Old Angel Midnight

continually read for the sake of reading & for the sake of the Tongue & not just these insipid stories writ in insipid aridities & paranoias bloomin & why yet the image—let’s hear the Sound of the Universe, son, & no more part twaddle—And dont expect nothing from me, my middle name is Opprobrium, Old Angel Midnight Opprobrium, boy, O.A.M.O.—
Pirilee pirilee, tzwé tzwi tzwa,—tack tick—birds & firewood. The dream is already ended and we’re already awake in the golden eternity.

God’s asleep dreaming, we’ve got to wake him up! Then all of a sudden when we’re asleep dreaming, he comes and wakes us up—how gentle! How are you Mrs Jones? Fine Mrs Smith! Tit within Tat—Eye within Tooth—Bone within Light, like—Drop some little beads of sweetness in that stew (O Phoney Poetry!)—the heart of the onion—That stew’s too good for me to eat, you!—
People, shmeople

people visit his hut to enquire “What other planet features this?” & he answers “What other planet?”