achine route across the lawn.... The aging playboy dons his 1920 autograph slicker, feeds his screaming wife down the garbage-disposal unit.... Hair, shit and blood spurt out 1963 on the wall.... "Yes sir, boys, the shit really hit the fan in '63," said 'the tiresome old prophet can bore the piss out of you in any space-time direction.... "Now I happen to remember because it was just two year before that a strain of human aftosa developed in a Bolivian lavatory got loose through the medium of a Chinchilla coat fixed an income tax case in Kansas City.... And a Liz claimed Immaculate Conception and give birth to a six-ounce spider monkey through the navel.... They say the croaker was party to that caper had the monkey on his back all the time.. I, William Seward, captain of this lushed up hash- head subway, will quell the Lock Ness monster with rotenone and cowboy the white whale. I will reduce Satan to Automatic Obedience, and sublimate subsidi- ary fiends. I will banish the candiru from your swimming pools.-- I will issue a bull on Immaculate Birth Con- trol.... "The oftener a thing happens the more uniquely wonderful it is," said the pretentious young Nordic on the trapeze studying his Masonic home work. "The Jews don't believe in Christ, Clem.... All they want to do is doodle a Christian girl...." Adolescent angels sing on shithouse walls of the world. "Come and jack off..." 1929. "Gimpy push milk sugar shit... " Johnny Hung Lately 1952 (Decayed corseted tenor sings Danny Deever in drag.... ) Mules don't foal in this decent county and on hooded dead gibber in the ash pits.... Violation Public Health Law 334. So where is the statuary and the percentage? Who can say? I don't have The Word.... Home in my douche bag... The King is loose with a flame thrower and the king killer, tortured in effigy of a thousand bums, slides down skid row to shit in the limestone ball court. Young Dillinger walked straight out of the house and never looked back.... "Don't ever look back, kid.... You turn into some old cow's salt lick." Police bullet in the alley... Broken wings of Icarus, screams of a burning boy inhaled by the old junky... eyes empty as a vast plain... ( vulture wings husk in the dry air). The Crab, aged Dean Of Lush Workers, puts on his crustacean suit to prowl the graveyard shift... with steel claws pulls the gold teeth and crowns of any Hop sleep with his mouth open.... If the Hop comes up on him The Crab rears back claws snapping to offer dubious battle on the plains of Queens. The Boy Burglar, fucked in the long jail term, ousted from the cemetery for the non-payment, comes gibber- ing into the queer bar with a moldy pawn ticket to pick up the back balls of Tent City where castrate salesmen sing the IBM song. Crabs frolicked through his forest... wrestling with the angel hard-on all night, thrown in the homo fall of valor, take a back road to the rusty limestone cave. Black Yen ejaculates over the salt marshes where nothing grows not even a mandrake.... Law of averages... A few chickens... Only way to live.... "Hello, Cash." "You sure it's here?" "Of course I'm sure.... Go in with you." Night train to Chi... Meet a girl in the hall and I see she is on and ask where is a score? "Come in sonny." I mean not a young chick but built... "How about a fix first?" "Ixnay, You wouldn't be inna condition." Three times around... wake up shivering sick in warm Spring wind through the window, water burns the eyes like acid.... She gets out of bed naked.... Stach in the Cobra lamp.... Cooks up.... "Turn over.... I'll give it to you in the ass." She slides the needle in deep, pulls it out and mas- sages the cheek.... She licks a drop of blood off her finger. He rolls over with a hard-on dissolving in the grey ooze of junk. In a vale of cocaine and innocence sad-eyed youths yodel for a lost Danny Boy.... We sniffed all night and made it four times... fin- gers down the black board... scrape the white bone. Home is the heroin home from the sea. and the hustler home from The Bill.... The Pitchman stirs uneasily: "Take over here will you, kid? Gotta see a man about a monkey." The Word is divided into units which be all in one piece and should be so taken, but the pieces can be had in any order being tied up back and forth, in and out fore and aft like an innaresting sex arrangement. This book spill off the page in all directions, kaleidescope of vistas, medley of tunes and street noises, farts and riot yipes and the slamming steel shutters of commerce, screams of pain and pathos and screams plain pathic, copulating cats and outraged squawk of the displaced bull head, prophetic mutterings of brujo in nutmeg trances, snapping necks and screaming mandrakes, sigh of orgasm, heroin silent as dawn in the thirsty cells, Radio Cairo screaming like a berserk tobacco auction, and flutes of Ramadan fanning the sick junky like a gentle lush worker in the grey subway dawn feeling with delicate fingers for the green folding crackle.. This is Revelation and Prophecy of what I can pick up without FM on my 1920 crystal set with antennae of jissom.... Gentle reader, we see God through our assholes in the Hash bulb of orgasm.... Through these orifices transmute your body.... The way OUT is the way IN.... Now I, William Seward, will unlock my word horde. . My Viking heart fares over the great brown river where motors put put put in jungle twilight and whole trees float with huge snakes in the branches and sad- eyed lemurs watch the shore, across the Missouri field (The Boy finds a pink arrowhead) out along distant train whistles, comes back to me hungry as a street boy don't know to peddle the ass God gave him.... Gentle Reader, The Word will leap on you with leopard man iron claws, it will cut off fingers and toes like an opportunist land crab, it will hang you and catch your jissom like a scrutable dog, it will coil round your thighs like a bushmaster and inject a shot glass of rancid ecto- plasm.... And why a scrutable dog? The other day I am returning from the long lunch thread from mouth to ass all the days of our years, when I see an Arab boy have this little black and white dog know how to walk on his hind legs.... And a big yaller dog come on the boy for affection and the boy shove it away, and the yaller dog growl and snap at the little toddler, snarling if he had but human gift of tongues: "A crime against nature right there." So I dub the yaller dog Scrutable.... And let me say in passing, and I am always passing like a sincere Spade, that the Inscrutable East need a heap of salt to get it down... Your Reporter bang thirty grains of M a day and sit eight hours inscrutable as a turd. "What are you thinking?" says the squirming Ameri- can Tourist.... To which I reply: "Morphine have depressed my hypothalamus, seat of libido and emotion, and since the front brain acts only at second hand with back-brain titillation, being a vicarious type citizen can only get his kicks from behind, I must report virtual absence of cerebral event. I am aware of your presence, but since it has for me no affective connotation, my affect having been disconnect by the junk man for the non-payment, I am not innarested in your doings.... Go or come, shit or fuck yourself with a rasp or an asp -- tis well done and fitting for a queen -- but The Dead and The Junky don't care.... " They are Inscrutable. "Which is the way down the aisle to the water closet?" I asked the blonde usherette. "Right through here, sir.... Room for one more in- side." "Have you seen Pantopon Rose?" said the old junky in the black overcoat. The Texas sheriff has killed his complicit Vet., Brow- beck The Unsteady, involved in horse heroin racket. . A horse down with the aftosa need a sight of heroin to ease his pain and maybe some of that heroin take off across the lonesome prairie and whinny in Washington Square.... Junkies rush up yelling: "Heigh oOO Silver." "But where is the statuary?" This arch type bit of pathos screeched out in tea-room cocktail lounge with bamboo decorations, Calle Juarez, Mexico, DF.... Lost back there with a meatball rape rap... a cunt claw your pants down and you up for rape that's statutory, brother.... Chicago calling... come in please... Chicago calling... come in please.... What you think I got the rubber on for goulashes in Puyo? A mighty wet place, reader.... "Take it off! Take it off1" The old queen meets himself coming round the other way in burlesque of adolescence, gets the knee from his phantom of the Old Old Howard... down skid row to Market Street Museum shows all kinds mastur- bation and self-abuse... young boys need it special.... They was ripe for the plucking forgot way back yon- der in the corn hole... lost in little scraps of delight and burning scrolls.... Read the metastasis with blind fingers. Fossil message of arthritis... "Selling is more of a habit than using." -- Lola La Chata, Mexico, DF. Sucking terror from needle scars, underwater scream mouthing numb nerve warnings of the yen to come, throbbing bite site of rabies... "If God made anything better he kept it for himself," the Sailor used to say, his transmission slowed down with twenty goof balls. (Pieces of murder fall slow as opal chips through glycerine. ) Watching you and humming over and over "Johnny's So Long At The Fair." Pushing in a small way to keep up our habit.. "And use that alcohol," I say slamming a spirit lamp down on the table. "You fucking can't -- wait -- hungry junkies all the time black up my spoons with matches.... That's all I need for pen Indef. the heat rumbles a black spoon in the trap.... "I thought you was quitting.... Wouldn't feel right fucking up your cure. "Takes a lot of guts to kick a habit, kid." Looking for veins in the thawing flesh. Hour-Glass of junk spills its last black grains into the kidneys.... "Heavily infected area," he muttered, shifting the tie up. "Death was their Culture Hero," said my Old Lady looking up from the Mayan Codices.... "They got fire and speech and the corn seed from death.... Death turns into a maize seed." The Ouab Days are upon us raw pealed winds of hate and mischance blew the shot. "Get those fucking dirty pictures out of here," I told her. The Old Time Schmecker supported himself on a chair back, juiced and goof-balled... a disgrace to his blood. "What are you one of these goof-ball artists?" Yellow smells of skid row sherry and occluding liver drifted out of his clothes when he made the junky ges- ture throwing the hand out palm up to cope... smell of chili houses and dank overcoats and atro- phied testicles.... He looked at me through the tentative, ectoplasmic flesh of cure... thirty pounds materialized in a month when you kick... soft pink putty that fades at the first silent touch of junk.... I saw it happen... ten pounds lost in ten minutes... standing there with the syringe in one hand... holding his pants up with the other sharp reek of diseased metal. Walking in a rubbish heap to the sky... scattered gasoline fires... smoke hangs black and solid as excre- ment in the motionless air... smudging the white film of noon heat... D.L. walks beside me... a reflection of my toothless gums and hairless skull . flesh smeared over the rotting phosphorescent bones consumed by slow cold fires... He carries an open can of gasoline and the smell of gasoline envelopes him. .Coming over a hill of rusty iron we meet a group of Natives... Hat two-dimension faces of scavenger fish.... "Throw the gasoline on them and light it.... QUICK... white Hash... mangled insect screams . I woke up with the taste of metal in my mouth back from the dead trailing the colorless death smell afterbirth of a withered grey monkey phantom twinges of amputation... "Taxi boys waiting for a pickup," Eduardo said and died of an overdose in Madrid.... Powder trains burn back through pink convolu- tions of tumescent flesh... set off flash bulbs of orgasm... pin-point photos of arrested motion smooth brown side twisted to light a ciga- rette.... He stood there in a 1920 straw hat somebody gave him... soft mendicant words fallings like dead birds in the dark street.... "No... No more... No mas..." A heaving sea of air hammers in the purple brown dusk tainted with rotten metal smell of sewer gas... young worker faces vibrating out of focus in yellow halos of carbide lanterns... broken pipes exposed.... "They are rebuilding the City." Lee nodded absently.... "Yes... Always..." Either way is a bad move to The East Wing.. If I knew I'd be glad to tell you.... "No good... no bueno... hustling myself...." "No glot... C'lom Fliday" Tangier, 1959.