his own body. ... They embrace, fall to the floor and roll under a great magnifying glass set in the roof... burst into flame with a cry that shatters the glass wall, roll into space, fucking and screaming through the air, burst in blood and flames and soot on brown. rocks under a desert sun. Johnny leaps about the room in agony. With a scream that shatters the glass wall he stands spread- eagle to the rising sun, blood spurting out his cock... a white marble god, he plummets through epileptic explosions into the old Medjoub writhe in shit and rubbish by a mud wall under a sun that scar and grab the flesh into goose-pimples.... He is a boy sleeping against the mosque wall, ejaculates wet dreaming into a thousand cunts pink and smooth as sea shells, feeling the delight of prickly pubic hairs slide up his cock. John and Mary in hotel room (music of East St. Louis Toodleoo). Warm spring wind blows faded pink curtains in through open window.... Frogs croak in vacant lots where corn grows and boys catch little green garter snakes under broken limestone stelae stained with shit and threaded with rusty barbed wire.... Neon -- chlorophyll green, purple, orange -- flashes on and off. ) Johnny extracts a candiru from Mary's cunt with his calipers.... He drops it into a bottle of mescal where it turns into a Maguey worm.... He gives her a douche of jungle bone-softener, her vaginal teeth flow out mixed with blood and cysts.... Her cunt shines fresh and sweet as spring grass.... Johnny licks Mary's cunt, slow at first, with rising excitement parts the lips and licks inside feeling the prickle of pubic hairs on his tumescent tongue.... Arms thrown back, breasts poin- ing straight up, Mary lies transfixed with neon nails. ...Johnny moves up her body, his cock with a shining round opal of lubricant at the open slit, slides through her pubic hairs and enters her cunt to the hilt, drawn in by a suction of hungry flesh.... His face swells with blood, green lights burst behind his eyes and he falls with a scenic railway through screaming girls.... Damp hairs on the back of his balls dry to grass in the warm spring wind. High jungle valley, vines creep in the window. Johnny's cock swells, great rank buds burst out. A long tuber root creeps from Mary's cunt, feels for the earth. The bodies disintegrate in green explosions. The hut falls in ruins of broken stone. The boy is a limestone statue, a plant sprouting from his cock, lips parted in the half-smile of a junky on the nod. 4 0 0 The Beagle has stashed the heroin in a lottery ticket, One more shot -- tomorrow the cure. The way is long. Hard-ons and bring-downs are fre- quent. It was a long time over the stony reg to the oasis of date palms where Arab boys shit in the well and rock n' roll across the sands of muscle beach eating hot-dogs and spitting out gold teeth in nuggets. Toothless and strictly from the long hunger, ribs you could wash your filthy overalls on, that corrugate, they quaver down from the outrigger in Easter Island and stalk ashore on legs stiff and brittle as stilts... they nod in club windows... fallen into the fat of lack-need to sell a slim body. The date palms have died of meet lack, the well filled with dried shit and mosaic of a thousand newspapers: "Russia denies... The Home Secretary views with pathic alarm... The trap was sprung at 12:02. At 12:30 the doctor went out to eat oysters, returned at 2:00 to clap the hanged man jovially on the back. 'what? Aren't you dead yet? Guess I'll have to pull your leg. Haw Haw! Can't let you choke at this rate -- I'd get a warning from the President. And what a disgrace if the dead wagon cart you out alive. My balls would drop off with the shame of it and I apprenticed myself to an experienced ox. One two three pull.' " The sail plane falls silent as erection, silent as greased glass broken by the young thief with old-woman hands a;id cancelled eyes of junk.... In a noiseless explosion he penetrates the broken house, stepping over the greased crystals, a clock ticks loud in the kitchen, hot air ruffles his hair, his head disintegrates in a heavy duck load.... The Old Man flips out a red shell and pirou- ettes around his shotgun. "Aw, shucks, fellers, tweren't nothing.... Fish in the barrel.... Money in the bank ...round-heeled boy, one greased shot brain goose and he Hop in an obscene position.... Can you hear me from where you are, boy? "I was young myself once and heard the siren call of easy money and women and tight boy-ass and lands sake don't get my blood up I am subject to tell a tale make your cock stand up and yipe for the pink pearly way of young cunt or the lovely brown mucous-covered palpitating tune of the young boy-ass play your cock like a recorder... and when you hit the prostate pearl sharp diamonds gather in the golden lad balls inexora- ble as a kidney stone.... Sorry I had to kill you.... The old grey mare aint what she used to be.... Cant run down an audience... got to bring down that house on the wing, run or sit.... Like an old lion took bad with cavities he need that amident toothpaste keep a feller biting fresh at all times.... Them old lions shit sure turn boyeater.... And who can blame them, boys being so sweet so cold so fair in St. James Infirmary?'? Now, son, don't you get rigor mortis on me. Show re- spect for the aging prick.... You may be a tedious old fuck yourself some day.... Oh, uh; I guess not.... You have, like Housman's barefoot shameless catamite The Congealed Shropshire Ingenue set your fleet foot on the silo of change.... But you cant kill those Shropshire boys... been hanged so often he resist it like a gono- coccus half castrate with pencillin rallies to a hideous strength and multiplies geometric.... So leave us cast a vote for decent acquittal and put an end to those beastly exhibitions for which the sheriff levy a pound of fiesh." Sheriff: "I'll lower his pants for a pound, folks. Step right up. A serious and scientific exhibit concerning the locality of the Life Center. This character has nine inches, ladies and gentlemen, measure them yourself inside. Only one pound, one queer three dollar bill to see a young boy come three times at least -- I never de- mean myself to process a eunuch -- completely against his will. When his neck snaps sharp, this character will shit-sure come to rhythmic attention and spurt it out all over you. The boy stands on the trap shifting his weight from one leg to the other: "Gawd! What a boy hasta put up with in this business. Sure as shit some horrible old character get physical." Traps falls, rope sings like wind in wire, neck snaps loud and clear as a Chinese gong. The boy cuts himself down with a switch-blade, chases a screaming fag down the midway. The faggot dives through the glass of a penny arcade peep-show and rims a grinning Negro. Fadeout. (Mary, Johnny and Mark take a bow with the ropes around their necks. They are not as young as they appear in the Blue Movies.... They look tired and petulant. ) MEETING OF INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE OF TECHNOLOGICAL PSYCHIATRY Doctor "Fingers" Schafer, the Lobotomy Kid, rises and turns on the Conferents the cold blue blast of his gaze: "Gentlemen, the human nervous system can be re- duced to a compact and abbreviated spinal column. The brain, front, middle and rear must follow the ade- noid, the wisdom tooth, the appendix.... I give you my Master Work: The Complete All American De- anxietixed Man...." Blast of trumpets: The Man is carried in naked by two Negro Bearers who drop him on the platform with bestial, sneering brutality.... The Man wriggles.... His flesh turns to viscid, transparent jelly that drifts away in green mist, unveiling a monster black centi- pede. Waves of unknown stench fill the room, searing the lungs, grabbing the stomach.... Schafer wrings his hands sobbing: "Clarence! How can you do this to me?? Ingrates!! Every one of them ingrates!' The Conferents start back muttering in dismay: "I'm afraid Schafer has gone a bit too far...." "I sounded a word of warning...." "Brilliant chap Schafer... but..." "Man will do anything for publicity...." "Gentlemen, this unspeakable and in every sense il- legitimate child of Doctor Schafer's perverted brain must not see the light.... Our duty to the human race is clear...." "Man he done seen the light," said one of the Negro Bearers. "We must stomp out the Un-American crittah,' says a fat, frog-faced Southern doctor who has been drink- ing corn out of a mason jar. He advances drunkenly, then halts, appalled by the formidable size and menac- ing aspect of the centipede.... "Fetch gasoline!" he bellows. "We gotta burn the son of a bitch like an uppity Nigra!" "I'm not sticking my neck out, me," says a cool hip young doctor high on LSD25.... "Why a smart D.A. could..." Fadeout. "Order in The Court1" D.A.:"Gentlemen of the jury, these 'learned gentle- men' claim that the innocent human creature they have so wantonly slain suddenly turned himself into a huge black centipede and it was 'their duty to the human race' to destroy this monster before it could, by any means at its disposal, perpetrate its kind.... "Are we to gulp down this tissue of horse shit! Are we to take these glib lies like a greased and nameless asshole? Where is this wondrous centipede? " 'We have destroyed it,' they say smugly.... And I would like to remind you, Gentlemen and Hermaphro- dites of the Jury, that this Great Beast" -- he points to Doctor Schafer -- "has, on several previous occasions, appeared in this court charged with the unspeakable crime of brain rape.... In plain English" -- he pounds the rail of the jury box, his voice rises to a scream -- "in plain English, Gentlemen, forcible lobotomy...." The Jury gasps..., One dies of a heart attack.... Three fall to the floor writhing in orgasms of pruri- ence.... The D.A. points dramatically: "He it is.... He and no other who has reduced whole provinces of our fair land to a state bordering on the far side of idiocy.... He it is who has filled great warehouses with row on row, tier on tier of helpless creatures who must have their every want attended.... 'The Drones' he calls them with a cynical leer of pure educated evil.... Gentlemen, I say to you that the wanton murder of Clarence Cowie must not go unavenged: This foul crime shrieks like a wounded faggot for justice at least!" The centipede is rushing about in agitation. "Man, that mother fucker's hungry," screams one of the Bearers. "I'm getting out of here, me." A wave of electric horror sweeps through the Con- ferents.... They storm the exits screaming and claw- ing.... THE MARKET Panorama of the City of Interzone. Opening bars of East St. Louis Toodleoo... at times loud and clear then faint and intermittent like music down a windy street.... The room seems to shake and vibrate with motion. The blood and substance of many races, Negro, Poly- nesian, Mountain Mongol, Desert Nomad, Polyglot Near East, Indian -- races as yet unconceived and unborn, combinations not yet realized pass through your body. Migrations, incredible journeys through deserts and jungles and mountains (stasis and death in closed moun- tain valleys where plants grow out of genitals, vast crustaceans hatch inside and break the shell of body) across the Pacific in an outrigger canoe to Easter Island. The Composite City where all human potentials are spread out in a vast silent market. Minarets, palms, mountains, jungle... A sluggish river jumping with vicious fish, vast weed-grown parks where boys lie in the grass, play cryptic games, Not a locked door in the City. Anyone comes into your room at any time. The Chief of Police is a Chinese who picks his teeth and listens to denunciations presented by a lunatic. Every now and then the Chinese takes the toothpick out of his mouth and looks at the end of it. Hipsters with smooth copper-colored faces lounge in doorways twisting shrunk heads on gold chains, their faces blank with an insect's unseeing calm. Behind them, through open doors, tables and booths and bars, and kitchens and baths, copulating couples on rows of brass beds, crisscross of a thousand ham- mocks, junkies tying up for a shot, opium smokers, hashish smokers, people eating talking bathing back into a haze of smoke and steam. Gaming tables where the games are played for in- credible stakes. From time to time a player leaps up with a despairing cry, having lost his youth to an old man or become Latah to his opponent. But there are higher stakes than youth or Latah, games where only two players in the world know what the stakes are. All houses in the City are joined. Houses of sod -- high mountain Mongols blink in smokey doorways -- houses of bamboo and teak, houses of adobe, stone and red brick, South Pacific and Maori houses, houses in trees and river boats, wood houses one hundred feet long sheltering entire tribes, houses of boxes and corrugated iron where old men sit in rotten rags cooking down canned heat, great rusty iron racks rising two hundred feet in the air from swamps and rubbish with perilous partitions built on multi-levelled platforms, and ham- mocks swinging over the void. Expeditions leave for unknown places with unknown purposes. Strangers arrive on rafts of old packing crates tied together with rotten rope, they stagger in out of the jungle their eyes swollen shut from insect bites, they come down the mountain trails on cracked bleed- ing feet through the dusty windy outskirts of the city, where people defecate in rows along adobe walls and vultures fight over fish heads. They drop down into parks in patched parachutes,... They are escorted by a drunken cop to register in a vast public lavatory. The data taken down is put on pegs to be used as toilet paper. Cooking smells of all countries hang over the City, a haze of opium, hashish, the resinous red smoke of Yage, smell of the jungle and salt water and the rotting river and dried excrement and sweat and genitals. High mountain flutes, jazz and bebop, one-stringed Mongol instruments, gypsy xylophones, African drums, Arab bagpipes... The City is visited by epidemics of violence, and the untended dead are eaten by vultures in the streets. Albinos blink in the sun. Boys sit in trees, languidly masturbate. People eaten by unknown diseases watch the passerby with evil, knowing eyes. In the City Market is the Meet Cafe. Followers of ob- solete, unthinkable trades doodling in Etruscan, addicts of drugs not yet synthesized, pushers of souped-up Har- maline, junk reduced to pure habit offering precarious vegetable serenity, liquids to induce Latah, Tithonian longevity serums, black marketeers of World War III, excisors of telepathic sensitivity, osteopaths of the spirit, investigators of infractions denounced by bland para- noid chess players, servers of fragmentary warrants taken down in hebephrenic shorthand charging un- speakable mutilations of the spirit, bureaucrats of spec- tral departments, officials of unconstituted police states, a Lesbian dwarf who has perfected operation Bang- utot, the lung erection that strangles a sleeping enemy, sellers of orgone tanks and relaxing machines, brokers of exquisite dreams and memories tested on the sensi- tized cells of junk sickness and bartered for raw mate- rials of the will, doctors skilled in the treatment of diseases dormant in the black dust of ruined cities, gathering virulence in the white blood of eyeless worms feeling slowly to the surface and the human host, mala- dies of the ocean floor and the stratosphere, maladies of the laboratory and atomic war.... A place where the unknown past and the emergent future meet in a vi- brating soundless hum... Larval entities waiting for a Live One... (Section describing The City and the Meet Cafe written in state of Yage intoxication... Yage, Ayua- huasca, Pilde, Nateema are Indian names for Banni- steria Caapi, a fast growing vine indigenous to the Amazon region. See discussion of Yage in Appendix. ) Notes from Yage state: Images fall slow and silent like snow.... Serenity... All defenses fall... every- thing is free to enter or to go out.... Fear is simply impossible.... A beautiful blue substance Hows into me.... I see an archaic grinning face like South Pacific mask.... The face is blue purple splotched with gold.... The room takes on aspect of Near East whorehouse with blue walls and red tasseled lamps.... I feel myself turning into a Negress, the black color silently invading my flesh.... Convulsions of lust... My legs take on a well rounded Polynesian substance.... Everything stirs with a writhing furtive life.... The room is Near East, Negro, South Pacific, in some familiar place I cannot locate.... Yage is space-time travel.... The room seems to shake and vibrate with motion.... The blood and substance of many races, Negro, Polynesian, Moun- tain Mongol, Desert Nomad, Polyglot Near East, In- dian, races as yet unconceived and unborn, passes through the body.... Migrations, incredible journeys through deserts and jungles and mountains (stasis and death in closed mountain valley where plants grow out of genitals, vast crustaceans hatch inside and break the shell of body) across the Pacific in an outrigger canoe to Easter Island,... (It occurs to me that preliminary Yage nausea is motion sickness of transport to Yage state....) "All medicine men use it in their practice to foretell the future, locate lost or stolen objects, to diagnose and treat illness, to name the perpetrator of a crime." Since the Indian ( straitjacket for Herr Boas -- trade joke -- noth- ing so maddens an anthropologist as Primitive Man) does not regard any death as accidental, and they are unacquainted with their own self-destructive trends re- ferring to them contemptuously as "our naked cousins," or perhaps feeling that these trends above all are sub- ject to the manipulation of alien and hostile wills, any death is murder. The medicine man takes Yage and the identity of the murderer is revealed to him. As you may imagine, the deliberations of the medicine man during one of these jungle inquests give rise to certain feelings of uneasiness among his constituents. "Let's hope Old Xiuptutol don't wig and name one of the boys." "Take a curare and relax. We got the fix in..." "But if he wig? Picking up on that Nateema all the time he don't touch the ground in twenty years.... I tell you, Boss, nobody can hit the stuff like that.... It cooks the brains...." "So we declare him incompetent...." So Xiuptutol reels out of the jungle and says the boys in the Lower Tzpino territory done it, which surprises no one.... Take it from an old Brujo, dearie, they don't like surprises.... A funeral passes through the market. Black coffin -- Arabic inscriptions in filigreed silver -- carried by four pallbearers. Procession of mourners singing the funeral song... Clem and Jody fall in beside them carrying coffin, the corpse of a hog bursts out of it.... The hog is dressed in a jellaba, a keif pipe juts from its mouth, one hoof holds a packet of feelthy pictures, a mezuzzoth hangs about its neck.... Inscribed on the coffin: "This was the noblest Arab of them all." They sing hideous parody of the funeral song in false Arabic. Jody can do a fake Chinese spiel that'll just kill you -- like a hysterical ventriloquist's dummy. In fact, he precipitated an anti-foreign riot in Shanghai that claimed 3,000 casualties. "Stand up, Gertie, and show respect for the local gooks." "I suppose one should." "My dear, I'm working on the most marvelous inven- tion... a boy who disappears as soon as you come leaving a smell of burning leaves and a sound effect of distant train whistles." "Ever make sex in no gravity? Your jism just floats out in the air like lovely ectoplasm, and female guests are subject to immaculate or at least indirect concep- tion.... Reminds me of an old friend of mine, one of the handsomest men I have ever known and one of the maddest and absolutely ruined by wealth. He used to go about with a water pistol shooting jism up career women at parties. Won all his paternity suits hands down. Never use his own jism you understand." Fadeout... "Order in the Court." Attorney for A. J., "Conclusive tests have established that my client has no uh personal connection with the uh little accident of the charming plaintiff.... Perhaps she is preparing to emulate the Virgin Mary and conceive immaculately naming my client as a hurumph ghostly pander.... I am reminded of a case in fifteenth-century Holland where a young woman accused an elderly and respect- able sorcerer of conjuring up a succubus who then had uh carnal knowledge of the young person in question with the under the circumstances regrettable result of pregnancy. So the sorcerer was indicted as an accom- plice and rampant voyeur before during and after the fact. However, gentlemen of the jury, we no longer credit such uh legends; and a young woman attributing her uh interesting condition to the attentions of a suc- cubus would be accounted, in these enlightened days, a romanticist or in plain English a God damned liar hehe hehe heh...." And now The Prophet's Hour: "Millions died in the mud fiats. Only one blast free to lungs. " 'Eye Eye, Captain,' he said, squirting his eyes out on the deck.... And who would put on the chains to- night? It is indicate to observe some caution in the up-wind approach, the down wind having failed to turn up anything worth a rusty load.... Senoritas are the wear this season in Hell, and I am tired with the long climb to a pulsing Vesuvius of alien pricks." Need Orient Express out of here to no hide place(r) mines are frequent in the area.... Every day dig a little it takes up the time.... Jack off phantoms whisper hot into the bone ear.... Shoot your way to freedom. "Christ?" sneers the vicious, fruity old Saint applying pancake from an alabaster bowl.... "That cheap ham! You think I'd demean myself to commit a miracle?... That one should have stood in carny.... "'Step right up, Marquesses and Marks, and bring the little Marks too. Good for young and old, man and beast.... The one and only legit Son of Man will cure a young boy's clap with one hand -- by contact alone, folks -- create marijuana with the other, whilst walking on water and squirting wine out his ass.... Now keep your distance, folks, you is subject to be irradiated by the sheer charge of this character.' "And I knew him when, dearie.... I recall we was doing an Impersonation Act -- very high class too -- in Sodom, and that is one cheap town.... Strictly from hunger... Well, this citizen, this fucking Philistine wandered in from Podunk Baal or some place, called me a fuckin fruit right on the floor. And I said to him: 'Three thousand years in show business and I always keep my nose clean. Besides I don't hafta take any shit off any uncircumcised cocksucker.'...Later he come to my dressing room and made an apology.... Turns out he is a big physician. And he was a lovely fellah, too.... "Buddha? A notorious metabolic junky... Makes his own you dig. In India, where they got no sense of time, The Man is often a month late.... 'Now let me see, is that the second or the third monsoon? I got like a meet in Ketchupore about more or less.' "And all them junkies sitting around in the lotus posture spitting on the ground and waiting on The Man. "So Buddha says: 'I don't hafta take this sound. I'll by God metabolize my own junk.' "'Man, you can't do that. The Revenooers will swarm all over you.' "'Over me they won't swarm. I gotta gimmick, see? I'm a fuckin Holy Man as of right now.' "'Jeez, boss, what an angle.' "'Now some citizens really wig when they make with the New Religion. These frantic individuals do not know how to come on. No class to them... Besides, they is subject to be lynched like who wants somebody hanging around being better'n other folks? "What you trying to do, Jack, give people a bad time?..." So we gotta play it cool, you dig, cool.... We got a take it or leave it proposition here, folks. We don't shove any- thing up your soul, unlike certain cheap characters who shall be nameless and are nowhere. Clear the cave for action. I'm gonna metabolize a speed ball and make with the Fire Sermon.' "Mohammed? Are you kidding? He was dreamed up by the Mecca Chamber of Commerce. An Egyptian ad man on the skids from the sauce write the continuity. " 'I'll have one more, Gus. Then, by Allah, I will go home and receive a Surah.... Wait'll the morning edi- tion hits the souks. I am blasting Amalgamated Images wide open.' "The bartender looks up from his racing form. 'Yeah. And theirs will be a painful doom.' " 'Oh... uh... quite. Now, Gus, I'll write you a check.' "'You are only being the most notorious paper hanger in Greater Mecca. I am not a wall, Mr. Mohammed.' " 'Well, Gus, I got like two types publicity, favorable and otherwise. You want some otherwise already? I am subject to receive a Surah concerning bartenders who extendeth not credit to those in a needy way.' " 'And theirs will be a painful doom. Sold Arabia.' He vaults over the bar. 'I'm not taking any more, Ahmed. Pick up thy Surahs and walk. In fact, I'll help you. And stay out.' "'I'll fix your wagon good, you unbelieving cock- sucker. I'll close you up tight and dry as a junky's ass- hole. I'll by Allah dry up the Peninsula.' " 'It's a continent already....' "Leave what Confucius say stand with Little Audrey and the shaggy dogs. Lao-Tze? They scratch him al- ready...'. And enough of these gooey saints with a look of pathic dismay as if they getting fucked up the ass and try not to pay it any mind. And why should we let some old brokendown ham tell us what wisdom is? 'Three thousand years in show business and I always keep my nose clean....' "First, every Fact is incarcerate along with the male hustlers and those who desecrate the gods of commerce by playing ball in the streets, and some old white- haired fuck staggers out to give us the benefits of his ripe idiocy. Are we never to be free of this grey-beard loon lurking on every mountain top in Tibet, subject to drag himself out of a hut in the Amazon, waylay one in the Bowery? 'I've been expecting you, my son,' and he make with a silo full of corn. 'Life is a school where every pupil must learn a different lesson. And now I will unlock my Word Hoard....' " 'I do fear it much.' " 'Nay, nothing shall stem the rising tide.' " 'I can't stem him, boys. Sauve qui peut.' " 'I tell you when I leave the Wise Man I don't even feel like a human. He converting my live orgones into dead bullshit.' "So I got an exclusive why don't I make with the live word? The word cannot be expressed direct.... It can perhaps be indicated by mosaic of juxtaposition like articles abandoned in a hotel drawer, defined by nega- tives and absence.... "Think I'll have my stomach tucked.... I may be old, but I'm still desirable." (The Stomach Tuck is surgical intervention to re- move stomach fat at the same time making a tuck in the abdominal wall, thus creating a flesh corset, which is, however, subject to break and spurt your horrible old guts across the Boor.... The slim and shapely F.C. models are, of course, the most dangerous. In fact, some extreme models are known as O.N.S.-- One Night Stands -- in the industry. Doctor "Doodles" Rindfest states bluntly: "Bed is the most dangerous place for an F.C. man." The F.C. theme song is "Believe Me If All These Endearing Young Charms." An F.C. partner is indeed subject to "fleet from your arms like fairy gifts fading away.") In a white museum room full of sunlight pink nudes sixty feet high. Vast adolescent muttering. Silver guard rail... chasm a thousand feet down into the glittering sunlight. Little: green plots of cabbage and lettuce. Brown youths with adzes spied by the old queen across a sewage canal. "Oh dear, I wonder if they fertilize with human ex- crement.... Maybe they'll do it right now." He Hips out mother of pearl opera glasses -- Aztec mosaic in the sun. Long line of Greek lads march up with alabaster bowls of shit, empty into the limestone marl hole. Dusty poplars shake across the red brick Plaza de Toros in the afternoon wind. Wooden cubicles around a hot spring... rubble of ruined walls in a grove of cottonwoods... the benches worn smooth as metal by a million masturbating boys. Greek lads white as marble fuck dog style on the portico of a great golden temple... naked Mugwump twangs a lute. Walking down by the tracks in his red sweater met Sammy the Dock Keeper's son with two Mexicans. "Hey, Skinny," he said, "want to get screwed?" "Well... Yeah." On a ruined straw mattress the Mexican pulled him up on all fours -- Negro boy dance around them beating out the strokes... sun through a knot hole pink spot- lights his cock. A waste of raw pink shame to the pastel blue horizon where vast iron mesas crash into the shattered sky, "It's all right." The God screams through you three thousand year rusty load.... Hail of crystal skulls shattered the greenhouse to slivers in the winter moon.... The American woman has left a whiff of poison be- hind in the dank St. Louis garden party. Pool covered with green slime in a ruined French garden. Huge pathic frog rises slowly from the water on a mud platform playing the clavichord. A Sollubi rushes into the bar and starts polishing The Saint's shoes with the oil on his nose.... The Saint kicks him petulantly in the mouth. The Sollubi screams, whirls around and shits on the Saint's pants. Then he dashes into the street. A pimp looks after him specula- tively.... The Saint calls the manager: "Jesus, Al, what kinda creep joint you running here? My brand new fishskin Degagees..." "I'm sorry, Saint. He slipped by me." (The Sollubi are an untouchable caste in Arabia noted for their abject vileness. De luxe cafes are equipped with Sollubi who rim the guests while they eat -- holes in the seating benches being provided for this purpose. Citizens who want to be utterly humiliated and de- graded -- so many people do, nowadays, hoping to jump the gun -- over themselves up for passive homosexual intercourse to an encampment of Sollubis.... Nothing like it, they tell me.... In fact, the Sollubi are subject to become wealthy and arrogant and lose their native vileness. What is origin of untouchable? Perhaps a fallen priest caste. In fact, untouchables perform a priestly function in taking on themselves all human vileness.) A. J. strolls through the Market in black cape with a vulture perched on one shoulder. He stands by a table of agents. "This you gotta hear. Boy in Los Angeles fifteen year old. Father decide it is time the boy have his first piece of ass. Boy is lying on the lawn reading comic books, father go out and say: 'Son, here's twenty dollars; I want you to go to a good whore and get a piece of ass off her.' "So they drive to this plush jump joint, and the father say, 'All right, son. You're on your own. So ring the bell and when the woman come give her the twenty dollars and tell her you want a piece of ass.' " 'Solid, pop.' "So about fifteen minutes later the boy comes out: " 'Well, son, did you get a piece of ass?' " 'Yeah. This gash comes to the door, and I say I want a piece of ass and lay the double sawski on her. We go up to her trap, and she remove the dry goods. So I switch my blade and cut a big hunk off her ass, she raise a beef like I am reduce to pull off one shoe and beat her brains out. Then I hump her for kicks." Only the laughing bones remain, flesh over the hills and far away with the dawn wind and a train whistle. We are not unaware of the problem, and the needs of our constituents are never out of our mind being their place of residence and who can break a ninety-nine year synapses lease? Another installment in the adventures of Clem Snide the Private Ass Hole: "So I walk in the joint, and this female hustler sit at the bar, and I think, 'Oh God you're poule de luxe already.' I mean it's like I see the gash before. So I don't pay her no mind at first, then I dig she is rubbing her legs together and working her feet up behind her head shoves it down to give herself a douche job with a gadget sticks out of her nose the way a body can't help but notice." Iris -- half Chinese and half Negro -- addicted to dihy- dro-oxy-heroin -- takes a shot every fifteen minutes to which end she leaves droppers and needles sticking out all over her. The needles rust in her dry flesh, which, here and there, has grown completely over a joint to form a smooth green brown wen. On the table in front of her is a samovar of tea and a twenty-pound hamper of brown sugar. No one has ever seen her eat anything else. It -is only just before a shot that she hears what anyone says or talks herself. Then she makes some flat, factual statement relative to her own person. "My asshole is occluding." "My cunt got terrible green juices." Iris is one of Benway's projects. "The human body can run on sugar alone, God damn it.... I am aware that certain of my learned colleagues, who are attempt- ing to belittle my genius work, claim that I put vitamins and proteins into Iris's sugar clandestinely.... I chal- lenge these nameless assholes to crawl up out of their latrines and run a spot analysis on Iris's sugar and her tea. Iris is a wholesome American cunt. I deny categori- cally that she nourishes herself on semen. And let me take this opportunity to state that I am a reputable sci- entist, not a charlatan, a lunatic, or a pretended worker of miracles.... I never claimed that Iris could subsist exclusive on photosynthesis.... I did not say she could breathe in carbon dioxide and give off oxygen -- I con- fess I have been tempted to experiment being of course restrained by my medical ethics.... In short, the vile slanders of my creeping opponents will inevitably fall back onto them and come to roost like a homing stool pigeon." ORDINARY MEN AND WOMEN Luncheon of Nationalist Party on balcony overlook- ing the Market. Cigars, scotch, polite belches.... The Party Leader strides about in a jellaba smoking a cigar and drinking scotch. He wears expensive English shoes, loud socks, garters, muscular, hairy legs -- overall effect of successful gangster in drag. P.L. (pointing dramatically): "Look out there. What do you see?" LIEUTENANT: "Huh? Why, I see the Market." P.L.: "No you don't. You see men and women. Ordi- ruzry men and women going about their ordinary every- day tasks. Leading their ordinary lives. That's what we need...." A street boy climbs over the balcony rail. Lieutenant: "No, we do not want to buy any used condoms! Cut!" P.L.: "Wait!... Come in, my boy. Sit down.... Have a cigar.... Have a drink." He paces around the boy like an aroused tom cat. "What do you think about the French?" -Huh?" 'The French. The Colonial bastards who is sucking your live corpuscles." "Look mister. It cost two hundred francs to suck my corpuscule. Haven't lowered my rates since the year of the rindpest when all the tourists died, even the Scandinavians." P.L.: "You see? This is pure uncut boy in the street." "You sure can pick'em, boss." "M.I. never misses." P.L.: "Now look, kid, let's put it this way. The French have dispossessed you of your birthright." "You mean like Friendly Finance?... They got this toothless Egyptian eunuch does the job. They figure he arouse less antagonism, you dig, he always take down his pants to show you his condition. 'Now I'm just a poor old eunuch trying to keep up my habit. Lady, I'd like to give you an extension on that artificial kidney, I got a job to do is all.... Disconnect her, boys.' He shows his gums in a feeble snarl.... 'Not for nothing am I known as Nellie the Repossessor.' "So they disconnect my own mother, the sainted old gash, and she swell up and turn black and the whole souk stink of piss and the neighbors beef to the Board of Health and my father say: 'It's the will of Allah. She won't piss any more of my loot down the drain.' "Sick people disgust me already. When some citizen start telling me about his cancer of the prostate or his rotting septum make with that purulent discharge I tell him: 'You think I am innarested to hear about your horrible old condition? I am not innarested at all.' " P.L.: "All right. Cut... You hate the French, don't you?" "Mister, I hate everybody. Doctor Benway says it's metabolic, I got this condition of the blood.... Arabs and Americans got it special.... Doctor Benway is concocting this serum." P.L.: "Benway is an infiltrating Western Agent." L.l: "A rampant French Jew..." L.2: "A hog-balled, black-assed Communist Jew Nig- ger. P.L.: "Shut up, you fool!" L.2: "Sorry, chief. I am after being stationed in Pigeonhole." P.L.: "Don't go near Benway." (Aside: "I wonder if this will go down. You never know how primitive they are....") "Confidentially he's a black magician." L.l: "He's got this resident djinn." "Uhuh... Well I got a date with a high-type Ameri- can client. A real classy fellah." P.L.: "Don't you know it's shameful to peddle your ass to the alien unbelieving pricks?" "Well that's a point of view. Have fun." P.L.: "Likewise." Exit boy. "They're hopeless I tell you. Hopeless." L.l. "What's with this serum?" P.L.: "I don't know, but it sounds ominous. We better put a telepathic direction finder on Benway. The man's not to be trusted. Might do almost anything.... Turn a massacre into a sex orgy.... "Or a joke." "Precisely. Arty type... No principles..." AMERICAN HOUSEWIFE (opening a box of Lux): "Why don't it have an electric eye the box Hip open when it see me and hand itself to the Automat Handy Man he should put it inna water already.... The Handy Man is outa control since Thursday, he been getting physical with me and I didn't put it in his combination at all.... And the Garbage Disposal Unit snapping at me, and the nasty old Mixmaster keep trying to get up under my dress.... I got the most awful cold, and my intes- tines is all constipated.... I'm gonna put it in the Handy Man's combination he sh