“My God what a mess—Just keep all these jokers out of the Rewrite Room is all”—
So let us start with one average, stupid, representative case: Johnny Yen the Other Half, errand boy from the death trauma—Now look i’m going to say it and i’m going to say it slow—Death is orgasm is rebirth is death in orgasm is their unsanitary Venusian gimmick is the whole birth death cycle of action—You got it?—Now do you understand who Johnny Yen is? The Boy-Girl Other Half strip tease God of sexual frustration—Errand boy from the death trauma—His immortality depends on the mortality of others—The same is true of all addicts—Mr. Martin, for example, is a heavy metal addict—His life line is the human junky—The life line of control addicts is the control word—That is these so-called Gods can only live without three-dimensional coordinate points by forcing three-dimensional bodies on others—Their existence is pure vampirism—They are utterly unfit to be officers—Either they accept a rewrite job or they are all broken down to lavatory attendants, irrevocably committed to the toilet—
All right, back to the case of Johnny Yen—one of many such errand boys—Green Boy-Girls from the terminal sewers of Venus—So write back to the streets, Johnny, back to Ali God of Street Boys and Hustlers—Write out of the sewers of Venus to neon streets of Saturn—Alternatively Johnny Yen can be written back to a green fish boy—There are always alternative solutions—Nothing is true—Everything is permitted—
“No hassan i sabbah—we want flesh—we want junk—we want power—”
“That did it—Dial police”—
CALL THE OLD DOCTOR TWICE?
You see, son, in this business, welchers who can’t cover their bets angle in the “Hassan i Sabbah” from Cuntville strictly from con cop—It’s an old vaudeville act—Dead nitrous film foot takes both parts—“Mr Martin,” trying to buy a nice quiet easy pitch, you can’t even con you can’t even hustle—old Western flop—All right all of you cover for a buy or check out—We are walking into the game—Out—Out—A long ride for the white sucking lot of you strictly from heavy metal—Time to squeeze out the dummies—They never intended to cover—But boy the pipes are calling, Cuntville USA—be in the bread line—Self-appointed controllers holding wrist and ankle for a ticket—grade B Hollywood, ghost writing in the sky The door—And all the “Mr. Martins” won’t do you a bit of good on the trip that you’re gonna take—something for nothing?—You had every weapon in three galaxies you couldn’t roll a paralyzed flop—From Florida up to the old North Pole cover your bets or take your welcoming two-bit business to Walgreen’s—You got the Big Fix down in the hole—Hello yes good bye, Moochville—
Now some write home to orgasm death—welchers, kid, who can’t cover their bets—And that “White smoke”—?? Man, the “Hassan i Sabbahs” from Cuntville Valley say you are going on a slow boat to China strictly from a big bank roll and a nitrous film foot—if they lost his old blue hands—“Martins” who are trying to buy trips—Can’t even con can’t even hustle—Quiet—Yes they lost that old flop—All right all of you: Cover—So the louder they scream: Out of the game—You can take your old ace in the hole to Walgreen’s—We don’t want it—Strictly from money that they’ve lost and spent and they may flash a big word line—But as word dust falls they’ll be in the bread line without clothes or a dime—“Marks? What marks?” i’m aleaving Martin—Trying to buy that camera gun? It won’t do you a bit of good—You can’t even con you can’t even hustle the trip that I’m gonna take—I’ve had every con in three galaxies pulled on me—All right, cover that old North Pole or get out of the game—You can take your Big Fix to Walgreen’s—Out—Out—Out in the bread line without clothes or a dime the whole sucking lot of you strictly from: Adiós—
In three-dimensional terms the board is a group representing international big money who intend to take over and monopolize space—They have their own space arrangements privately owned and consider the governmental space programs a joke—The board books are records pertaining to anyone who can be of use to their program or anyone who could endanger it—The board books are written in symbols referring to association blocks—Like this: $—“American upper middle-class upbringing with maximum sexual frustration and humiliations imposed by Middle-Western matriarchs” %—“Criminal street boy upbringing—oriented toward money and power—easily corrupted” and so forth—The board agents learn to think in these association blocks and board instructions are conveyed in the board book symbols—The board is a three-dimensional and essentially stupid pressure group relying on money, equipment, information, files, and the technical brains they have bought—As word dust falls and their control machine is disconnected by partisan activity they’ll be in the bread line without clothes or a dime to buy off their “dogs” their “gooks” their “errand boys” their “human animals”—liars—cowards—collaborators—traitors—liars who want time for more lies—cowards who cannot face your “human animals” with the truth—collaborators with insect people, with vegetable people—with any people anywhere who offer them a body forever—traitors to all souls everywhere sold out to shit forever—
“So pack your ermines, Mary—we are getting out of here—i’ve seen this happen before—Three thousand years in show business—The public is gonna take the place apart”—
“i tell you, boss, the marks are out there pawing the ground—What’s this ‘Sky Switch’?—What’s this ‘Reality Con’? What’s this ‘Tone Scale’??—They’ll take the place apart—Any minute now—I’ve seen it happen before on Mercury where we put out a Cool Issue—And the law is moving in fast—Nova Heat—Not locals, boss—This is Nova Heat—Well boss?”—
“Call in the Old Doctor”—
Yes when the going gets really rough they call in the Old Doctor to quiet the marks—And he just raises his old blue hands and brings them down slow touching all the marks right where they live and the marks are quiet—But remember, ladies and gentlemen, you can only call the Old Doctor once—So be sure when you call him this is really it—Because if you call the Old Doctor twice he quiets you—
“Here’s the Doc now”—
“He’s loaded—Throw him under a cold shower—Give him an ammonia coke—Oh my God, they are out there pawing the ground: ‘What’s this green deal?—What’s this mortality con?—You trying to push me down the tone scale baby?—You trying to short-time someone, Jack?—Take that heavy metal business to Walgreen’s—We don’t want it—What’s this orgasm death?—Who cooked up these ovens?—What’s this white smoke?—Boys, we been sublimated’—How does he look?”—
“Boss, he don’t look good—That sneaky pete caught up with him”—
“Oh my God send out Green Tony”—
“Green Tony took off for Galaxy X—On the last saucer, boss—He’s coming round now”—
“For God’s sake shove him out there with a wing and a prayer”—
The Old Doctor reeled out onto the platform—Then he heard the screaming marks and he steadied himself and he drew all of it into him and he stood up very straight and calm and grey as a wise old rat and he lifted his old blue hands shiny over the dirt and he brought them down slow in the setting sun feeling all the marks so nasty and they just stood there quiet his cold old hands on their wrists and ankles, hands cold and blue as liquid air on wrist and ankle just frozen there in a heavy blue mist of vaporized bank notes—
If you get out there in front of the marks and panic and try to answer them—Well—We don’t talk about that—You see the Old Doctor just draws all that charge and hate right in and uses it all—So the louder they scream and the harder they push the stronger and cooler the Old Doctor is—Yes, son, that’s when you know you’ve got them cooled right—When you can take it all in so the louder they scream and the harder they push the stronger and cooler you are—And then they are quiet—They got nothing more to say and nothing to say it with—You’ve taken it all all all you got it? (Good, save it for the next pitch)—So there they stand like dummies (they are dumm
ies) and you let your heavy cold blue hands fall down through them—Klunk—cold mineral silence as word dust falls from demagnetized patterns—and your spirals holding wrist and ankle—Where we came in—
Now some wise characters think they can call the Old Doctor twice—
“All right, Doc, get out there and quiet the marks”—
“Marks? What marks? i don’t see anybody here but you—All right drop that camera gun—It won’t do you a bit of good—i’ve had every weapon in the galaxy pulled on me”—
“But i got the fix in—i got the Big Fix in”—
“Mister, i am the Big Fix—Hello yes good bye—a few more calls to make tonight”—
You see, son, in this business you always have to find an angle or you’ll be in the bread line without clothes or a dime like the song says the angle on planet earth was birth and death—pain and pleasure—the tough cop and the con cop—It’s an old vaudeville act—Izzie the Split used to take both parts—But that was in another galaxy—Well it looked like a nice quiet easy pitch—Too quiet like they say in the old Westerns—Fact is we were being set up for a buy and all the money we took was marked—So why did we walk into it?—Fact is we were all junkies and thin after a long ride on the White Subway—flesh junkies, control junkies, heavy metal junkies—That’s how you get caught, son—If you have to have it well you’ve had it—just like any mark—So slide in cool and casual on the next pitch and don’t get hooked on the local line: If there is one thing to write on any life form you can score for it’s this: Keep your bag packed at all times and ready to travel on—
So pack your ermines, Mary—Write back to the old folks at home—you see this happen before—three thousand years of that old ace in the hole—There was something had to happen and it happened somehow—The Public is gonna take the place apart—He went away but i’m here still—To quiet the marks—He just said “i’m tired of you and i’m checking out”—And they may flash the marks quiet—But boy the pipes the pipes are calling—When you call Him just to raise the price of a ticket—Call the Doc twice?—He quiets you—Here’s the Doc now—That old ace in the hole? Good bye old paint i’m aleaving Cheyenne—Ghost writing in the sky trip that you’re gonna take—This “Green Deal”?—What’s this from Florida up to the old North Pole?—Push me down the tone scale baby, down in the hole?? In the bread line, Jack—Pick up that heavy metal—Adiós—Don’t want it—
Now some write home to orgasm death—Who cooked up your dreams? And that “White Smoke”?—Man, we been subliminated—From this valley they say you are going—That sneaky peat bog caught up with him—on a slow boat to China—Green Tony on the last saucer, boss—a big bank roll—a wing and a prayer—without clothes or a dime if they lost his old blue hands over the sky—They’ll tell you of trips—in the setting sun—ghost riders in the sky—just stood there quiet—Yes they lost that old hand cold and blue as liquid air—So the louder they scream the old folks at home you’ll see me cooler—old ace in the hole—this to say and nothing to say it—He went away—
Money that they’ve lost and spent like dummies—And they may flash a big word line—But, boy, the pipes the pipes are calling as word dust falls—They’ll be in the bread line—holding wrist and ankle just to raise the price of a ticket—now some wise characters—“Marks? What marks?—i’m aleaving ghost writing in the sky—Drop that camera gun—It won’t do you a bit of good on the trip that you’re gonna take—i’ve had every weapon in three galaxies pulled on me one time or another—from Florida up to the old North Pole”—
“But i got the Big Fix in—i got the Big Fix down in the hole”—
“In the bread line without clothes or a dime—Hello yes good bye—Adiós”
Well these are the simple facts of the case and i guess i ought to know—There were at least two parasites one sexual the other cerebral working together the way parasites will—That is the cerebral parasite kept you from wising up to the sexual parasite—Why has no one ever asked the question: “What is sex?”—Or made any precise scientific investigation of sexual phenomena?—The cerebral parasite prevented this—And why has no one ever asked: “What is word?”—Why do you talk to yourself all the time?—Are you talking to yourself?—Isn’t there someone or something else there when you talk? Put your sex images on a film screen talking to you while you jack-off—Just about the same as the so-called “real thing” isn’t it?—Why hasn’t it been tried?—And what is word and to whom is it addressed?—Word evokes image does it not?—Try it—Put an image track on screen and accompany it with any sound track—Now play the sound track back alone and watch the image track fill in—So? What is word?—Maya—Maya—Illusion—Rub out the word and the image track goes with it—Can you have an image without color?—Ask yourself these questions and take the necessary steps to find the answers: “What is sex? What is word? What is color?”—Color is trapped in word—Image is trapped in word—Do you need words?—Try some other method of communication, like color flashes—a Morse code of color flashes—or odors or music or tactile sensations—Anything can represent words and letters and association blocks—Go on try it and see what happens—science pure science—And what is love?—Who do you love?—If i had a talking picture of you would i need you? Try it—Like i say put your sex image on screen talking all the sex words—Hide simple facts of the case: two parasites one sexual, the other electric voice of C—Well the board as you listen fills in—I ought to know—Cerebral parasite kept you from wising up board books written in symbols of sexual parasite—Pressure group relying on rectum while you jack-off—Control “real thing”—collaborators with image trapped in word—What is word? Word is an array of calculating machines—Spots of weakness opened up by the track goes with it—The Ovens smell of simple facts of the case and i guess won’t be much left—little time, parasites—Now we see all the pictures—Cerebral phonograph talks sex scenes—And this pubescent word evokes images does it not? Look and accompany it with human nights and watch the image track fill in—Stranger lips bring down the word forever—Word falling —Photo falling—hide nor hair—at the club insane orders and counter-orders—stranger on the shore—My terminal electric voice of C, where’s it going to get me?—Lover, please forget about the tourists—i said the Chief of Police after hours—This thing D.C. called love—You better move on—British Prime Minister, say it again—Hear you, Switzerland—Freeze all living is easy—My heart to mindless idiot—It had to be you—You won’t cut word lines?—Found the somebody who—It’s electric storms of violence—Any advantage precariously held—June July and August walk on—Pinball-led streets—i’m going home, drugstore woman—Show you something: berserk machine—One more time, Johnny Angel?—with short time secondhand love?—nothing but The Reality Concession to set up a past—Workers paid off in thing called “Love”—the junk man at the outskirts—
Gongs of violence and how show stranger on the short—Real Mr Bradly Mr Martin charges in—“Where’s it going to get me?—Artists take over”—counterorders and the living is easy—it’s orbit of the Saturn Galaxy—Snap your fingers—dreams end everything—hide nor hair—at the club actually be your way—Time—It’s stranger on the shore—After hours this secondhand trade-in called “Love”—You better move on—Tentative flesh—So good night—Say it again—Face sucked into other apparatus—now trading mornings—So pack your ermines, Mary—You see this happen before—Stranger on the shore my real ace in the hole—June July August walk on—The public is going to take the place—I’m going home—Nothing but Green Tony on the last saucer, boss—
Word falling, photo falling, old folks at home—You’ll see me guess orders and counterorders—And they flash a big word pay-off—But boy the pipes the pipes are calling as you listen—Big money be in the bread line—wising up—Scandinavia outhouse parasite just to raise the price of a ticket—Word flesh group relying on rectum—Now we see all the pictures feeling along—And this pubescent word covered orgasm death on a slow boat to China—
Stranger lips bring roll call—Rectum suddenly released as he melted nitrous film flesh—Word is an array of calculating machines from Florida up to the old North Pole—Image track goes with it—Ovens down in the hole—Won’t be much left—In the bread line—Adiós—Now we see all the pictures—
Enter George Raft groom cum chauffeur—He lurked hat and collar and hands in his pockets—Heavy with menace he takes the job of looking after someone who was sure to reach the film—Sticky end abroad—George Raft went home talking—Smoothest of all the tough guys tiring from films altogether—a little fleshier around the jaw suite but available for civilian jobs—Those eyes still snap and this ain’t Hamlet—I want hunched tight hipped purpose—Action—Camera—Take—Hanging stays as butler—five hundred full-time officials—The death penalty will not be scrapped as transport, Mr Workers’ Union—You’ll find it waiting down shadow pools—The try begins with BOAC—sufficient spurts that traditionally service transient hotels with rose wallpaper—Attempt is now in Rome with the film—red nitrous fumes over you—Young witness circumstances brown ankles—Naked for physical factory rushed to execution marriage—Two boys mutually stylized hover the vigil till execution image back to hotel room in London—Harm begins in Britain from his face—cobblestone lane pageant—shirt flapping pants slide down—felt execution marriage—Stanley Spencer left that mess—Who is that naked corpse?—Sex would die on the answer—Around in biographer languorously sure that there is me-you cock flipped out and up as one is or need be a boy in kerosene lamp light—old dead-pan anecdotal sage for transient hotels—“Bend over you”—young conceived in this cook book—Pants down to the ankle his first sexual experience convinced him that carnal love reproduces feedback from vacant lot—laughing suburb boys quiet elegant and soft stay in close—His style is cool like his head was sewed on a Russian version of James Dean—filtering black aphrodisiac ointment in Spanish fly that will take photo turnstile through flesh—Two faces tried to rush entirely into his face—He was in the you-me in you with all the consequences—burning outskirts of the world—Character took my hands in dash taught you from last airport typical of his decision to intersect on new kind of daring in memory of each other—
Word Virus: The William S. Burroughs Reader Page 35