I CELEBRATE myself;

And what I assume you shall assume;

For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.


I loafe and invite my Soul;

I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.

-Whitman

Art is a gift. Both the talent required to create it and the end-product. And that's why we yearn to know the motivation behind the "gift." A token given to assuage guilt or manipulate is much different, despite the fact the item does not materially change, than a gift given out of love and friendship.

I have beautiful gifts, I store away because I cannot bear to see them now. Gifts given to me by my mother, I just wonder about their meaning. And others I display, and cherish.

I love some artists because I love them in some way. I appreciate their gift and art,but also their life. Something makes them lovable to me. I love Jack Kerouac because he was undautingly honest and human. A favorite anecdote of mine about him:

I had held Allen Ginsberg in my heart, not because I love his poetry- it's okay, but because he was decent fellow to my friend (see story) and he had an incredible vim and vigor for poetry. I oppose most causes he supported, but he sincerely believed, as I do, poetry is a force for change.

I realized the extent of passion for poetry when I read a biography of him, I Celebrate Myself.

The book is filled with his tales of activism and use of poetry to bring his ideas to the public square. His success inspired me, and I found I could respect and honor his dedication to furthering poetry's role in society, in mankind really. Allen Ginsberg to me seemed to be a prophet for poetry's vitality and necessity, like clean air or water.

Then, even before I read what confirmed my suspicion, I read of his life-long attachment to Peter Orlovsky. His life was spent trying to get Peter to have sex with him. They were lovers early on, and spent their lives attached in some manner. Peter was in and out of drug rehabs, jail and Allen's bed. But Allen never seemed to get the sort of affection he wanted from Peter. I could not tell if Peter was sexually involved with him later on, though the book did chronicle Peter's involvement with young women, when he had not depressed his sexual appetite and /or ability with drugs and alcohol.

Allen did not keep lovers around for long, save Peter. And that seemed odd. Men had fallen in love with him, offered their affections,but he moved on though he bemoaned the lack of sex in his life. Only Peter said no regularly and acted out to hurt Allen, to keep him away. Peter acted so badly in Allen's presence, he was often jailed or institutionalized.

Allen kept providing him with chances, funding his rehabs and appearing to be a very caring and decent person where Peter was concerned. I thought that, until I was walking down the street thinking about Ginsberg's odious affiliation with NAMBLA. He was, as far as I know, the only public figure ever openly involved with this organization. Even his left-wing friends eviscerated him for his public support of this group.

The author of the book writes-off his involvement in a few ways, one being Ginsberg's love

of publicity. I agree, he loved the limelight, but he also loved what he could not have. I suspect raping a pre-pubescent boy would have thrilled him, but he knew if he was caught what would happen.

Like any narcissist he couldn't stand love, God. Anyone who loved him-a few women pursued him, wanted his children- was sullied, the chase was over and anyone who loved him obviously was base ( really: honest,sincere) because he knew what he was: depraved (really: phony, lecherous, sold to the Devil).

And deeper still, narcissism is a rejection of God, for God is love. Peter did not love Ginsberg- he left him to die the night he was to keep watch during his final hours. Peter left to buy a stolen bicycle. Allen slipped into a coma that night,and died the next morning.

Ginsberg had 3000 names in his Rolodex at the time of his death, I doubt he knew many of them well. As an artist, he had the gift of seeing God's world in a few more dimensions, he had an experience of love that is creation and rejected it. His rejection as far as I can tell was thoughtful,conscientious, he wanted most of all to conqueror and discard, he feared any other god than him.

He feared and, seemingly, rejected God, that is love,because he was gifted with the ability to create, but found deconstruction safer. Because when we love, we are vulnerable, we all know we will die and often in life we die little deaths of hopes and dreams- these he wanted to control completely with his pen.