Isolation, sunrises, and Schubert.

The snow tips of the steel bars rain down on the Metropolitan Opera plaza; the Chagalls fight each other - who is prettier? Nobody cares, the fountains are dancing and the Phil is playing. Iphones are ubiquitous. I swim, sweat, then drown into those helium harmonies of 960.

Ginsberg says about New York City in 1960, "three men sprawl drunk in the birch thicket on the small dump road they finished the whiskey."

"The universe is so airy, you need only get up cold and walk the dirt road at dawn to be in Heaven."