Psychic Collector

With so much time on my hands, I find myself turning into an avid collector of all sorts of knowledge. Martial arts, the occult, languages, music, poetry, philosophy...I have amassed a vast library that encompasses my broad interests. I have organised my various tomes neatly, and I think I am slowly rebuilding my depleted library. My parents' house had a bad case of termite infestation that spread out from our wooden garden gate to under the foundation of the house, and eventually into my library. Most of my books had to be discarded after we exterminated the destructive colony. It is amazing what time and willpower can do to restore what has been lost. *muses* Still, it is not enough. My library will never be complete, because there is just so much that I need to know and read about. Even after having selected my favourite topics, it is still an uphill task, and perhaps that is why I treasure my collection so much. I have a book on Jeet Kune Do, signed by Bruce Lee. My favourite martial arts books remain the traditional manuals on the art of fighting, written by Grandmasters in each specialty. A few modern writings by recent fighting enthusiasts like Marc MacYoung spice up my martial arts section. Of course, the occult section of my library takes up the most space. The Greater and Lesser Keys, the Liber Juratus, The Grand Grimoire, and the jewel of my collection: the Malleus Maleficarum, or the Hammer of Witches. My sheet music takes up a considerable amount of space too, although most of them are not as steeped in history as my other collections. One of the more important books in my library is my Latin-English dictionary for when I'm trying to decipher a difficult phrase in Latin, and there we come to my third favourite section: languages. Latin, French, Spanish, Italian. Recently I've added Greek to my list, but it isn't as easy to learn as the four above. At least the Romance languages share a common root. Then there is the poetry section. I'm extremely partial to works by Omar Khayyam, Shakespeare (a staple in any library), Abu Nuwas (one of the greatest classical Arabic poets) and the late great Allen Ginsberg. Even among them, I have my favourites. I leave you now with a beautiful poem.
Some think the love of boys is wicked in the world, forlorn
Character corrupting, worthy mankind's scorn
Or eyes that weep and breasts that ache for lovely youth
Have no mouth to speak for mankind's general truth
Nor hands to work manhood's fullest delight
Nor hearts to make old women smile day and night
Nor arms to warm young girls to dream of love
Nor thighs to satisfy thighs, nor breath men can approve
Yet think back to the time our epic world was new
When Gilgamesh followed the shade of his friend Enkidu
Into Limbo's dust to talk love man to man
So younger David enamored of young Jonathan
Wrote songs that women and men still chant for calm
Century after century under evergreen or palm
A love writ so sacred on our bible leaf
That heartfire warms cold milennial grief.
Same time Akilleos won the war at Troy
Grieving Patroklos' body, his dead warrior boy
(One nation won the world by reading Greek for this
And fell when Wilde was gaoled for his Bellboy's kiss)
Marvellous Zeus himself took lightning eagle shape
Down-cheeked Ganymede enjoyed God's thick-winged rape
And lived a youth forever, forever as can be,
Serving his nectar to the bearded deity
The whole world knew the story, the whole world laughed in awe
That such love could be the Thunder of immortal Law.
When Socrates climbed his ladder of love's degrees
He put his foot in silence on rough Alcibiades
Wise men still read Plato, whoever they are,
Plato whose love-lad Aster was his morning star
Plato whose love-lad was in death his star of Night
Which Shelly once witnessed as eternal light.
Catullus and tough Horace were slaves to glad young men
Loved them, cursed them, always fell in love again
Caesar conquered the world, top Emperor Power
Lay soft on the breast of his soldier of the hour
Even Jesus Christ loved his young John most
Later he showed him the whole Heavenly Host
Old Rome approved a beautiful bodied youth
Antinus Hadrian worshipped with Imperial Truth
Told in the calm gaze of his hundred stone
Statues standing fig-leafed in the Vatican.
Michelangelo lifted his young hand to smooth
the belly of his Bacchus, a sixteen-year youth
Whose prick stands up he's drunk, his eyes gaze side-
Ways to his right hand held up shoulder high
Waving a cup of grape, smart kid, his nose is sharp,
His lips are new, slightly opened as if parted to take a sip of purple nakedness,
Taste Michelangelo's mortal-bearded kiss,
Or if a hair-hooved horny Satyr happens to pass
Fall to the ground on his strong litle marble ass.
Michelangelo loved him! What young stud
Stood without trousers or shirt, maybe even did
What the creator wanted him to in bed
Lay still with the sculptor's hand cupped on his head
Feeling up his muscles, feeling down his bones
Palm down his back and thighs, touching his soft stones
What kind of men were the Slaves he tied to his bed?
And who stood still for David naked foot to head?
But men love the muscles of David's abdomen
And come with their women to see him again and again.
Enough, I've stayed up all night with these boys
And all my life enjoyed their handsome joys
I came with many companions to this Dawn
Now I am tired and must set my pen down
Reader, Hearer, this time understand
How kind it is for man to love a man,
Old love and Present, future love the same
Hear and Read what love is without shame.
I want people to understand! They can! They can! They can!
So open your ears and hear the voice of the classical Band.
-Allen Ginsberg