Easy Money - Open City - No. 28 - Nov 10 1967 (1 Viewer)

hank solo

Just practicin' steps and keepin' outta the fights
Reaper Crew
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I may have mistaken some periods for commas, but here you go.



he was a rich bastard​
in the steambath,​
crying. he had all the recordings of​
J. S. Bach and it still wasn't doing him​
any good. he had stained-glass windows​
in his place plus a photo of a nun​
pissing. still no​
good. he once had a taxi driver​
murdered​
at full moon in the middle of the​
Nevada desert while he​
watched. that -​
wore off​
in​
30 minutes. he tied dogs to crosses and​
burned out their eyes with his dollar​
cigars. old​
stuff. he screwed so many fine young​
golden-legged girls​
that it... wasn't any good​
anymore, -nothing.​
he had exotic ferns burning while he​
bathed. he threw drinks in the face of his​
butler.​
a rich bastard, insidious paste​
he was. a real old​
creep, a spitter into the guts of​
roses.​
he kept crying there on the table as I​
smoked one of his dollar​
cigars.​
"Help me, oh JESUS, help me!" he​
screamed.​
it was about​
time. "wait a minute," I told​
him.​
I went to the locker and got the​
belt and then he was bent over​
on the table, all that white mush​
meat​
that hairy sickening​
ass​
and I swung and laid the belt buckle across​
hard​
again and​
again​
ZAP! ZAP!​
ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!​
he fell off the table like a crab looking for the​
sea. he crawled on the floor and I followed him​
with the buckle​
ZAP!​
ZAP!​
ZAP!​
while he screamed​
again and again, 2 or 3 times I leaned down and​
burned him with the​
cigar.​
then he laid flat,​
smiling.​
I walked into the kitchen where his lawyer sat​
drinking​
coffee.​
"finished?"​
"Yeah,"​
he peeled off 6 tens​
threw them across the table.​
I poured a coffee and​
sat down. the cigar was still in my​
hand. I threw it into the​
sink.​
"jesus," I said, "jesus​
christ."​
"yeah," said the lawyer "the​
last guy only lasted a​
month."​
we sat there sipping the​
coffee. it was a nice​
kitchen.​
"come back next Wednesday," he​
said.​
"why don't you do it for​
me?" I asked.​
"ME? I'm too​
sensitive!"​
we both laughed and I​
dropped in 2 cubes of​
sugar.​
 
Ah - this is actually collected in 'Notes of a Dirty Old Man' from City Lights.


Nevermind.



Moved from the Uncollected forum...
 
yea, i was sitting there reading this thinking, i've read this before, and recently...hmmm, what the hell! yea, Notes. is it from More Notes? or the original Notes...
 
but still, it is interesting to see it as a poem instead, thanks!
do you perhaps have a better photo of the Open City version?
 
For some reason I don't have this in my Open City files. Might have missed it while searching at the university or it wasn't part of the underground newspaper collection on microfilm. Always something falling through the cracks.
 

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