Audience: [murmuring, finger-clicking, syncopated humming]

Mr Ginsberg: OK…this is a little thing, you know, I wrote…

Audience:[anticipation, sycophancy]

Mr Ginsberg:[cleared throat, fell silent, indicated thoughtfulness] I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by jazzness, zonked-out goatee Rockland desperados, dragged through Red Indian streets at dawn, looking for elusive rhyme, abusive time, streetcar dynamo walk-up glittering Tomato Mary on the A-Train, harmonica dazzle, stuttering ghostfaces of trombones, undertones, telephones, X-Ray angels of the…

Jazz Combo: Splap! Wap bap ga-diddly squee-squa! Squee-squa! Ba-dump. A-hmm ba-dmm dmm dmm wabbeda babbeda glap glap! Whee whee! Hap shap ba fiddler diddler…

Mr Ginsberg:[inaudible] …X-Ray angels of the tenement rodeo, cocks and big cunts and balls oh my…

Audience: [sharp intake of 1950s breath]

Jazz Combo: Tss tss ta-tsss tss! Ah-foom foom foom foom. Splap! Bap! Ga-blap! Blah bloop bloop! Hup chup fuddler duddler clish!

Mr Ginsberg: Mohammedan wraiths on roofs, silhouetted against a tattooed sky, reefer smoke curled like semen in the air.

Audience: [mild intake of breath]

Mr Ginsberg: Hipsters, hopsters, hepsters [consulted notes] Jeez, I’ve kinda got my notes…this section comes later…

Jazz Combo: Wap ga-blap blap! Boing! Prap squee brarp! Clat! Clat! Blabbeda wabbeda hubbeda bubbeda…

Mr Ginsberg: Whoa, whoa man. You cats are off the fucking cob, man. Just shut the fuck up while I find my fucking place. Ah…OK…here we go…radiant cool negro chick…

Jazz Combo: Plap!

Mr Ginsberg: Hey, don’t punch my clock, man. Uncool. OK, dig. I hold my hand up like THIS, you come in…

[Mr Ginsberg raised his hand]

Jazz Combo: Spang! Back back bubbeda bap da-bap boom tish! Freur-er-er! Freur-er–er! Thoom thoom thoom brerk thoom…

[Mr Ginsberg lowered his hand, physically indicated his displeasure, made inaudible threat to Jazz Combo.]

Mr Ginsberg: Radiant cool blue negro chick, titties illuminated in crazy prisms of space and light. Pubic concrete jungle midgets, Idaho death clouds, motionless whores, benzedrine bums strung out like diamonds on invisible tinfoil, marijuana…

Audience: [sharp intake of marijuana]

Mr Ginsberg: …obscene dancing, blind jerking to a God [indicated God] who, dixie-fried…

Jazz Combo: Splap! Bum bum bum, hubbeda hubbeda splang! Squee prap prap! Fa-wah, fa-wah, fa-wah! Shtoom boom glap bap ga-tish! Blap bap huddler fuddler foom foom ga-diddly…

Mr Ginsberg: Fuck you, assholes! I was indicating God, not cueing you cats in! Shut up! Shut up! Shut! Up!

Audience: [finger-clicking falling away, themeless groaning, desultory wigging out]

Mr Ginsberg: Dixie fried, eating earth and wind, looking down on a world of zero, just, just mind dust. Riffing on neon storefronts, crumbling into starsand across the Brooklyn Bridge, barking like the jukebox scream in periscope fill this in later maybe do cock and balls and cunt again. Oh, wait…

[Mr Ginsberg held up a hand in apology]

Jazz Combo: Oompah oompah spap diddly glap glap! Brrrrrr! Shtoom foom foom foom, humber dum da-blur splap! Hud fud fuddeda! Squee habbeda! Squee habbeda! Squee…

[Mr Ginsberg picked up a nearby hookah pipe and threw it at the Jazz Combo, occasioning minor lacerations]

Jazz Combo: Fuck you, man! Yeah, for a square you pretty fucking pear-shaped! I’m gonna fucking improvise ripping that blabbering pretentious bug-eyed cunt-beard head off…

[Termination of Performance]