#13 August 2002 ETERNITY BLAST SPECIAL edited by Cary Loren PAGE 2 of 13







Jack Smith: HISTORICAL TREASURES, Hanuman, 1989

Jack Smith: WAIT FOR ME AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POOL: The Writings of Jack Smith, Serpents Tale, 1997

“During thirty years of astonishing activity as a filmmaker, photographer and performer, Jack Smith produced a body of creative, antic writing that intersects and transcends the genres of hothouse fantasy, criticism and social comment. Bringing together long unavailable essays, performance scripts, interviews and other material, Wait for me at the Bottom of the Pool reveals the ideas and personality of an artist whose distinctive vision has influenced generations of filmmakers and performance artists. With caustic wit, Smith praises the performances of Maria Montez as well as the sculpture of Walter de Maria, examines the cult success of Reefer Madness and the uses of pornography, and discusses the perils of democracy, the evils of property and the police state, art history and architecture”.

Edward Leffingwell and J. Hoberman: JACK SMITH: FLAMING CREATURE
His Amazing Life and Times Serpents Tail, 1997

“Creator of the notorious film Flaming Creatures, Jack Smith astonished an international audience with his work in film, photography, theater, performance and the written word. Example and antagonist to generations of artists and performers. Revered by Robert Wilson, denounced by Kenneth Anger, imitated by Andy Warhol, Jack Smith is ready for his close-up, on location in the streets and ruins of the world”. (Quotations from publishers site.)

This volume recognizes Smith's seminal contributions and the need for a significant rethinking of the history of the American avant-garde.


'I genuflect before Jack Smith, the only true 'underground' film-maker'

John Waters

'He was uncompromising. He had everything'

Robert Wilson

'Gadfly, trickster, visionary… Jack Smith changed the art world. In what seems like tamer times, it's great to look back at a genuine and truly out there revolutionary'

Laurie Anderson

'Jack is the daddy of us all'

Charles Ludlam

'Jack Smith is the hidden source of practically everything that's of any interest in the so-called experimental American theater today. Absolutely'

Richard Foreman

Jack Smith in Mylar by Ira Cohen




by Jack Smith

Early that morning I could see that the day would be an ordeal. The Cretins were most excitable and openly masturbated, overstimulating the pinheads. Today they would put on their shepard and shepardess costumes and run across the fields with their sand pails to milk the cows. I rode shotgun on them in my floor length black leather jacket and needle-heeled opera hip boots made of wildebeest leather with the tufted tops.

I lingered over my toilette, admiring my enormous three foot long 9 inch thick cock; I posed before my glass, throwing my cock first over this shoulder, then the other. Finally, overstimulated, I fucked my tufted tops on my boots. However, I was unsatified so I lunged at my mirror my noble horsecock all tumescent. I smashed through the mirror and whirled about and stuffed my cock into the jagged hole and fucked and fucked. My cock got all bloody and torn up. Then, to get maximum sensation out of it I stomped my cock in my boots, flinging handfuls of meat tenderizing salts upon it.

Herding the freaks across the fields, a fly alighted upon my cheek and I became concupiscent again. I prodded a pretty young marshmallow cretin girl with my crop and made her sprawl on the ground. Her hoop skirt flung up exposing her dimpled pasties. In a second I was upon her nudging her between the buns with my lobolier. She squealed and rolled upon her back thrusting her pouting quim into my face. I whipped out my flaming organ. Her hoopskirt was up over her face and she couldn't see. I ran back a few paces, aimed my cock‑0 and charged her but my horse galloped in before me and impaled her on his raging rod. Slightly disappointed I charged my horse's asshole and jumping up I transfixed him in mid‑air as he was transfixing the cretin girl. My cock sank deliciously into his bowels, reaming them out straight and he reared and bolted causing me to spend even more deliciously. The little cretin shepardess was now ruined for normal love and she ran amok among the other freaks, inflaming them. Soon the whole hillside was one gigantic, seething, cretin, mongolian and pinhead orgy. Delighted, I ran to where my horse lay and snatched my elephant gun off the pack. I opened up on the churning carnival of freaky sex, firing point‑blank into its midst. Presently, I sank delirious to the ground, gasping and creaming and blazing away at the freaks.

God's plump buns rested serenely on the ziricorn & rhinestone throne & he frowned at us through his long gold beard. We were in heaven. He ordered us all to line up, turn around, drop our pants, and bend over. We meekly obeyed. God then walked up and down paddling us with a ping-pong paddle. He concentrated chiefly upon the plump pasties, I noticed. He began to emit giggles and rushed from pasty to pasty paddling shit out of them. The freaks became overstimulated and soon we were in the middle of a gang fuck which spread over all the heavens. Saints and cupids dicked each other with their wands, angels threw their legs open and the skies dripped come.

The End

(from The Floating Bear #28, 1963)




The most beautiful of all the images used on this page are from
The Beautiful Book, the impossibly rare tome mentioned in Cary's





#13   August 2002   ETERNITY BLAST SPECIAL  edited by Cary Loren   PAGE 2 of 13

End is Here I was a Jack Smith love slave Infinite Black Darkness, Infinite White Darkness Buried Alive Rock and Revolution, photos by Leni Sinclair Aesthetics of UFOs by Mike Kelley Wallace Berman Angus MacLise Father Yod  Ira Cohen Akira Ikufube Swampy Lagoon Index Ray Johnson