This time I have not only stolen the clips from the film and created the music with artificial intelligence, but I have also stolen and reworked the poem by Mr. Allen Ginsberg. This accusation against Moloch is one of the key passages in Ginsberg's poem "HOWL". For those who want to delve deeper into the theme of Moloch as a metaphor for the self-eating superorganism that dominates the free market, I suggest the work of Daniel Schmachtenberger. For those who are interested in the occult side of the story, you can delve deeper into the entries on Bohemian Groove madness).
Lyrics:
What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls,
Ate up their brains and imagination?
What sphinx, I ask—this towering beast of modern gloom?
Concrete wings, steel claws, neon jaws feeding on gloom,
bending our minds, crushing our youth!
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness!
Ashcans and unobtainable dollars!
Children screaming under the stairways!
Boys sobbing in armies!
Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch!
Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch!
Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison!
The crossbone soulless jailhouse, the Congress of sorrows!
Cities raised like altars in your name,
skyscrapers stand like endless Jehovahs in the haze,
factories dream and croak in the smog,
smokestacks, antennae—crowned illusions of progress!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery!
Moloch whose blood is running money!
Running money, pumping greed,
feeding fear in every deed!
Moloch whose fingers are ten armies!
Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo!
Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
And we tremble in that hollow womb.
Moloch! Moloch!
Broken hearts in robot apartments,
invisible suburbs, skeleton treasuries!
Blind capitals, demonic industries!
We are ghosts in your monstrous bombs!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone!
Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks!
Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius!
Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen!
Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely!
Moloch in whom I dream Angels!
Crazy in Moloch!
Cocksucker in Moloch!
Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early,
in whom I am a consciousness without a body!
Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy!
Moloch whom I abandon—Wake up in Moloch,
light streaming from a sky that roars!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments!
Invisible suburbs! Skeleton treasuries!
Blind capitals! Demonic industries!
Spectral nations, invincible madhouses, granite cocks, monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven—
pavements, trees, radios, tons!
Raising this city to a heaven that is everywhere among us—
and yet burns, oh it burns!
From Sumerian sands to the redwood's towering shade,
Moloch's fire burns bright, a sacrifice is made.
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,
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