
The beatniks have been coming fast and furious lately. I've watched a number of TV episodes lately where unexpected hipsters turned up. One of the best has to be this episode of Johnny Staccato. The story is about a young poet who hangs around with a couple of tough longshoremen in order to get some inspiration to draw on for his poetry. One night the stevedores kill a man and they decide to hide the poet so he won't talk. At the request of an eccentric publisher of a poetry magazine, Johnny tries to track him down. This leads him to some pretty entertaining looking beatnick hotspots.


"Listen, fink. You got us because you wanted colour for your poems, great! You got the colour, but don't write no poems about us, you understand?"

"It was chilly in Greenwich Village, and most of the beat generation activity was indoors. However, the few that were not allergic to fresh air were on the streets. Behind the beards and the no make-up and in front of the pony-tails were mostly pretty nice kids, right now they believe in abstract art and poetry, zen buddism - faith or folly, Dylan Thomas - success or failure. Was the beat generation really beat or merely deadbeat? Later on they'll believe in shaving, money, women, children and maybe station wagons."

"Perambulation has a thousand songs that one by one pursue, RUNNING, FALLING, VOMITING forth cobras enamored of higher escapes. If you give way, or hedge aside from the direct forthright, like to an entered tide, they all rush by and leave you hindmost."

"One could pass valuable hours, perhaps days doing nothing but hanging by ones earlobes strung by a thin white hot wire burning with ecstasy."

"Up through eternity and back, I myself have often succumbed, knowing not of brown and white saddle shoes or dim high stone portals. Knowing only of Guanahato and the jelly covered invaders gazing idly at the chartreuse swan."

"That dreary line wrecks the whole poem."

"Play it cool, man."

Like...flute, man.