Paris 89.4 hosted by
Laurent Diouf 1/2 PanouPanou on Tuesdays 12:30-14:30 check
* Black Sifichi / Audiometric radio check <http://www.blacksifichi.com>
Send all sound material for airplay and review to:
Wreck This MeSS
Dina Appeldoornstraat 11-3
1076 AX Amsterdam
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o Check out NEW excerpts from my erotic-dérive novel: Paris Sex Tete
on Parisiana <http://www.parisiana.com/>
Dina Appeldoornstraat 11-3
1076 AX Amsterdam
tel: +31 20 670 59 65
mobile: +31 06 14 350 590
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