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Brion Gysin (January 19, 1916 – July 13, 1986) was a painter, writer, sound poet, and performance artist  born in either Edmonton Alberta, Canada  or Taplow, Buckinghamshire

He is best known for his discovery of the cut-up technique, used by his friend, the novelist William S. Burroughs

 

 

Gysin baby rocks the junk baby no good… read em and weep.

Gamble on it

master trader masturbated…they’ve traded their sexuality for a dollar.

Coinage castrato… a gysin moment…junk no good baby…read em and weep

again and again.

Junk baby junkie. smack that crack-crack that rap to the blue

man new man

brown shirts marching lock-step 4/4 time baby square it with

the man.

Man can can can – can do – react with a passion…passion no more

crackberry castrato.

 

Yammer – constant pat on the back – congratulatory constipation.-

soul-less see.

Ya can hear it in their voices – no regrets – no life lived – no regrets no life

lived

white whine and cheese – noise incessant – inflicted – disgraced – far

too far – It’s calling . Calling those weak in spirit – dream to the dream machine

dreams

Psychedelic phallic fuck. Fuck you up …baby baby fucked up on the smack.

crack rap. See the end – feel the end game – run on the keys – feel

it – feel my

meter baby. Blue baby blue oh Mary Mary – Hail Mary Mary

walking among

the poor – it’s the low track bass line mainline. Alley riot. Diseases

talking taking

their course – how time marches by – not so kind to some

baby crack smack – walking the Dunn Avenue industrial areas

look looking

seeing the time go by wait waiting – you know there is a

difference – drug time

baby blue , it’s only a matter of time baby blue till you

are found … found foundry

failings tailing. It’s industrial baby just like you. Smack that

crack rap… smoke… smoke that crack smack up rap mash up.

I was 6 when I saw the book and he was dead by the time I was

10

Desolation alley baby blue Mary blue… Merry Marry Mary

transformation.

Transformed city streets shitty beats. Shitty city noises tracking tracking tracks.

Arms length.

Keep it that far – always that far but too arms length far – blue veined blue line mainline.

But does it have to mean a God Damned thing?

Mary Mary quite contrary where did the mainline go? Bop bopping till

the sun comes up on that tortured garden soul. Enchanted

evenings on lonely

streets…looking yet not looking – at past friends – families now divorced.

Lonely streets deserted except for thrash in bags or blowing away down alley ways

cacophonous – make a sex noise here – sloppy second sounds in the early morning dew.

Pagers vibrate on coffee house tables and old man wondering about the where’s and why’s and

whats the count so far.

 

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