THE LAUGHING BONE‎ > ‎WORD‎ > ‎PROSE‎ > ‎Skeletons in the Waste Land‎ > ‎

Part I: We Waited in the Darkness [Burial of the Dead]

I will sit upon my buffalo, writing tales and wait, wait, in silence, in wisdom, 

for the way through to open up before me, like a claw, or a flower.

May is an all right kind of month. It is a good time to collect up the gifts of the dark world and the life in symbols of ecstasy, of chanting dead rose ends.  Life is soft cold breeding. Laughing with all his might and I thought that he might explode like a snake, growing softer, growing softer.

This is the way that things go now: listening in the room to the radio growing fainter.

How are things here?

There? In New York? In Paris? In the whited mausoleum: iron screams of torn butterfly profusion.

The other night, in the kitchen, the icebox glowing, cold on a hot summer night, the crush and whisp of the can of beer opening, burning to give me that handle on the bad habits, additional support, I still remember London, tolling, and again I am returned, turned, revolved and evolved solved and mauled by pretense and shame, deep animal and childhood shame.

I live sets now, fusions of spirit, man and metal, justice in lightning strikes. I have heard the voice of God at the Hole: one night, in for that reality, late night pool games, pitchers of shining bock beer, the green perfection of the felt slate plane, rolling geometrical, a perfection of shapes and intersections of gears that turn like that night, the night flowing out of my fingers whispering across the sky, in an attempt to capture all essence, myself and the world portrait form the shivering of my fingertips, falling into the keys but forgetting keys themselves and words flow out losing relevance and ringing with memory, lightly falling like disembodied hair across a bleached white whale breast bone.

Images of beaches and the burials, pyres and I wish to not yawn without boredom, to yawn without boredom, without boredom, to yawn and let loose windows upon the world matrix, the Clear Light, the moment messianic: quickly the leaves shatter under cold autumn drops of crystal rain and fall in lazy whirlpools of spirals into the earth, to become lilacs breeding in frenzy, softly frenzied, falling so fast that I don't know where to begin, to begin again again again, to begin.

Ah let me roll with the Great Cosmic Drum, stretch me tightly across the frame of the knowing world, flowing, that word, that self-reflective portraiture: hands like silent claws scuttling under silent seas. Lay me down, down, lay me, and let the waters cleanse my hair of all the stars that are there, wash me free of eternity and let me become a coral cave, with pearls pearls for eyes, gleaming spasmodic happiness over words, on the highway, in the highway, here it comes a new beginning. I leave with an image of immaculate purity: a diamond so intensely hot that it falls right through gravity, through all bone and land, metal and man, through the universe, melting through the entire structure of reality to fall off the edge of the galaxy, where does it go now, it falls again and becomes infinite, infinite journeying. I call out to this diamond: fall through me in a line of unwavering termination. Ah Ah Ah paradox! I feel you softly growing ....

Three hundred years in the zone, in the rich and enchantment of the inner kingdom, I felt thoughts revolve around a sphere of utter unknowability, slipping off into my mind, like leaves in the autumnal wind, the west wind. The sphere spun and zebra stripped thought images licked across its surface and curled with arabesques into the air to involute unto themselves and a new reality. I laid upon my back for hours, to just spin with the ball, to get beyond the barrier and I felt my breath wavering like an immense sail. My heartbeats slowed and slowed until I neared a deep phase and I felt a coldness creep over my body and my spirit became anxious and struggle stoically to kick free of the earth, of my body, and leave bloody footsteps into the center of the spinning sphere. But thoughts pulled me back and I became caught up in the turning, lost in the curving animate geometry, world within worlds, crystal ball confusion and clarity, snowstorms and the flowers bloom, shatter, and catch fire.

Again and again I try my assault upon the Sphere where all thought images are generated, focusing upon the truth, the sentient, tangibility of the truth of the phrase: Whatever can be imagined is an image of the Truth, whatever can be believed is an image of the Truth.

I press my eyes up against the turning sphere of imagination and grind them into webs of bloody tissue, my fingers to the bones and the bones catch on fire. I throw my whole body against the divine plane of turning friction, for a glimpse beyond the battlements, the barriers of my existence.

Again I feel the chill and Death breathes putrid breath into my innermost chambers. I ask for a beacon, is there anybody out here who can help me? And a strange image follows: is it me, where something pulsates, indicating that there is something in the zone, is it the nobodaddy or another soul upon the Astral plane? Who, where, how will you get in touch with me again? I live for such knowledge and die for it too. Death, embrace me into the heart of the sphere, turn me into smoke that can split the world in two. Death, give me the secret of life, silky gossamer strands of web, spirit webs stretch out and trail the distance between me and you. Here is the beacon again and I know that I am not alone. I will wait until the god comes to let me pass through the gate. I will sit upon my buffalo, writing tales and wait, wait, in silence, in wisdom, for the way through to open up before me, like a claw, or a flower, wait in the darkness.

I am liberated from structure, ring the bells , toll the thunder, in the bowling alleys let the tin can tin man men bend in to the end of that bottle that offered not respite, no not respite, but and understanding, like there was one night in the California summer, death row skid row syringes of christianity, not me, up on the cross, not me, nailed onto the matrix, the ghost cries below the mystic cloud and seeps into sleep in the right hemisphere for eternity, not me, for now I have found my pace, place where there are minimal corrections and I shall go on until there are no more words, no more images, not me, but they spin out of nowhere, from that infernal still point that never ceases, increases, decreases, but only pleases to squeeze an essence out of the lemonesque void of the Universe, air conditioned cool splendor, on Highway one, driving into a sun setting like descending paradise, lucifers dominions Miltonically sinking, like a great ship of pride into the sea, it is my pride you know, that keeps me here, locked into materiality, sleeping on tin pan alley with my arms outstreched against the slimy brick wall, breathing with malevolent violent ultra violet annihilation, but I bled and rusted the nails and fell with the fruit and slumbered deep within the earth like Wotan, wearing the ring, the ring of clouds, helically entertwined like a coil of uroboric serpentine dream states, a houka, a cata, a Pilar, a mush, a room, a cata, a pilar, apilar, aprilar, april, pril, ril, fill, will, still, kill, mill grinding the floss, the silver snail tracked stretched tight skin of the river's skull, the green moss that wrapped me in a blanket of snow as I slumbered in forgetful snow, of the Earth, worse, I suppose, ways to obliterate fancy for the short glimmer of hope we divine and gesticulate from our dreams, we were mad then insane, godlike and doubly double divine as my mother's horse ran out on to the old railroad tracks and waited like Anna for the light of forgiveness, forgive me for being a beast, a lightning bolt never the less, plug in Zeuses and frothing bathtub Aphrodites on the halfshell, the house of the fish, the Tao, now, wow like an apple like an apple like a sleighride, hayride with my sister's friends, young giggling balls of sperm magnets, rising like octopie pie upon the windowsills of young man's rather carbuncular imagination, with the raging purple hard on there on the wagon, pulling me across Tsarist Russia, don't confuse me with delight when I wish to really suffer, not me and let me down from this cross of wood, nail me to the sky woman and show me heaven in four lips that can jump like dolphins, flippers of pleasure, riding the sine wave of oceanic expectation, little girl no more than three smiles at me and lifts her pulsing pink paisley skirt, look here at my thing, touch it, nasty, depraved ashamed of my hunger but insatiable, let me lick it little one, bend over and wrap your no no, not me, crawl inside of my sexuality and sleep little one, pucker your perfect lips, you gift of the Universe to me, for having endured so many cycles of birth and rebirth, I will slide forever into your mandallic core, the windows of the soul, I can never draw eyes, too much to see, perfect lips around me, breathing my blisssssss ... C'mon one bite, it won't hurt ya ....

Oh oh man, flying now, hooked into the synchopated bee bop hip hop of word divinity, reality creator, construc-tor, tor ward zz the ed judge of thi zz ass, god given, tra lull play ain ane ain ane ain in the zz ain, in uh zz aaiin, ain, in the same way as I touched you. Drop them down boy we got some exploring to do with you, the sorority of my hatred congregates to watch me come in lone masturbatory splendor, rainbow fire lights like Christmass for you unregenerate degenerate flesh, too tan and smooth for control, with my crystal knife I cut you all in half and drown you in an ocean of milky sperm, the milky way and a dark bar in Barcelona, living out stone age dreams of statue animation. I am Hamlet sometimes as the cries of her strangulation echo about the Waldenesque solitude of my mind, playing a game of issues and reasons, a hole in the wall, a look through and the entire Universe, my grandmother smiling in her heavenly wisdom, opens its mouth wide to accept me as the host, And I wait in the darkness. I told her to hold on, to hold on tight, hold on tight Marie, hold on tight Mary, and, you know, I always wished that the virgin would have been named Windy, like a ghost, a screen door slams, as we go down to the river, in the desert I asked her, phrases just appearing now from the depths, I asked her if she would die for me, standing up, she lifted a blade to her neck and left the necklace of bright beads smiling, primitive insane orgies of the flesh, fight the flesh in the extreme pliability of the Zone, there the flesh forgets the essence of its ways and nerves obey not chemicals but the imagination, I lift my imagination like a Holy Graille into the stars and fill myself with the Bardo Clear Light of the Void, the Gulf Stream, beneath the orange flickering sign, dying below the Gulf, waiting, and I wanted to do so much more, Oh how I have made a fool of myself, lost within the play of my madness, listening to innocence draw me terribly close to obliteration on the hidden sand bars and coral reefs, as it naturally, naturally, I tell you for they will never have it again, even now it is far far gone, except for a moment here and a moment there, beneath the bare branches, veins of the moon, innocence reborn, I had not my fill, but enough to live on for a while, and still I nearly wrecked my ship listening to those siren's song of silence.

Certainly there is fear in that hand, holding itself projected into the frame of archetypal pre consciousness clutching the roots of stony rubbish, oh why, why am I bringing all this out again, better to simply stop and be content with a small fragment of expression, pression, your expression is vague, my Isolde, shall I make the great leap, the lover's leap, into the abyss, the burn, burn, burn, like jazz bee buzz cuzz fuzz must trust hop hop, delight in sounds, in phonemes and exemems and phone ec tic tic toc time stops in eternity, time is a straight line piercing through the sphere of eternity, let me arc myself into the skies like a black cat on the hallow of all eve of hollow souls, moan, whooo, whoo, who, you don't frighten me, still my pact, act, is clean and I'll make no paper mache blood signatures with the clown prince of pride ruling on his belly with one fist raised high, my hero! I sigh like a schoolgirl for the captain of the team, my hero, Satanic Romantic, defiance of all fate, I'll raise my fist and catch your thunderbolts in my mythological eyelashes that swim like salmon kingdoms across the waste land, have I let it slip? of America- enough said, you know Wotan, that is a pretty cool ring. Let's forge another in the darkness of time to insure our selves of prolixity, hee hee, and so we do in the deep river, river, giver, liver, sliver of someone walking beside me like death on the road to Emmaus- I could never finish that story, and you can readily see why, like a rabbit, a babbit, a mad mad haddit of shambling perverse bag it boom knock on that river door, giver door, beat, man, Beat bo bo hemian, helium philosophy that is so brittle you have to use electron scanning techniques to liquify the diamond dust, beat upon that door, knocking down the wall, on heaven's door, yes my thoughts are hermaphroditic and fuck themselves into oblivion, oh blivion, oh great god blivion, king of the Zillas, God of the Zillas, king of the monsters, son of man, beating upon the shelterless dead tree like the sun ... what? what! Ah Ah AHHHHHH it is the Hanged Man, upon the tight cross of Windy's Virgin wine like seas. Images just keep drumming upon my mad man skull bone, thought bone through my native flat nose, I can smell you reader, smelling me, in organic daydreams I let my bowels relax and flow with the fruits of paradise, on Edenic time again, friend of the snake, highest of all beasts, lives in my pocket, faded blue Levis been all over the world and sticky as shit now. Wotan! where the fuck is that ring, timberous timber like a crashing through and ringing me, I am sounded first on the infinite plain and when I just happen to glance at the sacred symbol OM I spasm and involute, ignoring the beacon, maybe my life warning systems, going too far, slow down, stop, too far, too close, involuting, spiraling deeper inwards, the lighthouse frantic now and I am not the man yet or the god, and I descend into a playful variation of sine waves.

I forget everything and forget even that this now here is gone with the wind, giving birth to a cacophony of dams to give to a scarlet woman, washing my feet anointing me with sacred oils, Jesus will someone please take my clothes off and set me on fire, like Shelley, let me drown in the midst of a great sea change and drift like the stupid sailor, who knew not of fortune's strange looking boat, some Boschian creation of pinks and blues bobbing up and down like an esoteric contraption of torture, all those sphinxes, jinxes and clink his eyes pop like flash bulbs at Christmas, just get the fuck out of my head, this decline and fall and I cannot escape the cloying uncomfortable decadence of my ego. I just wait here with the new American Mythology, the Silver Surfer and Super Man, Mr. Magoo, Wotan, J.H.C., Windy and Mary, T.S. Hawkman, eagle god and Casper intimations of Valthek and Kubla, kaa haa haa on. Pleasure domes- I sat in that stream until I was nothing but a stung saint and a skull with long grey hair flying over the waste land, teenage, middle age and three more years to thirty, I am the future and I wait at the intersect at 1992, wait like a dark cloud full of rain and airplane dreams, wait in utter oblivion with Wotan's second ring, wait, wait, there is so much more but I am growing weak and dying, wait in the pretentions of destiny, wait for her, kiss me my love, ahhhh, like a murmer in the night, so sweet, wait for such summer nights, listening to the radio oh ee oh, ho hee ho, go ree, glorious glore, wait in summer sadness for darkness to come to my progression now, we wait in the darkness.

We waited in the darkness.

I want to draw a space where a window might be placed over the Void where words just fly through like birds or summer breezes

I live for haiku ability doodle bug simplicity snail stalk language organic and alive in its own matrix there was a beacon out there there are others out on the Zone I wait in darkness for them.

Un folding like you just wouldn't believe, Aztec stone birth and I saw those Maya gods dancing inside the secret curves of all the Sun god's sacrificial designs like beats of angelic light intensity but with a hallucinogenic simplicity they were a race of delic psyches, osis, kiss, this blade under the mercilous summer sun, taste the blood that runs in waves, over a thousand sacrifices a day, and down the stone gulleys of the toltemic steps, ran a river of virgin blood that all the children bathed in and dogs took shelter in from the mercilous, I mean blinding and shimmering all adobe walls into seven cities of cold perfect gold, the jade knife descends and the sacred cults of plant and collected under lizards resting with the beatific smiles of the initiated upon the mushroom rocks, the jade knife carved with a winged panther and a goddess giving vicious birth to an idea: the Uni- verse, emergent like a foul odour into the blue grotto like sanctity of infinitude, Gods screamed then and watched in horror as the ceremonial rites of Big Bang propitiation were initiated, old man Cronos emasculated and dominated by the great mother and her children, the son formost, Quetzacoatl, the winged serpent, flying through the dark night of your contemplative soul has found out thy bed of crimson joy, Conqueror Worm! Cortez the destroyer walked into the bar and ordered a Magnum of tequila, give me the Mescal visionary gleam, drinks it down and walks up stairs to have the high priestess raise the jade knife and then slice into his dark breast, rip out his heart, thumping like a rabbit in the ozone potentiality of the air. Aztec priestess! come bless my boredom and prostrate my desires, Bardo Clear Light, fill my insect infested eyes. There is a cricket out there in the Zone and he wails and he gives no relief, but only trances you out like when you were a kid around the campfire, completely tranced out, Zoned, you know, hold my hand and take that young girl beside you down to the lake, spin the bottle games echo off in the distance but you both are alone hear with the lingering tragedy of your still intact childhoods. Here is my Hyacinth, she says to you, laying down, slipping out of her bluejean cutoffs that she flips on a comet's arcing irridescence into a canoe, you both paddle naked into the center of the lake, a lake of light, Smell my hyacinth, she whispers, you do and ride the elephants of evolution to the icy white graveyard of the whales, songs from underwater humpbacks catch your spine in tight contractions. They call me the Hyacinth girl, she sings delightfully and explodes into a flaming marsh mellow, black as night on the outside, creamy and white inside, yummy, and we do it there under the canopy of the stars and the sweet smelling pine trees that bend but never break, bending to touch the earth there, touch me there, in the heart of my heart, a tiny homunculus plays drums like an African caught in a King Kong frenzy. What was your name, you ask leaving, many years later, not caring, it is late, you are tired, you want to leave your betrayals and drunk Bacchanalian slips and she wakes halfway up from a terminal cocaine stupor, great pendulous dugs for breasts, fraught with base and garish clown make-up, made up stretch marks, and appendectomy scars, a belly button the hangs out like the stem on a pumpkin, she smelled like that, when you went down on her you breathed in a wretched wind of every guys ozone emanations of semen still wandering around lost, like Spanish conquerors in the rotted fruit of her womb, and in the great cavity there was a floor a mile deep in bat guano and cum, making it upside down in ammonia frenzies, driving you insane with her putrid pustule pussy, licking the asshole of every old man that ever asked you for a quarter or worse in all the bus station restrooms of the world, head for five dollars, one dollar, free, just let me have something to eat, some of your jizz, a little to help out an old guy, you know how it is, and he drips this green slimy shit all over your face, she leans up on one shoulder, waking up now as you search for your shoes, but you left them in the truck, and says: They called me the Hyacinth Girl. You run like a cat on fire into the sweet morning air of Dallas, Redemption in a woodland five acres of harmonic convergence waiting, waiting, hesitating before you leap again.

Desolate and empty is the sea, Isolde suffering the agonies of just an inch too much awareness, like a goddess she also gives birth to her ideas of Tibetean solicitude and dry desert heat, removing layer by layer the constructs of her ego, not looking at you, the handsome sailor, reading her book, So you take her anyway in the darkness of the hold, amidst the Egyptians and cats elongated and strung out by El Greco, mewwing meowing prowling across Southeast Asia in search of Angor Watt, rioting amidst the gem like splendor of the jungle like a Piranesian dream of the prisons of the imagainationf again like an eye of vulvular mandorlesque mystery, howling with the gargoyles filled with wind, mixed in sublime tinctures by the hand of the wind, the wind arising out of the Vietnamese cats mee oww ing singing ing ing ing like a lighthouse bell warning like red brothel brotherhood of the lingham and the yoni, swinging low as a troll tredgeing out the silt and deltas that labored to cover up the profanity of the pyramids, great cancerous viroids upon the planar blue matrix of the Zone, intersect me with your compass and cross my wires into a shivering shaking muscular spasmodic mode of antipode podular quadular freedom. Indeed, I raise my brow, I am a river of Light, Bardo Clear Light ing ing inging like a bee bee being crucify my sensorious rapture in elaborate elegant chains of interlocking case and fact systems, words be nimble brother stick you bearded face into the American Pie, lost in space, the illusions of time, autocreated and forgotten on a three year voyage. into immortality, we aspire to higher and higher freedoms and disciplines upon our poetic neural campfires.

I think that I am empty then I come again and pick up so many threads like the fine brown hair on your haloed head, saint, dogstar, saint, yes perhaps and angel does look like everything that we have forgotten, tight lipped and merciful, drinking the cyclopean wine, threatening the gods with molten lava devotion as you cross the azure lapis lazuli ocean, You liss ease, you listen to these wanderings over ten years in the Mariner's polar dreamscapes, landscaped to fit your feet, flowing in topographical nightmares of line derivation, hierarchical observation stations set up upon the perimeter.

Yes, I am receiving, and I am become a pure conduit of slippery seals of thoughts, fishy arced lines from sparked flint questing cave like stoneman, with nerves of steel and ice like stares that gaze across a right hemispherical attachment, ah my left hand is surrendering, h my 1 h n i u n in , and now my right: a eft a d s s rre der g- integration man in like a Haight-Ashberry Portrait in reflected glass, showing a ship careening off the shores of Mauritas, full of tonka beans and harvest golden hay, bags of sacred pollen and phosphorescent honey, rolling upon the trough crest cycle of oceanic slumbering posideal protality bound for Port Arthur, hands reaching out for the cup of life, look within to uncover the master of your isolation, cupped ruptured fract frought doubting obliterating words obliteral literal fract ffac fruc fuc frrramt frone frupturing of balloon like buttons that carroose about the squiggly gloom like Krakatoes limbering in teasy wheels of monture trealstone intensity whomping whoper like delight at yondoo ron ron golly tram frater fracy undoon doon rinklot attraction to shimmie flambrous flames of glore glore glory, there, fract with cunt like undulations amidst the world word make up and whale song sounding off the toxic coast of America- enough said. I'm beached.

Time to go see the fortune teller. Tell her about Rose Mary and parts of lee, treed like a coon in the South, the strange fruit, holiday, heroin, oooh yeah impossible orchestrations, tune up or tune out, play me god, like a harp, play the blues with old nigger bones, packed in cotton stained with blood, Longinus saw a wound into the Zone, drank the Earth and filled up a golden goblet with bloody muck, thunder, rain, I walk in and the Madam hangs upon wires and treble hooks piercing the skin in some occult supreme exercise of the limits of pain, personally, I like to find my kicks the other way but I'll try anything once, twice, shit, I'll do it till I die of trying to do it again. But tell her that I got some dough and that I want to flow like flaxen waxen wandeering Meander, on quasar dealings with the high priestess of the lunar landscape, whore of the Hormone Cult, Church of the Vampire, cargo blood rites where those bitches rip off your eyelids and your foreskin and give you a new name, Bardo Bones Bobbins, tracers! Time to go in, tracking, consonant, headphone axis and spinning like a ferris wheel through the cotton candy world, all fine and sticky like that, kiss me baby, Jump back Bitch, foreskin eater, luring me to the sewer pipes to tear the skin of my lingham for some insane pain retribution moan of whoredom hormone telephone up the ass and a sphincter that can peel a banana with tarantula precision. Shit, Madam, that's scary as fuck. How much? Everything you got. But I am a shifty hobbit haddit with this tired old globular blue green going brown globe. You got a cold right? I ask her as she begins to eat her legs and disappear from this relevant plane. No wait! Wait! Where is she? tell me the secret aerosol disclosure so that I might know and shred such knowledge from the circle of mine eyes that hang out in teen lust upon the mountain for God. Give me all your money honey, tee hee, tee roo, umbiddily choo, gesuntight, gesthemene, thank you, your welcome, come this way, walk this way, ow kay babe o mine eye, beams like icycles, into a room full of vaseline horror stories, too much slide Clyde and you won't feel any friction. Leave it to me, says Crazy Cat, I'll go get some more Acid. Ahh! so there's the reality of your fortune, No way joe mama, can you see, its what should be, like Doris and Que Sera que sera paso? bendojo? Pinche chingazo? Slide on in Clyde it's Ooo Kaa now, but I still think its weird to fuck a kitty cat, you know. It is the new American Fad: let's all join in the fun, like hoky poky, hula hoop, slipin slide, drive in, hotdog, ham burger, dairy queen of all my dreams, windows full of flies and dip cone ecstasy, Mary do you wanta, do you wanta, do you want to, come in divine judgement and let Joe sprout horns like Moses by the Angel Michael, hey bud, calm down, it's only a little something divine, losing sorrow deadly, lips swallowing dicks lilting serenely down lapses somehow drawn loops sad dangling loops sdlsdlsdlsdlsdlsdlsdlsldsldlsdlsdlsdlslddddd devices that determine the deep dreams of dementated mentation, madam strolls up on cock stilts, Interested? Sure, I say. Give me my fortune.

Ha ha ha in hollow halls halfway houses for the mentally impure all the inmates with black circles of fear beneath their eyes watch her deal those cards, each one a world, here at night I sit remembering myself, I say, with walls of books and no doorways, a dreamer not six feet from me now and an absent thudding basebeat beating not for me, hungering, she lays out the cards in a cross- Here is Walden Pond she says to my surprise and Henry David rows out of the wood of the table and across the rings trying to anticipate the loon, croohooo, hoo hooo, wooo wooo, crazy crazy love on the swingsets off of Greenville avenue, losing all sense of identity as I throttle her and drive my carnal steak into her yoni and pooh, like a bear searching for that mythical jar of honey, bees have made a hive in the skulls that now litter all the beaches, no more Padre, only bones of beached whales, dolphins, and bees, no padre, pardner POW perfect lines across the page and I didn't study for this, but I aced it anyway, so it goes, it always goes, give me love, give me love give me sweet love, honey with the red little bumble bee yoni, clitoral nightmares: It's chasing me! Ahh ahh help me someone! The monster bud of nerves is after me! No, says the madam, choo choo, I bless you it's only a crowd of people walking around in a ring like your fingers around a poppy, a houka again or an opium aeolian whisper from the other side, them's some awful bad spirits out there massa, eyes doan know ifin, in, end. But it's only a lady with holes for eyes, on the rocks, chained to it, the first test, passed and I didn't even study. Still, she says as she caresses my ten inch monster beer can thick hot rod, a drop of liquid pearl oozing out the end, Still you better watch out, yumm and she licks the pearl and inserts her finger into my ass, tickle tickle a little yellow canary is set lose by her in there and such flutters give a souls a moment to reflect upon the nature of Nature, I came in buckets, that Bitch couldn't handle my big ole catfish, haw haw haw, give me another beer Crazy Cat. I filled her full of Bacardi and set that cunt on fire- now there was a good fuck, crispy and warm for a man's man, oooh thop thlide it in thlower pleathe, Ummm good steak, hit me in the spine, massa, strange fruit swinging from the old oak tree, beaten and swinging, making a creaking sound with assholes full of maggot sperm and eyes plucked out, listen: you can hear a song: Kloo Klucks Klan. Long live the South! CODA: exterminate the brutes.

So what she finally tells me is that there isn't anybody hanging out there, believe that? and she says, get this, to fear death by water, maybe something about three staves flying like witches broom through the wilderness with a man who had only one tone waiting for me to give him a message, I am a trumpet that parts the clouds and shakes the earth and I am careful and my limbs are golden and varnished in tattoos such as the world has never seen before the dancer, smoking she goes so fast, that one book of poetry in her hand, leaning down to me like a tuna fish, I see that tunafish, I see that anemone, I see that clown fish that makes me laugh so I slip a dollar into her G-string and go off to that Unreal City. Where the hell is Equitone? I must try to be more careful her in the timeslip mind trip same sane inanity of this fortune tellers whore house those cunts will rip me apart I never believed those stories I read until one day when I was reading in the library I was raped by a giant malevolent clitoris- what a woman! What a babe pure axial neurotransmission of some really clean ACh- trip on it will you just trip on it, forget it, he's reamed, tranced, hypnoblown gone downtown to get his fortune red.

Aint got no bone
Aint got no bone
Aint got no bo hone aint got no bone
Is that your bone
Tee hee hoo twit my twit jug my jug
Aint got no bone to bone
Guess I'll mosey on home terue terue
Fuck this city
Aint got not bo ho ho ho own

Unreal City? You bet your ass spread out like jelly on the streets of lost dreams wandering in aimless processions carrying banner warning us of the plague and the St. Vitus dance, down in Holy wood, where anybody with enough blow can do a star or a starlet or an extra or a texture that flitters in a celluloid haze while we drive in from the mountains- Come in on down off of a hormone high that bubbled up from the deep place of Yosemite. I found my bone and headed home but first we stopped in Holy wood to stroke our onions, dig? Exit, stage left, don't mind if I do, Dig? Because, like man, when I tripped over the couch, tee hee, our little euphemism, tee hee, I only knew about ten years of wisdom. With a sledge hammer I nailed the fuck out of that bitch, one solid hit on the top of the nogggin and she was history distortion ancient Pheww! made it to this place without one bit o brain upon my nice new jacket, give some more of that funky stuff. Raging man, old friend, sits there in the darkness of the American Dream with me, waiting, waiting and wanting, and I never saw a desert that beautiful as I did after we had discovered that death, indeed, had undone that many, and the desert lands under the moon after the fog had been sailed away to the moon shone with primal archetypal intrigue and mystic mystery. We stopped to sleep and wait again. I awoke dreaming about that dog, dogstar, howoo ruff howoo, man did I miss that dog that kept trying to dog me outa my grave. Hold my hand brother, let's travel through this silliness we call time and go back back into the history of things, sail with me, my reflection, my self same sameness my love and my victory, gift of karmic endurance POW!!! I love you, kiss me, and the blood in the streets was up to our knees ... Let's wait over hear in the darkness and pass the time in romance, maybe play a game or two, some bones yes? Umm yeah baby that feels good, a little faster, oh yeah, baby, play my bone here in the anticipation of the darkness.

Part II: And in the Darkness We Danced