Team Juicy Racing's Racing School and Race Series Forums
  #1  
Old 06-15-2008
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New Forums on Skip Barber website

There's a new section on Skippy's website called FORUMS (see the blue highlight on all pages for the link).

No activity there yet other than a few starters by Todd.

Viz
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Old 06-16-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

it's been there since around Memorial Day (recently changed website button to blue to attract attention I guess), a shame they feel the need to reinvent the wheel
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Last edited by cdh; 06-16-2008 at 08:13 AM.
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Old 06-16-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by cdh View Post
....a shame they feel the need to reinvent the wheel
True, but now that there is an "official" SB forum, perhaps suggestions for improvements/change, complaints or whatever can be more effectively communicated and thus addressed by SB ?

Viz
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Old 06-16-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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Originally Posted by Tireman View Post
True, but now that there is an "official" SB forum, perhaps suggestions for improvements/change, complaints or whatever can be more effectively communicated and thus addressed by SB ?

Viz
Kind of like an in-house Pravda or Tass?
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Old 06-16-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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Originally Posted by Rosso View Post
Kind of like an in-house Pravda or Tass?
That would be Prada and Boss. Hugo, that is.
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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That would be Prada and Boss. Hugo, that is.
Ah, a man that knows his brands
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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That would be Prada and Boss. Hugo, that is.
You've been talking to my wife???
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Old 06-17-2008
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Thumbs up Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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Originally Posted by Slowhands View Post
That would be Prada and Boss. Hugo, that is.
How things change: Pravda and Tass to Prada and Boss. Viet Cong to Venture Capitalist. The end of history?
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

How can you blame SB for wanting a forum to highlight this exciting, relevant, cutting edge racing banter???
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

See Above
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  #11  
Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by cdh
How can you blame SB for wanting a forum to highlight this exciting, relevant, cutting edge racing banter???
They ain't seen NOTHIN' yet.

Literate

Quote:
Originally Posted by rgreist
How things change: Pravda and Tass to Prada and Boss. Viet Cong to Venture Capitalist. The end of history?
Ah, Hubris, thy name is Man. To think that history begins and ends with you. Are our karmic chains visible to only our poets? I refer you to one Tom Eliot, not yet of Master's age, who wrote while last century was yet young:


What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
...
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
...
This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a Tass but a Prada.



Or something like that.

And thus arriveth the long-awaited victory of Capitalism, or as it may be better known in the land of Pravda, Running-Dog Capitalist Imperialism.


Apologies all around.

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Last edited by Slowhands; 06-17-2008 at 04:52 PM. Reason: just for fun
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  #12  
Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

What the hell are you people even talking about? Nevermind...I don't want to know.
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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What the hell are you people even talking about? Nevermind...I don't want to know.
See what happens when you attend too much school. Where are the members that make vroom vroom sounds and play with their peas and mashed potatoes
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  #14  
Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

I am here but I am trying to get the butter pad off the ceiling before Mom gets home....
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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Originally Posted by JuicyGirl View Post
See what happens when you attend too much school. Where are the members that make vroom vroom sounds and play with their peas and mashed potatoes
Yeah, exactly. I'm was under the impression that most of the people here had windshield wipers on the inside of their street cars to wipe the spit off from making the vroom vroom sounds. This is NOT what I signed up for.
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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Originally Posted by LimeRockRacer View Post
I am here but I am trying to get the butter pad off the ceiling before Mom gets home....
Ha! yeah, or in my case, Jello. That sticks (and stains) pretty good too.
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  #17  
Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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Originally Posted by rgreist View Post
How things change: Pravda and Tass to Prada and Boss. Viet Cong to Venture Capitalist. The end of history?
No the beginning of a new future! The doctor of the future will give no medicine, but will interest his or her patients in the care of the human frame, in a proper diet, and in the cause and prevention of disease.
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by Slowhands View Post

What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal
...is this about Lime Rock

Quote:
Originally Posted by LimeRockRacer View Post
I am here but I am trying to get the butter pad off the ceiling before Mom gets home....
on the floor Chris

So to add to the literate nature of this thread...

Spinning its wheels
For it yearns
Drifting sideways
Handbrake turns

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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by LimeRockRacer View Post
I am here but I am trying to get the butter pad off the ceiling before Mom gets home....
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Chris is the only one making any sense here... Try a little liquid Shout on that butter stain after it hits the table cloth.

We recognize Harsha's post as a cry for help. Glad he'll be racing again soon...
That should knock the poetry right out of him.

For some reason Christopher Walken in Annie Hall comes to mind...

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Originally Posted by LimeRockRacer View Post
I am here but I am trying to get the butter pad off the ceiling before Mom gets home....
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website



This must surely rate as one of the most thoroughly hi-jacked threads to ever grace these pages.
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Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Thanks for the poem, Harsha. I really liked it.

I agree: this is the most hijacked thread I've ever seen. Free form Jazz fest.
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  #23  
Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

At least they got rid of the blue forum button and made it red again.
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  #24  
Old 06-17-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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Originally Posted by Rosso View Post
Kind of like an in-house Pravda or Tass?
Isn't that like the associated press here in the us? Minus the freedom fries of course.
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Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Dude, I can feel the color orange!!!
I am Soooooo Stoned.
Indian docs with rightous poems
NO Way !
Where are Jeff Spicoli and cousin Rico
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  #26  
Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

"GREEN, GREEN, GREEN"...eat your peas & spinach!
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Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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Originally Posted by Jim Pace View Post
"GREEN, GREEN, GREEN"...eat your peas & spinach!
And I quote "Soylent Green is made out of people. They're making our food out of people. Next thing they'll be breeding us like cattle for food."Again.
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  #28  
Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Since we are waxing poetic and such, how about:
"If a turbo spools in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, does it make wheelspin?"
Revere and MHP can take credit for that one.
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  #29  
Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by JuicyGirl View Post
Where are the members that make vroom vroom sounds and play with their peas and mashed potatoes
I'm still here....

Luv-Ya
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  #30  
Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

This is so great. I bet JP would be a LOT of fun stoned.
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Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

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This is so great. I bet JP would be a LOT of fun stoned.
If there ever was any doubt that this thread has been hi-jacked, you just confirmed it.
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  #32  
Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's
floated out and sat through the stale beer after
noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack
of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to
pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook-
lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping
down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills
off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts
and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days
and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the
Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a
trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic
City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-
ings and migraines of China under junk-with-
drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
railroad yard wondering where to go, and went,
leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-
father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep-
athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in-
stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis-
ionary indian angels who were visionary indian
angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla-
homa on the impulse of winter midnight street
light smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the
brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom-
prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
Square weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
and trembling before the machinery of other
skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight
in policecars for committing no crime but their
own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were
dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu-
scripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly
motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose
gardens and the grass of public parks and
cemeteries scattering their semen freely to
whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath
when the blond & naked angel came to pierce
them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate
the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar
the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb
and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of
beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can-
dle and fell off the bed, and continued along
the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and
come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling
in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun
rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad
stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these
poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy
to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet-
ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station
solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in
dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and
picked themselves up out of basements hung
over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third
Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
East River to open to a room full of steamheat
and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime
blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall
be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested
the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their
pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in
their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht
& tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for
an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot
for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks
fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess-
fully, gave up and were forced to open antique
stores where they thought they were growing
old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits
on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse
& the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments
of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the
fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis-
ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the
drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap-
pened and walked away unknown and forgotten
into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of
the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas-
saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed
phonograph records of nostalgic European
1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and
threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans
in their ears and the blast of colossal steam
whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying
to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
Denver and finally went away to find out the
Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
for each other's salvation and light and breasts,
until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
impossible criminals with golden heads and the
charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys
or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or
Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp
notism & were left with their insanity & their
hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism
and subsequently presented themselves on the
granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in-
stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin
Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho-
therapy occupational therapy pingpong &
amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic
pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of
blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad
man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the
East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid
halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock-
ing and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench
dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night-
mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the
moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book
flung out of the tenement window, and the last
door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone
slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur-
nished room emptied down to the last piece of
mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted
on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that
imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of
hallucination
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and
now you're really in the total animal soup of
time
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed
with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use
of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrat-
ing plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space
through images juxtaposed, and trapped the
archangel of the soul between 2 visual images
and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun
and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna
Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human
prose and stand before you speechless and intel-
ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con-
fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm
of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown,
yet putting down here what might be left to say
in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in
the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the
suffering of America's naked mind for love into
an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone
cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered
out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand
years.

It is a little known fact that Allen Ginsberg wrote "Howl" immediately after a SBRS Eastern Series Banquet ...
__________________
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Old 06-18-2008
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dalyduo dalyduo is offline
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

'nuff said and well said... A man of crushing word count after my own heart.
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Old 06-18-2008
cdh's Avatar
cdh cdh is offline
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

"It is a little known fact that Allen Ginsberg wrote "Howl" immediately after a SBRS Eastern Series Banquet ..."

LOL Lee

To be obnoxious and in keeping with the strangest thread in TJ history I just had to quote this....

Quote:
Originally Posted by Moxie View Post
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's
floated out and sat through the stale beer after
noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack
of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to
pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook-
lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping
down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills
off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts
and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days
and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the
Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a
trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic
City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-
ings and migraines of China under junk-with-
drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
railroad yard wondering where to go, and went,
leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-
father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep-
athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in-
stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis-
ionary indian angels who were visionary indian
angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla-
homa on the impulse of winter midnight street
light smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the
brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom-
prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
Square weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
and trembling before the machinery of other
skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight
in policecars for committing no crime but their
own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were
dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu-
scripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly
motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose
gardens and the grass of public parks and
cemeteries scattering their semen freely to
whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath
when the blond & naked angel came to pierce
them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate
the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar
the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb
and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of
beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can-
dle and fell off the bed, and continued along
the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and
come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling
in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun
rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad
stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these
poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy
to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet-
ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station
solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in
dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and
picked themselves up out of basements hung
over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third
Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
East River to open to a room full of steamheat
and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime
blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall
be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested
the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their
pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in
their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht
& tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for
an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot
for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks
fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess-
fully, gave up and were forced to open antique
stores where they thought they were growing
old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits
on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse
& the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments
of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the
fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis-
ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the
drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap-
pened and walked away unknown and forgotten
into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of
the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas-
saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed
phonograph records of nostalgic European
1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and
threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans
in their ears and the blast of colossal steam
whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying
to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
Denver and finally went away to find out the
Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
for each other's salvation and light and breasts,
until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
impossible criminals with golden heads and the
charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys
or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or
Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp
notism & were left with their insanity & their
hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism
and subsequently presented themselves on the
granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in-
stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin
Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho-
therapy occupational therapy pingpong &
amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic
pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of
blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad
man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the
East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid
halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock-
ing and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench
dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night-
mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the
moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book
flung out of the tenement window, and the last
door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone
slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur-
nished room emptied down to the last piece of
mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted
on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that
imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of
hallucination
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and
now you're really in the total animal soup of
time
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed
with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use
of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrat-
ing plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space
through images juxtaposed, and trapped the
archangel of the soul between 2 visual images
and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun
and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna
Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human
prose and stand before you speechless and intel-
ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con-
fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm
of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown,
yet putting down here what might be left to say
in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in
the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the
suffering of America's naked mind for love into
an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone
cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered
out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand
years.

It is a little known fact that Allen Ginsberg wrote "Howl" immediately after a SBRS Eastern Series Banquet ...
Is this about Lime Rock also? Would make a hell of a signature

........what he said
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  #35  
Old 06-18-2008
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ORBlues ORBlues is offline
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Posts: 44
Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Penfold: Have you got something clever up your sleeve, D.M.?
Dangermouse: Only my arm, Penfold, and that's no cleverer than the rest of me.

Lime Rock...and now for something completely different.
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  #36  
Old 06-18-2008
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Slowhands Slowhands is offline
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by Moxie
"It is a little known fact that Allen Ginsberg wrote "Howl" immediately after a SBRS Eastern Series Banquet ..."
the worst part is that the SOB skipped out before the Mechanics' Fund auction.

Quote:
Originally Posted by cdh
...is this about Lime Rock?

Is this about Lime Rock also?
This is about Lime Rock. And The Bridge. And Riverside. And The Old 'Ring New Thing Faux Rouge Silverstone Mulsanne (f---ing chicanes on the Hunaudieres?) hallowed grounds gunned down mowed over piecemeal debilitated rehabilitated one-by-one reconstructively warmed over billion euro dollar drunken Taxicab of Absolute Bernie Tilke Mosley Tony G. Virtual Reality SimTVRacing.

And the Forum Button is Blue again.

To those about to Forum,... Be careful what you wish for. You could get THIS.


(BTW Doug, inspired idea for the quote. It's like...Christo doing bulletin boards. I was going to re-quote your quote, but that would have been REALLY obnoxious.)
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Last edited by Slowhands; 06-18-2008 at 09:19 PM.
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  #37  
Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by Slowhands View Post
This is about Lime Rock. And The Bridge. And Riverside. And The Old 'Ring New Thing Faux Rouge Silverstone Mulsanne (f---ing chicanes on the Hunaudieres?) hallowed grounds gunned down mowed over piecemeal debilitated rehabilitated one-by-one reconstructively warmed over billion euro dollar drunken Taxicab of Absolute Bernie Tilke Mosley Tony G. Virtual Reality SimTVRacing..
As Al Czervik - real estate developer played by Rodney Dangerfield in Caddyshack pointed out ''golf courses and cemeteries are the biggest wastes of prime real estate.'' I guess race tracks were omitted
Quote:
Originally Posted by Slowhands View Post
And the Forum Button is Blue again..
I think someone (WTN) forgot to refresh his browser, it has been blue. Now lets think about racing connotations of BLUE........
Quote:
Originally Posted by Slowhands View Post
It's like...Christo doing bulletin boards.
now there's an idea for a chop
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  #38  
Old 06-18-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

It is really amazing how worked up everyone got over the new web blog at SBRS...
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  #39  
Old 06-18-2008
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WatertownNewbie WatertownNewbie is offline
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by LimeRockRacer View Post
It is really amazing how worked up everyone got over the new web blog at SBRS...
So worked up that as of a minute ago the only posting on the SBRS blog by anyone other than Todd was ... a karting school in Sebring. That's it. Do you suppose they will ban anyone? How long would some of the TJR threads last if posted at the SBRS blog?
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Old 06-19-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by LimeRockRacer View Post
It is really amazing how worked up everyone got over the new web blog at SBRS...
Huh? New web blog at SBRS?? What are you trying to do, hijack this thread???
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  #41  
Old 06-19-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by cdh View Post
Now lets think about racing connotations of BLUE........
Hmmmmm... WE'RE blue. Interesting.
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  #42  
Old 06-19-2008
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Yarab Yarab is offline
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Cut and Paste would work real nice to show the new sbrs forum what interesting things you can learn speaking to seasoned veterans of the series.

Ron
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  #43  
Old 06-19-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Great new avatar, Ron!
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Old 06-19-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by Slowhands View Post
Great new avatar, Ron!
Ron, isn't that your truck?
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Quote:
Originally Posted by JuicyGirl View Post
Ah, a man that knows his brands
BTW JuicyGirl, thanks for the props. I've been a good boy and occasionally actually paid attention when coaxed into shopping with the GF's.
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Old 06-19-2008
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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by Moxie View Post
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's
floated out and sat through the stale beer after
noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack
of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to
pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook-
lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping
down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills
off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts
and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days
and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the
Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a
trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic
City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-
ings and migraines of China under junk-with-
drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
railroad yard wondering where to go, and went,
leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-
father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep-
athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in-
stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis-
ionary indian angels who were visionary indian
angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla-
homa on the impulse of winter midnight street
light smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the
brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom-
prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
Square weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
and trembling before the machinery of other
skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight
in policecars for committing no crime but their
own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were
dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu-
scripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly
motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose
gardens and the grass of public parks and
cemeteries scattering their semen freely to
whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath
when the blond & naked angel came to pierce
them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate
the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar
the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb
and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of
beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can-
dle and fell off the bed, and continued along
the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and
come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling
in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun
rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad
stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these
poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy
to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet-
ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station
solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in
dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and
picked themselves up out of basements hung
over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third
Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
East River to open to a room full of steamheat
and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime
blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall
be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested
the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their
pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in
their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht
& tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for
an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot
for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks
fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess-
fully, gave up and were forced to open antique
stores where they thought they were growing
old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits
on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse
& the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments
of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the
fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis-
ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the
drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap-
pened and walked away unknown and forgotten
into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of
the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas-
saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed
phonograph records of nostalgic European
1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and
threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans
in their ears and the blast of colossal steam
whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying
to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
Denver and finally went away to find out the
Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
for each other's salvation and light and breasts,
until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
impossible criminals with golden heads and the
charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys
or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or
Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp
notism & were left with their insanity & their
hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism
and subsequently presented themselves on the
granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in-
stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin
Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho-
therapy occupational therapy pingpong &
amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic
pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of
blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad
man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the
East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid
halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock-
ing and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench
dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night-
mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the
moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book
flung out of the tenement window, and the last
door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone
slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur-
nished room emptied down to the last piece of
mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted
on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that
imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of
hallucination
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and
now you're really in the total animal soup of
time
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed
with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use
of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrat-
ing plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space
through images juxtaposed, and trapped the
archangel of the soul between 2 visual images
and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun
and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna
Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human
prose and stand before you speechless and intel-
ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con-
fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm
of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown,
yet putting down here what might be left to say
in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in
the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the
suffering of America's naked mind for love into
an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone
cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered
out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand
years.

It is a little known fact that Allen Ginsberg wrote "Howl" immediately after a SBRS Eastern Series Banquet ...
Brian Johnson actually drove at Skippy, unlike Mr. Ginsberg:

She takes you down easy
Going down to her knees
Going down to the devil
Down down to ninety degrees
She's blowing me crazy
Till my ammunition is dry

She's using her head again
She's using her head
She's using her head again

I'm just giving the dog a bone

She's no Mona Lisa
She's no Playboy star
But she'll send you to heaven
Then explode you to Mars

She's using her head again
She's using her head
She's using her head again

I'm just giving the dog a bone

She got the power of union
She only hits when it's hot
And if she likes what you're doing
She'll give you a lot
(Given everything she got)

I've just given the dog a bone
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  #47  
Old 06-19-2008
oldredracer's Avatar
oldredracer oldredracer is offline
Mid-Corner Speed Master / Advanced Member (1,000+ Posts)
 
Join Date: Mar 2006
Location: Chatham, NY
Posts: 1,268
Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

This reminds me of a conversation I had in the sixties that I can't remember.

" a question in your nerves is lit. To satisfy, assure you not to quit. To keep it in your mind and not forget that it is not he or she or them or it that you belong to." Bobby D.
__________________
QUALIFICATIONS 1987: Davidson: "Sammy Swindell's car runs a normally aspirated stock-block engine with Pontiac heads. It was developed by John Buttera." Palmer: "Wow, yeah, he used to play the sax with Louis Prima." Davidson: "That was Sam Butera." Palmer: "Oh, yeah."
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  #48  
Old 06-19-2008
Tireman's Avatar
Tireman Tireman is offline
Diesel Demon
Winning Races / Advanced Member (250+ Posts)
 
Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: NJ
Posts: 421
Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by Tireman View Post
There's a new section on Skippy's website called FORUMS (see the blue highlight on all pages for the link).

No activity there yet other than a few starters by Todd.

Viz
Little did I know when I started this thread............

We should move this whole thing to the Skippy forum and lobby for race weekend discounts for anyone who can quote the entire thread.

Viz
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  #49  
Old 06-19-2008
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dalyduo dalyduo is offline
Grand Master
Carbon Fiber Keyboard (3,000+ Posts)
 
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Posts: 5,399

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Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Mother invited the vicar
And the vicar's wife to tea
They searched the room
And blamed the dog
But it was really me

I farted
I farted
I did a trouser cough
I whistled through my Y-fronts
And filled my pants with froth.


Sorry... it just slipped out.
__________________
You draw 'em a picture and they eat the crayons... (Duck Waddle commenting on the creative ways some people interpret driving instruction.)
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  #50  
Old 06-19-2008
Tireman's Avatar
Tireman Tireman is offline
Diesel Demon
Winning Races / Advanced Member (250+ Posts)
 
Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: NJ
Posts: 421
Re: New Forums on Skip Barber website

Quote:
Originally Posted by dalyduo View Post
..........And filled my pants with froth.


Sorry... it just slipped out.
So did the froth
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