tches to the horizon. Complete silence -- their speech centers are destroyed -- except for the crackle of sparks and the popping of singed flesh as they apply electrodes up and down the spine. White smoke of burning Flesh hangs in the motionless air. A group of children have tied an idiot to a post with barbed wire and built a fire between his legs and stand watching with bestial curiosity as the Flames lick his thighs. His flesh jerks in the fire with insect agony. "I digress as usual. Pending more precise knowledge of brain electronics, drugs remain an essential tool of the interrogator in his assault on the subject's personal identity. The barbiturates are, of course, virtually use- less. That is, anyone who can be broken down by such means would succumb to the puerile methods used in an American precinct. Scopolamine is often effective in dissolving resistance, but it impairs the memory: an agent might be prepared to reveal his secrets but quite unable to remember them, or cover story and secret life info might be inextricably garbled. Mescaline, harma- line, LSD6, bufotenine, muscarine successful in many cases. Bulbocapnine induces a state approximating schizophrenic catatonia... instances of automatic obe- dience have been observed. Bulbocapnine is a back- brain depressant probably putting out of action the centers of motion in the hypothalamus. Other drugs that have produced experimental schizophrenia -- mescaline, harmaline, LSD6 -- are backbrain stimulants. In schizo- phrenia the backbrain is alternately stimulated and depressed. Catatonia is often followed by a period of excitement and motor activity during which the nut rushes through the wards giving everyone a bad time. Deteriorated schizos sometimes refuse to move at all and spend their lives in bed. A disturbance of the regu- latory function of the hypothalamus is indicated as the 'cause' (causal thinking never yields accurate description of metabolic process -- limitations of existing language) of schizophrenia. Alternate doses of LSD6 and bulbo- capnine -- the bulbocapnine potientiated with curare -- give the highest yield of automatic obedience. "There are other procedures. The subject can be re- duced to deep depression by administering large doses of benzedrine for several days. Psychosis can be induced by continual large doses of cocaine or demerol or by the abrupt withdrawal of barbiturates after prolonged ad- ministration. He can be addicted by dihydro-oxy-heroin and subjected to withdrawal (this compound should be five times as addicting as heroin, and the withdrawal proportionately severe ). "There are various 'psychological methods,' compul- sory psychoanalysis, for example. The subject is re- quested to free-associate for one hour every day (in cases where time is not of the essence). 'Now, now. Let's not be negative, boy. Poppa call nasty man. Take baby walkabout switchboard.' "The case of a female agent who forgot her real iden- tity and merged with her cover story -- she is still a fricoteuse in Annexia -- put me onto another gimmick. An agent is trained to deny his agent identity by asserting his cover story. So why not use psychic jiu-jitsu and go along with him? Suggest that his cover story is his iden- tity and that he has no other. His agent identity becomes unconscious, that is, out of his control; and you can dig it with drugs and hypnosis. You can make a square heterosexual citizen queer with this angle... that is, rein- force and second his rejection of normally latent homo- sexual trends -- at the same time depriving him of cunt and subjecting him to homosexual stimulation. Then drugs, hypnosis, and --" Benway flipped a limp wrist. "Many subjects are vulnerable to sexual humiliation. Nakedness, stimulation with aphrodisiacs, constant su- pervision to embarrass subject and prevent relief of mas- turbation (erections during sleep automatically turn on an enormous vibrating electric buzzer that throws the subject out of bed into cold water, thus reducing the incidence of wet dreams to a minimum). Kicks to hyp- notize a priest and tell him he is about to consummate a hypostatic union with the Lamb -- then steer a randy old sheep up his ass. After that the Interrogator can gain complete hypnotic control -- the subject will come at his whistle, shit on the floor if he but say Open Sesame. Needless to say, the sex humiliation angle is contraindicated for overt homosexuals. ( I mean let's keep our eye on the ball here and remember the old party line... never know who's listening in.) I recall this one kid, I condition to shit at sight of me. Then I wash his ass and screw him. It was real tasty. And he was a lovely fellah too. And some times a subject will burst into boyish tears because he can't keep from ejaculate when you screw him. Well, as you can plainly see, the possibilities are endless like meandering paths in a great big beautiful garden. I was just scratching that lovely surface when I am purged by Party Poops. ...Well, 'son cosas de la vida.' " I reach Freeland, which is clean and dull]1 my God. Benway is directing the R.C., Reconditioning Center. I drop around, and "What happened to so and so'?" sets in like: "Sidi Idriss 'The Nark' Smithers crooned to the Senders for a longevity serum. No fool like an old queen." "Lester Stroganoff Smuunn -- 'El Hassein' -- turned him- self into a Latah trying to perfect A.O.P., Automatic Obedience Processing. A martyr to the industry..." ( Latah is a condition occurring in South East Asia. Otherwise sane, Latahs compulsively imitate every mo- tion once their attention is attracted by snapping the fingers or calling sharply. A form of compulsive in- voluntary hypnosis. They sometimes injure themselves trying to imitate the motions of several people at once. ) "Stop me if you've heard this atomic secret...." Benway's face retains its form in the flash bulb of urgency, subject at any moment to unspeakable cleav- age or metamorphosis. It flickers like a picture moving in and out of focus. "Come on," says Benway, "and I'll show you around the R.C." We are walking down a long white hall. Benway's voice drifts into my consciousness from no particular place... a disembodied voice that is sometimes loud and clear, sometimes barely audible like music down a windy street. "Isolated groups like natives of the Bismarck Archi- pelago. No overt homosexuality among them. God damned matriarchy. All matriarchies anti-homosexual, conformist and prosaic. Find yourself in a matriarchy walk don't run to the nearest frontier. If you run, some frustrate latent queer cop will likely shoot you. So some- body wants to establish a beach head of homogeneity in a shambles of potentials like West Europe and U.S.A.? Another fucking matriarchy, Margaret Mead notwith- standing... Spot of bother there. Scalpel fight with a colleague in the operating room. And my baboon as- sistant leaped on the patient and tore him to pieces. Baboons always attack the weakest party in an alterca- tion. Quite right too. We must never forget our glorious simian heritage. Doc Browbeck was party inna second part. A retired abortionist and junk pusher (he was a veterinarian actually) recalled to service during the manpower shortage. Well, Doc had been in the hospital kitchen all morning goosing the nurses and tanking up on coal gas and Klim -- and just before the operation he sneaked a double shot of nutmeg to nerve himself up." (In England and especially in Edinburgh the citizens bubble coal gas through Klim -- a horrible form of pow- dered milk tasting like rancid chalk -- and pick up on the results. They hock everything to pay the gas bill, and when the man comes around to shut it off for the eon- payment, you can hear their screams for miles. When a citizen is sick from needing it he says "I got the klinks" or "That old stove climbing up my back." Nutmeg. I quote from the author's article on nar- cotic drugs in the British Journal of Addiction ( see Appendix ): "Convicts and sailors sometimes have re- course to nutmeg. About a tablespoon is swallowed with water. Result vaguely similar to marijuana with side effects of headache and nausea. There are a number of narcotics of the nutmeg family in use among the Indians of South America. They are usually administered by sniffing a dried powder of the plant. The medicine men take these noxious substances and go into convul- sive states. Their twitchings and mutterings are thought to have prophetic significance." ) "I had a Yage hangover, me, and in no condition to take any of Browbeck's shit. First thing he comes on with I should start the incision from the back instead of the front, muttering some garbled nonsense about being sure to cut out the gall bladder it would fuck up the meat. Thought he was on the farm cleaning a chicken. I told him to go put his head back in the oven, where- upon he had the effrontery to push my hand severing the patient's femoral artery. Blood spurted up and blinded the anesthetist, who ran out through the halls screaming. Browbeck tried to knee me in the groin, and I managed to hamstring him with my scalpel. He crawled about the floor stabbing at my feet and legs. Violet, that's my baboon assistant -- only woman I ever cared a damn about -- really wigged. I climbed up on the table and poise myself to jump on Browbeck with both feet and stomp him when the cops rushed in. "Well, this rumble in the operating room, 'this un- speakable occurrence' as the Super called it, you might say was the blow off. The wolf pack was closing for the kill. A crucifixion, that's the only word for it. Of course I'd made a few 'dumheits' here and there. Who hasn't? There was the time me and the anesthetist drank up all the ether and the patient came up on us, and I was accused of cutting the cocaine with Sanifiush. Violet did it actually. Had to protect her of course.... "So the wind-up is we are all drummed out of the industry. Not that Violet was a bona fide croaker, nei- ther was Browbeck for that matter, and even my own certificate was called in question. But Violet knew more medicine than the Mayo Clinic. She had an extraordi- nary intuition and a high sense of duty. "So there I was flat on my ass with no certificate. Should I turn to another trade? No. Doctoring was in my blood. I managed to keep up my habits performing cutrate abortions in subway toilets. I even descended to hustling pregnant women in the public streets. It was positively unethical. Then I met a great guy, Placenta Juan the After Birth Tycoon. Made his in slunks during the war. (Slunks are underage calves trailing afterbirths and bacteria, generally in an unsanitary and unfit con- dition. A calf may not be sold as food until it reaches a minimum age of six weeks. Prior to that time it is classified as a slunk. Slunk trafficking is subject to a heavy penalty.) Well, Juanito controlled a fleet of cargo boats he register under the Abyssinian flag to avoid bothersome restrictions. He gives me a job as ship's doctor on the S.S. Filiarisis, as filthy a craft as ever sailed the seas. Operating with one hand, beating the rats offa my patient with the other and bedbugs and scorpions rain down from the ceiling. "So somebody wants homogeneity at this juncture. Can do but it costs. Bored with the whole project, me. ...Here we are.... Drag Alley." Benway traces a pattern in the air with his hand and a door swings open. We step through and the door closes. A long ward gleaming with stainless steel, white tile floors, glass brick walls. Beds along one wall. No one smokes, no one reads, no one talks. "Come and take a close look," says Benway. "You won't embarrass anybody." I walk over and stand in front of a man who is sitting on his bed. I look at the man's eyes. Nobody, nothing looks back. "IND's," says Benway, "Irreversible Neural Damage. Overliberated, you might say... a drag on the industry." I pass a hand in front of the man's eyes. "Yes," says Benway, "they still have reflexes. Watch this." Benway takes a chocolate bar from his pocket, removes the wrapper and holds it in front of the man's nose. The man sniffs. His jaws begin to work. He makes snatching motions with his hands. Saliva drips from his mouth and hangs off his chin in long streamers. His stomach rumbles. His whole body writhes in peristalsis. Benway steps back and holds up the chocolate. The man drops to his knees, throws back his head and barks. Benway tosses the chocolate. The man snaps at it, misses, scrambles around on the floor making slobbering noises. He crawls under the bed, finds the chocolate and crams it into his mouth with both hands. "Jesus! These ID's got no class to them." Benway calls over the attendant who is sitting at one end of the ward reading a book of J. M. Barrie's plays. "Get these fucking ID's outa here. It's a bring down already. Bad for the tourist business." "What should I do with them?" "How in the fuck should I know? I'm a scientist. A pure scientist. Just get them outa here. I don't hafta look at them is all. They constitute an albatross." "But what? Where?" "Proper channels. Buzz the District Coordinator or whatever he calls himself... new title every week. Doubt if he exists." Doctor Benway pauses at the door and looks back at the IND's. "Our failures," he says. "Well, it's all in the day's work." "Do they ever come back?" "They don't come back, won't come back, once they're gone," Benway sings softly. "Now this ward has some innarest.' The patients stand in groups talking and spitting on the floor. Junk hangs in the air like a grey haze. "A heart-warming sight," says Benway, "those junkies standing around waiting for the Man. Six months ago they were all schizophrenic. Some of them hadn't been out of bed for years. Now look at them. In all the course of my practices, I have never seen a schizophrenic junky, and junkies are mostly of the schizo physical type. Want to cure anybody of anything, find out who doesn't have it. So who don't got it'? Junkies don't got it. Oh, incidentally, there's an area in Bolivia with no psychosis. Right sane folk in them hills. Like to get in there, me, before it is loused up by literacy, advertising, TV and drive-ins. Make a study strictly from meta- bolism: diet, use of drugs and alcohol, sex, etc. Who cares what they think? Same nonsense everybody thinks, I daresay. "And why don't junkies got schizophrenia? Don't know yet. A schizophrenic can ignore hunger and starve to death if he isn't fed. No one can ignore heroin with- drawal. The fact of addiction imposes contact. "But that's only one angle. Mescaline, LSD6, deteri- orated adrenaline, harmaline can produce an approxi- mat~ schizophrenia. The best stuff is extracted from the blood of schizos; so schizophrenia is likely a drug psy- chosis. They got a metabolic connection, a Man Within you might say. ( Interested readers are referred to Ap- pendix. ) "In the terminal stage of schizophrenia the backbrain is permanently depressed, and the front brain is almost without content since the front brain is only active in response to backbrain stimulation. "Morphine calls forth the antidote of backbrain stimu- lation similar to schizo substance. ( Note similarity between withdrawal syndrome and intoxication with Yage or LSD6. ) Eventual result of junk use -- especially true of heroin addiction where large doses are available to the addict -- is permanent backbrain depression and a state much like terminal schizophrenia: complete lack of affect, autism, virtual absence of cerebral event. The addict can spend eight hours looking at a wall. He is conscious of his surroundings, hut they have no emo- tional connotation and in consequence no interest. Re- membering a period of heavy addiction is like playing back a tape recording of events experienced by the front brain alone. Flat statements of external events. 'I went to the store and bought some brown sugar. I came home and ate half the box. I took a three grain shot etc.' Complete absence of nostalgia in these memories. However, as soon as junk intake falls below par, the withdrawal substance floods the body. "If all pleasure is relief from tension, junk affords relief from the whole life process, in disconnecting the hypothalamus, which is the center of psychic energy and libido. "Some of my learned colleagues (nameless assholes) have suggested that junk derives its euphoric effect from direct stimulation of the orgasm center. It seems more probable that junk suspends the whole cycle of tension, discharge and rest. The orgasm has no function in the junky. Boredom, which always indicates an un- discharged tension, never troubles the addict. He can look at his shoe for eight hours. He is only roused to action when the hourglass of junk runs out." At the far end of the ward an attendant throws up an iron shutter and lets out a hog call. The junkies rush up grunting and squealing. "Wise guy," says Benway. "No respect for human dignity. Now I'll show you the mild deviant and crimi- nal ward. Yes, a criminal is a mild deviant here. He doesn't deny the Freeland contract. He merely seeks to circumvent some of the clauses. Reprehensible but not too serious. Down this hall... We'll skip wards 23, 86, 57 and 97... and the laboratory." "Are homosexuals classed as deviants?' "No. Remember the Bismarck Archipelago. No overt homosexuality. A functioning police state needs no po- lice. Homosexuality does not occur to anyone as con- ceivable behaviour.... Homosexuality is a political crime in a matriarchy. No society tolerates overt re- jection of its basic tenets. We aren't a matriarchy here, Insh'allah. You know the experiment with rats where they are subject to this electric shock and dropped in cold water if they so much as move at a female. So they all become fruit rats and that's the way it is with the etiology. And shall such a rat squeak out, 'I'm queah and I luuuuuuuuve it' or 'Who cut yours off, you two- holed freak?' 'twere a square rat so to squeak. During my rather brief experience as a psychoanalyst -- spot of bother with the Society -- one patient ran amok in Grand Central with a flame thrower, two committed suicide and one died on the couch like a jungle rat ( jungle rats are subject to die if confronted suddenly with a hope- less situation). So his relations beef and I tell them, 'It's all in the day's work. Get this stiff outa here. It's a bring down for my live patients' -- I noticed that all my homosexual patients manifested strong unconscious heterosex trends and all my hetero patients uncon- scious homosexual trends. Makes the brain reel, don't it?" "And what do you conclude from that?" "Conclude? Nothing whatever. Just a passing obser- vation." We are eating lunch in Benway's office when he gets a call. "What's that?... Monstrous! Fantastic!... Carry on and stand by." He puts down the phone. "I am prepared to accept immediate assignment with Islam Incorporated. It seems the electronic brain went berserk playing six- dimensional chess with the Technician and released every subject in the R.C. Leave us adjourn to the roof. Operation Helicopter is indicated." From the roof of the R.C. we survey a scene of un- paralleled horror. IND's stand around in front of the cafe tables, long streamers of saliva hanging off their chins, stomachs noisily churning, others ejaculate at the sight of women. Latahs imitate the passers-by with monkey-like obscenity. Junkies have looted the drug- stores and fix on every street corner.... Catatonics deco- rate the parks.... Agitated schizophrenics rush through the streets with mangled, inhuman cries. A group of P.R.'s -- Partially Reconditioned -- have surrounded some homosexual tourists with horrible knowing smiles show- ing the Nordic skull beneath in double exposure. "What do you want?" snaps one of the queens. "We want to understand you." A contingent of howling simopaths swing from chan- deliers, balconies and trees, shitting and pissing on passers-by. (A simopath -- the technical name for this disorder escapes me -- is a citizen convinced he is an ape or other simian. It is a disorder peculiar to the army, and discharge cures it.) Amoks trot along cutting off heads, faces sweet and remote with a dreamy half smile. ...Citizens with incipient Bang-utot clutch their penises and call on the tourists for help.... Arab rioters yipe and howl, castrating, disembowelling, throw burning gasoline.... Dancing boys strip-tease with intestines, women stick severed genitals in their cunts, grind, bump and Hick it at the man of their choice.... Religious fanatics harangue the crowd from helicopters and rain stone tablets on their heads, inscribed with meaningless messages.... Leopard Men tear people to pieces with iron claws, coughing and grunting.... Kwakiutl Canni- bal Society initiates bite off noses and ears.... A coprophage calls for a plate, shits on it and eats the shit, exclaiming, "Mmmm, that's my rich substance." A battalion of rampant bores prowls the streets and hotel lobbies in search of victims. An intellectual avant- gardist -- *'Of course the only writing worth considering now is to be found in scientific reports and periodicals" -- has given someone a bulbocapnine injection and is preparing to read him a bulletin on "the use of neo- hemoglobin in the control of multiple degenerative granuloma." ( Of course, the reports are all gibberish he has concocted and printed up. ) His opening words: "You look to me like a man of intelligence." (Always ominous words, my boy .. When you hear them stay not on the order of your going but go at once. ) An English colonial, assisted by five police boys, has detained a subject in the club bar: "I say, do you know Mozambique?" and he launches into the endless saga of his malaria. "So the doctor said to me, 'I can only advise you to leave the area. Otherwise I shall bury you.' This croaker does a little undertaking on the side. Piecing out the odds you might say, and throwing him- self a spot of business now and then." So after the third pink gin when he gets to know you, he shifts to dysen- tery. "Most extraordinary discharge. More or less of a white yellow color like rancid jism and stringy you know." An explorer in sun helmet has brought down a citizen with blow gun and curare dart. He administers artificial respiration with one foot. (Curare kills by paralyzing the lungs. It has no other toxic effect, is not, strictly speaking, a poison. If artificial respiration is admin- istered the subject will not die. Curare is eliminated with great rapidity by the kidneys.) "That was the year of the rindpest when everything died, even the hyenas. ...So there I was completely out of K.Y. in the head- waters of the Baboonsasshole. When it came through by air drop my gratitude was indescribable.... As a matter of fact, and I have never told this before to a living soul -- elusive blighters" -- his voice echoes through a vast empty hotel lobby in 1890 style, red plush, rubber plants, gilt and statues -- "I was the only white man ever initiated into the infamous Agouti Society, wit- nessed and participated in their unspeakable rites." (The Agouti Society has turned out for a Chimu Fiesta. (The Chimu of ancient Peru were much given to sodomy and occasionally staged bloody battles with clubs, running up several hundred casualties in the course of an afternoon. ) The youths, sneering and goos- ing each other with clubs, troop out to the field. Now the battle begins. Gentle reader, the ugliness of that spectacle buggers description. Who can be a cringing pissing coward, yet vicious as a purple-assed mandril, alternating these deplorable conditions like vaudeville skits? Who can shit on a fallen adversary who, dying, eats the shit and screams with joy? Who can hang a weak passive and catch his sperm in mouth like a vicious dog? Gentle reader, I fain would spare you this, but my pen hath its will like the Ancient Mariner. Oh Christ what a scene is this! Can tongue or pen accommodate these scandals? A beastly young hooligan has gouged out the eye of his confrere and fuck him in the brain. "This brain atrophy already, and dry as grandmother's cunt." He turns into Rock and Roll hoodlum. "I screw the old gash -- like a crossword puzzle what relation to me is the outcome if it outcome? My father already or not yet? I can't screw you, Jack, you is about to become my father, and better 'twere to cut your throat and screw my mother playing it straight than fuck my father or vice versa mutatis mutandis as the case may be, and cut my mother's throat, that sainted gash, though it be the best way I know to stem her word horde and freeze her asset. I mean when a fellow be caught short in the switches and don't know is he to over up his ass to 'great big daddy' or commit a torso job on the old lady. Give me two cunts and a prick of steel and keep your dirty finger out of my sugar bum what you think I am a purple-assed reception already fugitive from Gibraltar? Male and female castrated he them. Who can't distinguish between the sexes? I'll cut your throat you white mother fucker. Come out in the open like my grandchild and meet thy unborn mother in dubious battle. Confusion hath fuck his masterpiece. I have cut the janitor's throat quite by mistake of identity, he being such a horrible fuck like the old man. And in the coal bin all cocks are alike." So leave us return to the stricken field. One youth hath penetrate his comrade, whilst another youth does amputate the proudest part of that cock's quivering beneficiary so that the visiting member projects to fill the vacuum nature abhors and ejaculate into the Black Lagoon where impatient piranha snap up the child not yet born nor -- in view of certain well established facts -- at all likely. ) Another bore carries around a suitcase full of trophies and medals, cups and ribbons: "Now this I won for the Most Ingenious Sex Device Contest in Yokohama. (Hold him, he's desperate.) The Emperor gave it to me him- self and there were tears in his eyes, and the runners-up all castrated theirselves with harakiri knives. And I won this ribbon in a Degradation Contest at the Teheran meeting of Junkies Anonymous." "Shot up my wife's M.S, and her down with a kidney stone big as the Hope Diamond. So I give her half a Vagamin and tell her, "You can't expect too much re- lief.... Shut up awready. I wanta enjoy my medica- tions. "Stole an opium suppository out of my grandmother's ass." The hypochondriac lassoes the passer-by and admin- isters a straitjacket and starts talking about his rotting septum: "An awful purulent discharge is subject to How out... just wait till you see it." He does a strip tease to operation scars, guiding the reluctant fingers of a victim. "Feel that suppurated swelling in my groin where I got the lymphogranu- lomas.... And now I want you to palpate my internal hemorrhoids." (The reference is to lymphogranuloma, "climactic i buboes." A virus venereal disease indigenous to Ethio- pia. "Not for nothing are we known as feelthy Ethi- opians," sneers an Ethiopian mercenary as he sodomizes Pharaoh, venomous as the King's cobra. Ancient Egyp- tian papyrus talk all the time about them feelthy Ethiopians. So it started in Addis Ababa like the Jersey Bounce, but these are modern times, One World. Now the cli- mactic buboes swell up in Shanghai and Esmeraldas, New Orleans and Helsinki, Seattle and Capetown. But the heart turns home and the disease shows a distinct predilection for Negroes, is in fact the whitehaired boy of white supremacists. But the Mau Mau voodoo men are said to be cooking up a real dilly of a VD for the white folks. Not that Caucasians are immune: five British sailors contracted the disease in Zanzibar. And in Dead Coon County, Arkansas ("Blackest Dirt, Whit- est People in the U.S.A.-- Nigger, Don't Let The Sun Set On You Here") the County Coroner come down with the buboes fore and aft. A vigilante committee of neighbors apologetically burned him to death in the Court House privy when his interesting condition came to light. "Now, Clem, just think of yourself as a cow with the aftosa." "Or a poltroon with the fowl pest." "Don't crowd too close, boys. His intestines is subject to explode in the fire." The disease in short arm hath a gimmick for going places unlike certain unfortunate viruses who are fated to languish unconsummate in the guts of a tick or a jungle mosquito, or the saliva of a dying jackal slobbering silver under the desert moon. And after an initial lesion at the point of infee- tion the disease passes to the lymph glands of the groin, which swell and burst in suppurating fissures, drain for days, months, years, a purulent stringy discharge streaked with blood and putrid lymph. Elephantiasis of the genitals is a frequent complication, and cases of gangrene have been recorded where the amputation in medio of the patient from the waist down was indi- cated but hardly worth while. Women usually suffer secondary infection of the anus. Males who resign themselves up for passive intercourse to infected part- ners like weak and soon to be purple-assed baboons, may also nourish a little stranger. Initial proctitis and the inevit4ble purulent discharge -- which may pass un- noticed in the shuRe -- is followed by stricture of the rectum requiring intervention of an apple corer or its surgical equivalent, lest the unfortunate patient be reduced to fart and shit in his teeth giving rise to stubborn cases of halitosis and unpopularity with all sexes, ages and conditions of homo sapiens. In fact a blind bugger was deserted by his seeing eye police dog -- copper at heart. Until quite recently there was no satisfactory treatment. "Treatment is symptomatic" -- which means in the trade there is none. Now many cases yield to intensive therapy with aureomycin, ter- ramycin and some of the newer molds. However a certain appreciable percentage remain refractory as mountain gorillas.... So, boys, when those hot licks play over your balls and prick and dart up your ass like an invisible blue blow torch of orgones, in the words of I. B. Watson, Think. Stop panting and start palpating... and if you palpate a bubo draw your- self back in and say in a cold nasal whine: "You think I am innarested to contact your horrible old condition? I am not innarested at all.") Rock and Roll adolescent hoodlums storm the streets of all nations. They rush into the Louvre and throw acid in the Mona Lisa's face. They open zoos, insane asylums, prisons, burst water mains with air hammers, chop the floor out of passenger plane lavatories, shoot out lighthouses, file elevator cables to one thin wire, turn sewers into the water supply, throw sharks and sting rays, electric eels and candiru into swimming pools (the candiru is a small eel-like fish or worm about one-quarter inch through and two inches long patronizing certain rivers of ill repute in the Greater Amazon Basin, will dart up your prick or your asshole or a woman's cunt faute de mieux, and hold himself there by sharp spines with precisely what motives is not known since no one has stepped forward to observe the candiru's life-cycle in sito), in nautical costumes ram the Queen Mary full speed into New York Harbor, play chicken with passenger planes and busses, rush into hospitals in white coats carrying saws and axes and scalpels three feet long; throw paralytics out of iron lungs (mimic their suffocations flopping about on the floor and rolling their eyes up), administer injections with bicycle pumps, disconnect artificial kidneys, saw a woman in half with a two-man surgical saw, they drive herds of squealing pigs into the Curb, they shit on the floor of the United Nations and wipe their ass with treaties, pacts, alliances. By plane, car, horse, camel, elephant, tractor, bicycle and steam roller, on foot, skis, sled, crutch and pogo- stick the tourists storm the frontiers, demanding with inflexible authority asylum from the "unspeakable con- ditions obtaining in Freeland," the Chamber of Com- merce striving in vain to stem the debacle: "Please to be restful. It is only a few crazies who have from the crazy place outbroken." JOSELITO And Joselito who wrote bad, class-conscious poetry began to cough. The German doctor made a brief ex- amination, touching Joselito's ribs with long, delicate fingers. The doctor was also a concert violinist, a math- ematician, a chess master, and a Doctor of International Jurisprudence with license to practice in the lavatories of the Hague. The doctor flicked a hard, distant glance across Joselito's brown chest. He looked at Carl and smiled -- one educated man to another smile -- and raised his eyebrow, saying without words: "Alzo for the so stupid peasant we must avoid use of the word is it not? Otherwise he shit himself with fear. Hoch and spit they are both nasty words I think?" He said aloud: "It is a catarro de los pulmones." Carl talked to the doctor outside under the narrow arcade with rain bouncing up from the street against his pant legs, thinking how many people he tell it to, and the stairs, porches, lawns, driveways, corridors and streets of the world there in the doctor's eyes... stuffy German alcoves, butterfly trays to the ceiling, silent portentous smell of uremia seeping under the door, suburban lawns to sound of the water sprinkler, in calm jungle night under silent wings of the Anoph- eles mosquito. (Note: This is not a figure. Anopheles mosquitoes are silent. ) Thickly carpeted, discreet nurs- ing home in Kensington: stiff brocade chair and a cup of tea, the Swedish modern living room with water hyacinths in a yellow bowl -- outside the China blue Northern sky and drifting clouds, under bad water- colors of the dying medical student. "A schnaps I think Frau Underschnitt." The doctor was talking into a phone with a chess board in front of him. "Quite a severe lesion I think... of course without to see the Horoscope." He picks up the knight and then replaces it thoughtfully. "Yes... Both lungs... quite definitely." He replaces the re- ceiver and turns to Carl. "I have observed these people show amazingly quick wound recovery, with low in- cidence of infection. It is always the lungs here... pneumonia and, of course, Old Faithful." The doctor grabs Carl's cock, leaping into the air with a coarse peasant guffaw. His European smile ignores the mis- behavior of a child or an animal. He goes on smoothly in his eerily unaccented, disembodied English. "Our Old Faithful Bacillus Koch." The doctor clicks his heels and bows his head. "Otherwise they would multiply their stupid peasant asshole into the sea, is it not?" He shrieks, thrusting his face into Carl's. Carl retreats sideways with the grey wall of rain behind him. "Isn't there some place where he can be treated?" "I think there is some sort of sanitarium," he drags out the word with ambiguous obscenity, "up at the District Capital. I will write for you the address." "Chemical therapy?" His voice falls Hat and heavy in the damp air. "Who can say. They are all stupid peasants, and the worst of all peasants are the so-called educated. These people should not only be prevented from learn- ing to read, but from learning to talk as well. No need to prevent them from thinking; nature has done that." "Here is the address," the doctor whispered without moving his lips. He dropped a pill of paper into Carl's hand. His dirty fingers, shiny over the dirt, rested on Carl's sleeve. "There is the matter of my fee." Carl slipped him a wadded banknote... and the doctor faded into the grey twilight, seedy and furtive as an old junky. Carl saw Joselito in a big clean room full of light, with private bath and concrete balcony. And nothing to talk about there in the cold empty room, water hyacinths growing in a yellow bowl and the China blue sky and drifting clouds, fear flickering in and out of his eyes. When he smiled the fear flew away in little pieces of light, lurked enigmatically in the high cool corners of the room. And what could I say feeling death around me, and the little broken images that come before sleep, there in the mind? "They will send me to the new sanitarium tomorrow. Come and visit me. I will be there alone." He coughed and took a codeineeta. "Doctor I understand, that is I have been given to understand, I have read and heard -- not a medical man myself -- don't pretend to be-that the concept of sani- tarium treatment has been more or less supplanted, or at least very definitely supplemented, by chemical therapy. Is this accurate in your opinion? What I mean to say is, Doctor, please tell me in all sincerity, as one human being to another, what is your opinion of chemi- cal versus sanitarium therapy? Are you a partisan?" The doctor's liver sick Indian face was blank as a dealer's. "Completely modern, as you can see," he gestures toward the room with the purple fingers of bad circu- lation. "Bath... water... flowers. The lot." He fin- ished in Cockney English with a triumphant smirk. "I will write for you a letter." "This letter? For the sanitarium?" The doctor was speaking from a land of black rocks and great, iridescent brown lagoons. "The furniture... modern and comfortable. You find it so of course?" Carl could not see the