“Now that should show you fellows something of the situation out here and the problems we have to face . . . take the case of a young soldier who tried to rescue his buddy from a Sex Skin and it grew onto him and now his buddy turns from him in disgust. . . anyone would you understand and that’s not the worst of it it’s knowing at any second your buddy may be took by the alien virus it’s happened cruel idiot smile over the corn flakes. . . . You gasp and reach for a side arm looking after your own soul like a good Catholic . . . too late . . . your nerve centers are paralyzed by the dreaded Bor-Bor he has slipped into your Nescafé. . . . He’s going to eat you slow and nasty. . . . This situation here has given rise to what the head shrinkers call ‘ideas of persecution’ among our personnel and a marked slump in morale. . . . As I write this I have barricaded myself in the ward room against the 2nd Lieutenant who claims he is ‘God’s little hang boy sent special to me’ that fucking shave tail I can hear him out there whimpering and slobbering and the Colonel is jacking off in front of the window pointing to a Gemini Sex Skin. The Captain’s corpse hangs naked at the flagpole. I am the only sane man left on the post. I know now when it is too late what we are up against: a biologic weapon that reduces healthy clean-minded men to abject slobbering inhuman things undoubtedly of virus origins. I have decided to kill myself rather than fall into their hands. I am sure the padre would approve if he knew how things are out here. Don’t know how much longer I can hold out. Oxygen reserves almost exhausted. I am reading a science fiction book called The Ticket That Exploded. The story is close enough to what is going on here so now and again I make myself believe this ward room is just a scene in an old book far away and long ago might as well be that for all the support I’m getting from Base Headquarters.”
“You see the action, B.J.? All these patrols cut off light-years behind enemy lines trying to get through some fat-assed gum-chewing comic-reading Technical Sergeant to Base Headquarters and there is no Base Headquarters everything is coming apart like a rotten undervest . . . but the show goes on . . . love . . . romance . . . stories that rip your heart out and eat it. . . . This clean-living decent heavy metal kid and a cold glamorous agent from the Green Galaxy has been sent out to destroy him with a Sex Skin but she falls for the kid and she can’t do it and she can’t go back to her own people because of the unspeakable tortures meted out to those who fail on a Mission so they take off together in a Gemini space capsule perhaps to wander forever in trackless space or perhaps?”
DO YOU LOVE ME?
The young monk led Bradly to a cubicle—On a stone table was a tape recorder—The monk switched on the recorder and sounds of lovemaking filled the room—The monk took off his robe and stood naked with an erection—He danced around the table caressing a shadowy figure out of the air above the recorder—A tentative shape flickering in and out of focus to the sound track—The figure floated free of the recorder and followed the monk to a pallet on the floor—He went through a pantomime of pleading with the phantom who sat on the bed with legs crossed and arms folded—Finally the phantom nodded reluctant consent and the monk twisted through a parody of love-making as the tape speeded up: “Oh darling i love you oh oh deeper oh oh fuck the shit out of me oh darling do it again”—Bradly rolled on the floor, a vibrating air hammer of laughter shaking flesh from the bones—Scalding urine spurted from his penis—The Other Half swirled in the air above him screaming, face contorted in suffocation as he laughed at the sex words from throat gristle in bloody crystal blobs—His bones were shaking, vibrated to neon—Waves of laughter through his rectum and prostate and testicles giggling out spurts of semen as he rolled with his knees up to his chin—
All the tunes and sound effects of “Love” spit from the recorder permutating sex whine of a sick picture planet: Do you love me?—But i exploded in cosmic laughter—Old acquaintance be forgot?—Oh darling, just a photograph?—Mary i love you i do do you know i love you through?—On my knees i hoped you’d love me too—I would run till i feel the thrill of long ago—Now my inspiration but it won’t last and we’ll be just a photograph—i’ve forgotten you then? i can’t sleep, Blue Eyes, if i don’t have you—Do i love her? i love you i love you many splendored thing—Can’t even eat—Jelly on my mind back home—’Twas good bye deep in the true love—We’ll never meet again, darling, in my fashion—Yes eyes ever shining that made me my way—Always it’s a long trip to Tipperary—Tell Laura i love my blue heaven—Get up woman up off your big fat earth out into cosmic space with all your diamond rings—Do you do you do you love me?—Lovey lovey dovey brought to mind? What? Do you love me with a banjo?—Please don’t be angry—i wonder who—If i had learned to love you every time i felt blue—But someone took you out of the stardust of the skies—Your charms travel to remind me of you—together again—forgotten you eat—Don’t know how i’ll make it baby—blue eyes the color of—Do you love me? Love is para olvidar—Tell Laura oh jelly love you—i can’t—Got you under my skin on my mind—But i’ll always be true to my blue heaven—Love Mary?—Fuck the shit out of me—Get up off your big fat rusty-dusty—It’s a long way to go, St. Louis woman—prospect of red mesas out to space—Do you love me?—Do you love void and scenic railways back home?? And do you love me with a banjo permutated through do you love me?—i wonder who permutated the structure every time i felt blue—But that was ferris wheels clicking in the stardust of the sky—on perilous tracks—i had a dog his name was Bill aworking clouds of Me—Tearing his insides apart—Need a helping hand?—understanding out of date—Find someone else at this time of day? Torch cutting through the eats?—
Don’t know how i’ll make it, baby—Electric fingers removed “Love”—Do you love me?—Love is red sheets of pain hung oh oh baby oh jelly—The guide slipped off his jelly—I’ve got you under my skin pulsing red light—Clouds of Me always be true to you—Hula hoops of color formed always be true to you darling in my Bradly—Weak and torn i’ll hurry to my blue heaven as i sank in suffocation panic of rusty St. Louis woman—With just a photograph, Mary, you know i love you through sperm—Contraction turnstile hoped you’d love me too—Orgasm floated arms still i feel the thrill of slow movement but it won’t last—i’ve forgotten you then?—i love you i love you and bones tearing his insides apart for the ants to eat—Jelly jelly jelly shifting color orgasm back home—Scratching shower of sperm that made cover of the board books—It’s a long way to Tipperary—soft luminous spurts to my blue heaven—Pieces of cloud drifted through all the tunes from blue—Exploded in cosmic laughter of cable cars . . . Me?—Oh, darling, i love you in constant motion—i love you i do—You led Bradly into a cubicle on my knees—love floating in a slow vertigo of you—perilous tracks where wind whistled long ago—i can’t sleep, baby, skin pulling loose if i don’t have you—a peg like many splendored thing—i’ve got you deep in the guides body enclosed darling in my fashion—yes cool hands on his naked flesh my way—evening intestines of the other—Tell Laura i love her sucked through pearly genital woman off your big fat shower of sperm—Diamond rings spurt out of you—Should be brought to mind—Ejaculated bodies without a cover—
I learned to love you, pale adolescents—Someone took you out of the creature charms—We’ll travel weak and torn by pain together—Silver films in the blood para olvidar—Tell Laura black fish movement of food love you—i can’t sleep reflected in obsidian penis—Follow the swallow and released dream flesh in Isle of Capri—The truth in sunlight, Mary—memory riding the wind—It’s a long way to go—someone walking—mountain wind—
Do i love you?—Crumpled cloth body ahoy—But remember the red open shirt flapping wind from you so true—Do you love me?—Vapor trails writing all the things you are—The great wind revolving what you could have—Indications in the harbor muttering blackbird—bye bye—Who’s sorry now?—This time of day vultures in the street—’Twas good bye on vacant lots—weeds growing through broken road—smell of healed and half-healed scars—all the little things you used to do on a bicycle b
uilt for little time so i’ll say: “You on sidewalk”—if you were the only girl in green neon, your voices muttering in the dog rotation—Dollar baby, how cute can you be in desolate underbrush? You were meant for me? battered phonograph talk-face—I’m just a vagabond pass without—Can play the game as well as you, darling—train whistle open shirt flapping the cat and the fiddle—i am biologic from a long way to go—Nights are long with the St. Louis suburb—Music seems to whisper Louise Mary on the pissoirs—i had a dog his name was Bill—(In other flesh open shirt flapping) on the railroad—He went away—Many names murmur—Someone walking—won’t be two—i’m half crazy all for the love of “Good Night”—Shadow voices belong to me—Found a million acoustic qualities couldn’t reach in a five-and-ten-cent store—Naked boy on association line but you’ll find someone else this time of day—
The levanto dances who’s sorry now?—Hy diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle—Long way to Tipperary—fading khaki pants—Since you went away i see that moon hit the road into space—Do you love me Waltzing Matilda rock around railroad back home? lovey lovey dovey St. Louis Woman after hours—Do you love me with a banjo permutated Dead Man Blues?—If you don’t i wonder who permutated the structure—Everybody love my baby—Lover man, that was ferris wheels clicking in a loverly bunch—solitude through the cables—turkey in the straw—
“BAR MAID WATCH THE EATS!!”—
Don’t Know how i’ll make it—one meat ball—Pull my daisy ding-dong love—Do you love me, love sheets?—Everybody’s gonna have religion oh baby oh jelly—The guide slipped Paul under my skin pulsing red light—pallet on the floor darling Bradly—weak and torn sank in bones and shit of rusty St. Louis woman—when the saints go marching through all the popular tunes waiting for the sunrise in cosmic laughter of cable cars—the Sheik of Araby in constant motion—Blue moon—Margie—ice cream on my knees—Love floating in perilous tracks—
Do you love me, Nancy of the laughing sex words?—Still i feel the thrill of your charms vibrated to neon—giggling out all the little things you used to do—’Twas good bye on the line of Bradly’s naked body—love skin on a bicycle built for two—like a deflated balloon—Your cool hands on his naked dollars, baby—You were meant for me sucked through pearly genital face—Still i feel the thrill of your spurting out through the orgasm seems to whisper: “Louise, Mary, swamp mud”—In the blood little things you used to do—recorder jack-off—Substitute mine—Bye Bye body halves—i’m half crazy all for the love of color circuits—Do i love you in throat gristle? Ship ahoy but remember the red river body explode sex words to color—Do you love me?—Take a simple tape from all the things you are—Moanin’ low my sweet 8276 all the time—Who’s sorry now in the underwater street? ’Twas good bye on color bicycle built for response in the other nervous system—
I’m just a vagabond of the board books—written in can play the game as well as you—(That is color written the two compete)—Do i love you? i wonder—loose? if i don’t have to? a peg like every time i felt blue? It’s a long way through channels—Who’s sorry now? chartered that memory street—Bye Bye—bodies empty—ash from falling tracks—Sweet man is going to go—Keep raining the throat designed to water—Remember every little thing you used to do—fish smell and dead—Know the answer? vacant lot the world and i were the only boy—jelly jelly in the stardust of the sky—i’ve got you deep inside of me enclosed darling in my fashion—Yes, baby, electric fingers removed flesh my way—Sheets of pain hung oh baby oh i love her sucked through pearly jelly—i’ve got you under big fat scratching clouds of me—Always be true to your diamond rings—Tell Laura black slow movement but it won’t last—i’ve forgotten you then? Decay breathing? Black lust tearing his insides apart for ants? Love Mary?—The rose of memory shifting color orgasms back home—Good bye—It’s a long way to go—Someone walking—Won’t be two—
OPERATION REWRITE
The “Other Half” is the word. The “Other Half” is an organism. Word is an organism. The presence of the “Other Half a separate organism attached to your nervous system on an air line of words can now be demonstrated experimentally. One of the most common “hallucinations” of subjects during sense withdrawal is the feeling of another body sprawled through the subject’s body at an angle . . . yes quite an angle it is the “Other Half” worked quite some years on a symbiotic basis. From symbiosis to parasitism is a short step. The word is now a virus. The flu virus may once have been a healthy lung cell. It is now a parasitic organism that invades and damages the lungs. The word may once have been a healthy neural cell. It is now a parasitic organism that invades and damages the central nervous system. Modern man has lost the option of silence. Try halting your sub-vocal speech. Try to achieve even ten seconds of inner silence. You will encounter a resisting organism that forces you to talk. That organism is the word. In the beginning was the word. In the beginning of what exactly? The earliest artifacts date back about ten thousand years give a little take a little and “recorded”—(or prerecorded) history about seven thousand years. The human race is said to have been on set for 500,000 years. That leaves 490,000 years unaccounted for. Modern man has advanced from the stone ax to nuclear weapons in ten thousand years. This may well have happened before. Mr. Brion Gysin suggests that a nuclear disaster in what is now the Gobi desert wiped out all traces of a civilization that made such a disaster possible. Perhaps their nuclear weapons did not operate on the same principle as the ones we have now. Perhaps they had no contact with the word organism. Perhaps the word itself is recent about ten thousand years old. What we call history is the history of the word. In the beginning of that history was the word.
The realization that something as familiar to you as the movement of your intestines the sound of your breathing the beating of your heart is also alien and hostile does make one feel a bit insecure at first. Remember that you can separate yourself from the “Other Half” from the word. The word is spliced in with the sound of your intestines and breathing with the beating of your heart. The first step is to record the sounds of your body and start splicing them in yourself. Splice in your body sounds with the body sounds of your best friend and see how familiar he gets. Splice your body sounds in with air hammers. Blast jolt vibrate the “Other Half” right out into the street. Splice your body sounds in with anybody or anything. Start a tapeworm club and exchange body sound tapes. Feel right out into your nabor’s intestines and help him digest his food. Communication must become total and conscious before we can stop it.
“The Venusian invasion was known as ‘Operation Other Half,’ that is, a parasitic invasion of the sexual area taking advantage, as all invasion plans must, of an already existing fucked-up situation.”
“My God what a mess.” The District Supervisor reminded himself that it was forbidden not only to express contempt for the natives but even to entertain such feelings. Bulletin 2323 is quite explicit on this point. Still he was unable to expunge a residual distaste for protoplasmic life deriving no doubt from his mineral origins. His mission was educational. . . the natives were to be scanned out of patterns laid down by the infamous 5th Colonists. Soon after his arrival he decided that he was confronting not only an outrageous case of colonial mismanagement but attempted nova as well. Reluctantly he called in the Nova Police. The Mission still functioned in a state of siege. Armed with nuclear weapons the 5th Colonists were determined to resist alterations. It had been necessary to issue weapons to his personnel. There were of course incidents . . . casualties. . . . A young clerk in the Cultural Department declared himself the Angel of Death and had to be removed to a rest home. The D.S. was contemplating the risky expedient of a “miracle” and the miracle he contemplated was silence. Few things are worse than a “miracle” that doesn’t come off. He had of course put in an application to the Home Office underlining the urgency of his case contingent on the lengths to which the desperate 5th Colonists might reasonably be expected to go. Higher command had been vague and distant. He had no de
finite assurance that the necessary equipment would arrive in time. Would he have 3D in time?
“The human organism is literally consisting of two halves from the beginning word and all human sex is this unsanitary arrangement whereby two entities attempt to occupy the same three-dimensional coordinate points giving rise to the sordid latrine brawls which have characterized a planet based on ‘the Word,’ that is, on separate flesh engaged in endless sexual conflict—The Venusian Boy-Girls under Johnny Yen took over the Other Half, imposing a sexual blockade on the planet—(It will be readily understandable that a program of systematic frustration was necessary in order to sell this crock of sewage as Immortality, the Garden of Delights, and love—)
“When the Board of Health intervened with inflexible authority, ‘Operation Other Half was referred to the Rewrite Department where the original engineering flaw of course came to light and the Venusian invasion was seen to be an inevitable correlate of the separation flesh gimmick—At this point a tremendous scream went up from the Venusians agitating to retain the flesh gimmick in some form—They were all terminal flesh addicts of course, motivated by pornographic torture films, and the entire Rewrite and Blueprint Departments were that disgusted ready to pull the switch out of hand to ‘It Never Happened’—‘Unless these jokers stay out of the Rewrite room’—
“The Other Half was only one aspect of Operation Rewrite—Heavy metal addicts picketed the Rewrite Office, exploding in protest—Control addicts prowled the streets trying to influence waiters, lavatory attendants, clochards, and were to be seen on every corner of the city hypnotizing chickens—A few rich control addicts were able to surround themselves with latahs and sat on the terraces of expensive cafés with remote cruel smiles unaware i wrote last cigarette—
Word Virus: The William S. Burroughs Reader Page 34