Love All the People (New Edition)

by Bill Hicks

  In the course of our conversations, brief visual interludes take place in which a black and white film scene unfolds. As the conversation continues over it, the visual interlude can be a literal, cinematic, or subconscious bearing on whatever we’re talking about. Most interludes take place outside the salon. All the world outside the deep, colorful salon is in black and white. Perhaps the Counts are telling Martin Amis about some beautiful nude sculpture they’ve seen at a museum. While this description is going on, we see Bill and Fallon in black and white film looking at the nude sculpture in the museum, or the camera just goes up and down the nude as the Counts describe it in glowing terms. (This is obviously a literal rendering of the dialogue.) The use of the interlude is infinite and obviously will be sparked by whatever has come up in our conversations with our guests, or from something the Counts have set up in their opening. Black and white film will add to the surreal and dreamlike quality of the Count’s existence, while heightening the richness and glory of the salon. As the filmed interludes won’t have matching sound, we think this will be a cheap, as well as artistic, way to get us out of the salon and prevent a sense of static and inaction in our talks. The interludes provide their own commentary on our conversations, or can be sparked by something someone has said – giving evidence of the multi-dimensional consciousness the Counts believe mankind shares.

  The Counts – being Awake in the Dream – are not bound by convention, linear time, nor sense of place like the ‘real’ world appears to be. The salon should be as safe and warm and comforting as a favorite pair of slippers, providing stark contrast to the (black and white) sombre, restricted world outside us. From the salon comes the hum of excited voices, for it is here – around the glowing embers of Hope that the voices of the Soul commune. A place where Anything can happen.

  As the conversation continues the interludes may get more and more frantic, or perhaps the conversation fades as the music gets louder, and a series of surreal scenes unfold inside and outside the salon. The Counts fencing. A beautiful woman undressing. Fallon sculpting. Bill and Martin Amis playing darts. Bill and Martin fencing in the museum, surrounded by statues of nudes. The chimney with sparks fling up into the dark. Finally, we see Martin Amis’ eyes as he looks at himself in the mirror of his bathroom at home.

  It’s the middle of the night. A voice calls from the bedroom asking if he’s all right. Distractedly, he answers . . .

  Martin: Yes . . . I just had the weirdest dream.

  He turns off the bathroom light, and Beethoven’s 9th punctuates dramatically. We hear the Counts’ laughter and watch as more sparks fly up into the darkened mind.

  The Counts of the Netherworld

  (July 1992)

  MANIFESTO

  I. LE MANIFESTE DES COMTES

  The time has come to air the Voice of Reason,

  In a world gone mad, adrift on banal seas,

  For all who feel that lies have had their season,

  And whose Hearts Cry Out, instead, for Honesty,

  For all the weary souls grown bored with dreaming,

  Whose thirst for Knowledge and for Beauty goes unslaked,

  For all who long to wake from what is seeming,

  And know what’s Real, and what is Real, to embrace,

  For all who’ve sat and watched with mounting horror,

  Evil’s reign upon this world grow ever-clear,

  For all who’ve sought in vain, Emancipators,

  Wielding Swords of Truth, and laughing without fear.

  For all who’ve ever asked themselves in reference to the world. ‘Is it just me, or does this suck?’ Take Heart!

  It does suck, but you are not alone in thinking so. Behold the Counts! Beacons encouraging the spark in every mind to join them in illuminating the Netherworld of our Collective Unconscious. Sleeper Awaken to the cry of players as they call for the Voice of Reason in every mind to come forth in choir and sing hymns to Beauty and Truth.

  II. THEATRE DES DAMNES

  The Counts are Bill Hicks, a misanthropic humanist, and Fallon Woodland, a humanistic misanthrope. Two opposites who have overcome their differences, and live in self-imposed exile from modern times and popular culture.

  A Victorian era salon is their refuge from the shrieking idiocy of our times. It is here they revel in a world of ideas, surrounded by the Arcana of the Wizard – a globe, a telescope, a giant dictionary on a stand, and bookshelves sagging under the weight of the greatest thoughts from the greatest minds in human history.

  Count William lounges in decadent repose upon a red velvet couch, dressed all in black and adorned with a rapier that shines as bright as the light of his intellect. Count Fallon hunches over a desk, scribbling furiously with feathered plume, an indictment against the enemies of Truth and Good Taste. A discussion about advertising has inspired Fallon’s savage treatise. William leaps up and refers to the dictionary, looking for synonyms for the word Satan, in order to help Fallon, who’s bogged down in a particularly tricky passage.

  Typically, it was a specific egregious assault against Reason that has inspired this swift and vigorous counter attack by our two defenders of the Truth. In this instance, the culprit was an ad for a popular soda pop that featured a moribund and emasculated pop star singing one of his hits from yesteryear, only now using the name of the soda in place of the original lyric. This affront to the Count’s sense of decency, has spooked their indefatigable minds on a wild discourse ranging from mankind’s shameless worship of Money, to the dubious merit of hair weaves, and paying particular attention to the substance of our diet and its connection with the ever growing instances of illiteracy and sterility in the masses. Whereas Count William passionately advocates the probability of a government conspiracy involving the soda, the pop star, and illiteracy, Count Fallon begs to differ, and proposes, instead, an impressive theory connecting the hair weave, sterility, and the Prince of Darkness himself. It is at this point Count William leaps to the dictionary to find synonyms for Satan, to aid Fallon in further developing his remarkable hypothesis. It is just another day in the life of the Counts.

  If all the world’s a stage, and we but actors upon it, the Counts have taken this idea to its logical extreme playing characters who are themselves, in a Victorian era salon set in the present, in an empty turn-of-the-century theatre – The Theatre of The Damned.

  In the world but not of it, the Counts explore the beliefs that rule our lives; celebrating ideas which free the human spirit, and skewering unmercifully those which chain us.

  In the set but not of it, the Counts are able to roam freely through this metaphorical theatre – the world – perhaps even to venture outside in a horse drawn carriage, parading through the streets of London, where they can view the activities of modern man with their contemptuous glare.

  But always they return to their safe haven, the salon, to discuss the affairs of the world, which they view with a critical eye and the sentiments of the Aesthete. It is in the salon where the Counts exult in the virtues of their misanthropy, and their complete rejection of popular opinion. It is only their irresistible humanism that keeps them from coming off as vicious cads. A great part of their charm is in watching them explore their dichotomous natures and defend the conclusions they have come to regarding mankind.

  It is here in the salon where their inner voices are trusted and given vent to the passions of their minds. In this salon, all minds are invited to join them in celebrating a new philosophy for the world – the Philosophy of the Counts, which can be summed up very simply in this way: ‘The Means and the End are the Same’. Herein lies Salvation.

  III. MISANTHROPES UNIS!

  The Counts’ salon serves the purpose salons and their likenesses (i.e. the jazz clubs in the 50s, the coffee houses of the 60s) have served since time immemorial as bastions of free thinking, where ideas are explored that are alternative to the established belief, the party line, or popular opinion, during times of Revolution and of Renaissance.

 
In the Counts – Bill Hicks and Fallon Woodland – we have two eloquent satirists who, in their conversations on the topics of the day, offer a charming, enlightened, and highly dangerous take on mankind’s troubled evolution. Whether it be discussions on Gun Control, Religion, Pornography, Advertising, Consumerism, Rationalism, Political Correctness, Relationships, Patriotism, Arms Dealing, Imperialism, or the Mass Media itself, one can rest assured their comments will ring with the resonance of Truth, or at least emotional honesty – a commodity in great demand by the young and young at heart the world over. That great number of souls who long to shake their fiery individuality in the face of convention; those long suppressed masses who seek heroes who give voice to the decency, common sense, and love of freedom that exists in us all. These heroes are the Counts – Spokesmen for the Damned.

  The silent quests of the salon – the Audience – are privy to the over-the-top pomposity of these two free souls, as they give voice to every thought that excites them – no matter how profound or profane, ridiculous or sublime, in their never-ending love affair and courtship with the Truth.

  Are they Angels, or are they Devils?

  Precisely.

  Be forewarned, the Counts will offer no apology or explanation, for in this Spiritual Odyssey, ultimately, all is forgiven. With this in mind, one can relish the antics of our heroes as they try nobly to illuminate mankind’s collective unconscious, and act as a catharsis for this world’s troubled soul. With Style, Wit, and Grace, the Count’s philosophy unfolds with invitation for all to join them in making this odd, bittersweet journey called Life a glorious and satisfying end unto itself. In this we are committed,

  Now, let us Embark . . .

  CAPITOL HILL (31 October, 1992)

  Come November 3, it’s odds-on that America will have a rock ’n’ roll President in the White House. But if Bill Clinton takes the oath, the deal involves PMRC head-babe Tipper Gore too. Top US funnyman BILL HICKS casts a dry eye over the election circus . . .

  With the presidential election currently taking place here, it has become more and more obvious that there is one political party in America, and that is – THE BUSINESS PARTY.

  And, in order to placate the masses with the illusion of democracy, they hold a purely ceremonial election every four years while their propaganda arm – the corporate-owned mainstream media – obediently and even gleefully plays it to the hilt, as though there was actually a choice and you, the American people, were the ones getting to make that choice.

  In looking over the current field of presidential hopefuls, I want you to tell me (and without laughing) that these men represent the best our country has to offer in the way of leadership and nobility (OK, you can laugh now)?

  Who are these men? And who do they represent? Could it be they are the best the Business Party has to offer in the way of maximizing profits for the few, while pacifying the childlike masses with flag-waving, jingoistic rhetoric? Well? Is the choice between Democrat and Republican really a choice? There may be two sides to every coin, but what connects them is the coin.

  Before going any further, you must understand one thing about my personal philosophy. I do not believe making money in order to consume goods is mankind’s sole purpose on this planet. (If you’re wondering what I believe our purpose on this planet is, I’ll give you a hint . . . it has to do with creating and sharing.)

  As you may have noticed, this idea is so far outside the allowance spectrum of debate that it is not even considered, much less voiced. Instead, this idea is relegated to the ash heap of history along with other radical fringe philosophies such as Gandhi’s non-violent resistance and Christ’s sermon on the mount.

  It has been accepted, and without argument, that America’s foremost problem is the economy. All the candidates have stated repeatedly the need to ‘put America back to work’. Simultaneously, all the candidates have come out in support of the Free Trade Agreement with Mexico. Which will allow US corporations to shift their operations south of the border where they can hire a peasant workforce willing to work long hours for low pay without insurance or health benefits (retirement being a moot point, as the lack of environmental controls will return the average life span to what it was during the Jurassic period).

  This begs the question – if there are no jobs in America, what exactly will Americans work at? Is it impossible to imagine, in the not too distant future, Americans sneaking into Mexico, en masse, seeking regular employment and a better way of life?

  CANDIDATE-PRESIDENT

  George Bush, in an effort to buy votes from an understandably nervous workforce, has made three decisions recently involving the military industrial complex. Decisions that will no doubt make the other nations of the world, particularly those nations not featuring a white majority, rest peacefully in their dungheaps at night.

  The first is authorizing the go-ahead for the production of 30 new Stealth Bombers - the invisible fighter jet. Apparently, to help America defend itself against the invisible countries that threaten us daily. Looking around the world, I’m hard pressed to find any country that could possibly threaten us in any way, by any means, or by any stretch of the imagination (I’m speaking, of course, only of those countries we haven’t armed first).

  All the candidates soberly maintain that, even though the cold war is over, the world is still a very dangerous place, and I couldn’t agree more. As long as war turns a profit for the elite oligarchy that rules this planet, you may rest assured those Stealth Bombers won’t be gathering dust for long, but will be used to defend America in the event that some unanticipated, unforeseen, totally unexpected war might break out, say, for instance, around election time.

  In a similar view, Bush OK’d the sale of 164 F-14 fighter jets to South Korea. This sale inspires two questions. First, what the hell does South Korea, or any country for that matter, need 164 fighter jets for? Secondly, how many fighter jets does it take to defend against 30 brand new Stealth Bombers?

  If this line of questioning seems paranoid to you, you’re wrong. It’s cynical. I have no illusions that I, by myself, pose any threat to the current status quo. They who have effectively neutered and marginalized the population so greatly, that a coffee-table book of Madonna’s twat constitutes a greater threat in Americans’ minds than does a 150 billion dollar defence budget during peace time (more on Madonna’s twat later.)

  The third decision by Bush, and supported heartily by the other candidates, was the sale of 236 desert assault tanks to Kuwait, to be used by those notoriously dedicated, no-nonsense Kuwaitis. What an awesome spectacle they will make on Saturday night, parked outside the disco of the Cairo Hilton (remember the days when an Alfa Romeo was enough to impress the chicks?)!

  The point I’m trying to make is this – regardless of where the candidates say they stand, or whose interest they say they represent, one very important issue seems to be beyond debate, and that is, the re-arming of the world in order to control it. Yes, America wants you to be free . . . as long as the choices offered can in no way effect real change or threaten the status quo. For all the lip service being paid by our candidates for the need to change, it looks like Business As Usual here in America.

  So, who am I supporting? Which candidate best represents my interests?

  As for me, I’m voting for Madonna’s twat.

  Recorded Live at the Dominion Theatre, London

  (November 1992)41

  You’re in the right place . . . It’s Bill. I’m living out in Los Angeles now so, you know, I like coming over here, you know, for the weather. You guys have weather. Cool. Los Angeles, every day: hot and sunny; today: hot and sunny; tomorrow: hot and, for the rest of the . . . hot and sunny, every single day, hot and sunny. And they love it. ‘Isn’t it great, every day, hot and sunny?’ What are you, a fucking lizard? Only reptiles feel that way about this kind of weather. I’m a mammal, I can afford coats, scarves, cappuccino and rosy-cheeked women.

  LA is the home of the pedestrian right of wa
y law. What this law is, is if a pedestrian decides to cross the road, anywhere or any time on the road, every car has to stop and let this person cross the road. Yes, cos only in LA does common courtesy have to be legislated. Ha ha ha. Every car has to stop. Pretty ludicrous in light of the city we’re in now, right? If someone steps in front of your car here, you speed up and turn your wipers on, you know.

  (makes sound of windscreen wipers)

  ‘Bad call, brother. Rrrrr.’

  ‘Must’ve had a bad day. I don’t know.’

  Stupid law. How many of y’all wondered, like I did, during the LA riots,42 when those people were being pulled out of their trucks and beaten half to death . . . how many of y’all wondered, like I did: step on the fucking gas, man!? They’re on foot, you’re in a truck . . . I think I see a way out of this! It’s that pedestrian right of way law. People are driving home, a gang of youths stepped in front of their truck, Molotov cocktails, clubs in hand, everyone of these idiots: (makes noise of car braking). I guarantee you that Reginald Denny, that truck driver? . . . Never gonna stop again as long as he lives. Could be an old woman with a baby carriage crossing the road, he’s: (makes truck horn noise). ‘Not today, baby.’

  Not a time to quit smoking, kids. (laughs) But I fucking did it. And yes, I miss ’em. It is hard to quit smoking. Every one of ’em looks real good to me right now. Every cigarette looks like it was made by God, rolled by Jesus . . . and moistened shut with Claudia Schiffer’s pussy right now. (makes heavy breathing sounds) Golly, that looks tasty.

  Every time I’m here something weird happens. This time, Bush lost . . . cool! People ask me where I stood politically, you know. It’s not that I disagree with Bush’s economic policy or his foreign policy . . . but I believe he was a child of Satan here to destroy the planet Earth. Yeah, I’m a little a little to the left there, I was. I was leaning that way, I think. Yeah, you know who else is gone? Little Quayle boy. Little Damian. Is that guy Damian? Tell me those blank empty eyes aren’t gonna glow red in the very near future.