photo by Toby Dodds

(the unofficial)
SUN CITY GIRLS lyrics archive

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E-mail full contributions & corrections to: blastitude at yahoo dot com.


Uncle Jim
This is your Uncle Jim speakin' fellas. Nothing in this world is free. You fellas smoke pot? Your Cousin Jim smokes pot. Yeah, he sits around the house, smokes a little pot, drinks a little beer, plays a little music. But he smokes the good stuff, fellas. Not that stuff laced with LSD, ‘cause it will drive you OUT OF YOUR MIND!!!! That’s right, don’t buy any pot in Georgetown, fellas, they’re all undercover narcotics agents GUYS….. And that rest area over there on the Parkway? It's a hangout for three dollar bills. The young crowd hangs out there, guys, the young crowd. I know where the CIA is, it's out in McLean, where you have those high rents. There's acreage out there, the CIA, they've got the gate, I've seen it, fellas, I know where it is. And then Abdullah's Pizza? It's owned by Palestinians fellas. Have you got an aquarium? Is it STOCKED?? Here, here’s thirty dollars fellas, go out and buy some seahorses and STOCK it for your Uncle Jim. I believe in capital punishment, fellas. I’ll kill all those crooks in the capital. In fact, all those insurance salesmen, mafia leaders, congressmen . . . let’s throw ‘em in an arena and release some bulls on ‘em, fellas . . . .’Cause I’m your Uncle Jim. NOTHING in this word is for free. Now yer Uncle Jim’s gonna spew a little garbage on ya, fellas . . . . [trumpet solo]

Jokers on a Waltz
We’re jokers on a waltz
We don’t have any faults
We make no mistakes and that’s the breaks
We’re jokers on a waltz


The Burning Nerve Ending Magic Trick
It's you. It's the burning nerve ending magic trick.
It's you. It's the burning nerve ending magic trick!
It's you. It's the burning nerve ending magic trick! (Laughter)
(It's you. It's the burning nerve ending magic trick.)
It's you! It's the burning nerve ending magic trick. I really think it's you! (Laughter)
It's a perfect cube. It's you. (It's you)
It's the burning nerve ending magic trick (burning nerve ending magic trick).
It's you. It's the burning nerve ending magic trick.
It's you. It's you! It's time for you! (Maniacal laughter)
IT'S THE BURNING NERVE ENDING MAGIC TRICK!
It's you. It's the burning nerve ending magic trick. It's the demons crawling underneath the skin. (It's all for you....) That could be the sound of someone slowly peeling the band-aids off the blisters that formed from masturbating too long underneath an ultraviolet sun lamp.
It's you. It's fucking you. It's the burning nerve (burning nerve ending magic) ending magic trick. (Laughter)
Ha ha! It's you. It's the burning nerve ending magic trick.
The infernal frolic of life doesn't reside in my sperm anymore. It tastes like two meat aspirins. It's the sound of one car crashing. It's the drum with the blood on it. [??] with our ovaries. [??] THE MORTALLY WOUNDED! It's the sense of drama that occurs during those rare moments when one becomes conscious of the absurdity their lives represent.
The burning nerve ending magic trick! The burning nerve ending magic trick! (much laughter)
It's you. It's burned and blessed. It's the burning nerve ending magic trick. (Youuuuuuu)
It's you!


Rapping Head
Doweeodopappaptrupdoooreeedattt wha wha wha kee kee kee trap gup trap gup brrrreeuhhh nee nut stan do hey prax rup . . . . . . pickeruhrah put put put ptu pickeruhrah put put put pickeruhrah put put put pickerurah put put put pickerurah pur pur put put etc.

Different Kind of Whore
I can't say that my life is a bore
I'm a different kind of whore
I Don't get fucked by Spartan Girls
I get fucked by the world
I don't get fucked by male master spies
I get fucked right between the eyes
I can say that my life is a war
I'm a different kind of whore
I Don't get off on cheap surprize
I seek the scourge and I seek the prize
I Don't need money Anymore
I'm a different kind of whore

Black Weather Shoes
I wear them around the house
And around the grounds
They look real good
I keep them shined just like I should
They have cracks of style
They make their own sun
Like some lost god of all the one
My black weather shoes
My black weather shoes
They love the ground and they love me too

Frankincense and Fish
Turning emphasis into surprize
with that glassy look in your eyes
seems to shine more than a tear,
or the earring in your ear
so dont let luck pass you by
you might just die before you die
before you die dont come to me
I dont think in symbols or play in key

The Mystery of Death
You dare to ask me, my friend, saturated with terminal naivety: "What is the mystery of death?" I, in my malevolent fortress, shall welcome you into my quarters and will feast upon your innocence. You seek the mystery of death yet you penetrate my corridors, lined with my experiences, laced with malice. Your thirst shall begin to be quenched by the three kings who sing . . . . . for every spice, for every jewel, for every gun you trade with me my friend cannot gain you access to this eternal solution. Your thoughts, descended by a perpendicular laser of a satellite, projected from a self-proclaimed throne, have reflected off of my eyes the mirrored laughter which has always been . . . . . the origin of humor.



It's My Old Friend The Future
These three faces. Two of them known. One of them approaches unseen yet contributes to the changing complexion of the others; superimposing one face on top of the other while it directs your attention away from itself. Its the eye atop the pyramid; the eye that cant see itself until it is seen by the other faces.
       Well, its my old friend the future again; continually restoring the old face; reacquainting it with that which has yet to be.
       Charmed by the notion that everything in eternity is known, my old friend is dripping with the embalming fluid of the never ending death of the past.

The Grotto of Miracles
The aftermath of a violence between water and earth had created a dark, dense forest with a creek flowing past a small barn whose resident owl was in the process of regurgitating the black and bleeding vomit from the days digested prey onto a lily pad near the waters edge.
Upon closer inspection, the smell of the owl's stomach fluid overtook me as I noticed a white spot forming on the surface of the jelly-like spew. As the stench grew stronger, I realized the smell must lie concealed beneath the surface just like the taste of blu-cheese lies beneath its mold. Some mosquitos were abandoning their perch of ferns and beginning to dine on this display of nature's lush balance of power. The white spot grew larger. The smell stung my eyes until tears formed and then, after clearing the teardrops away with my handkerchief, I witnessed a resurrection that made my blood chill . . . . . . . . . . the white spot was actually a dead rat's skull slowly floating to the surface of the steaming black puke.



TEXT OF WARNING STICKER ON ORIGINAL HORSE COCK PHEPNER SHRINKWRAP : "WARNING! Contents include: Nails, Silence, JFK's Left Eye, Maya, Rain, The Vinegar Stroke, IMOK, Headaches, Dead Sex, Light, Evaporating Glass, Lithium, Canopic Breakfasts, and many other ideas that could be offensive to anyone. This product is not recommended for those persons whom, because of their age, are considered to be minors. It contains lyrics of a highly satirical and sexual nature."

Horse Cock Phepner
Alright, Harold, start up that mower! Someday I'm gonna get me a ranch down in Buckeye. I'm gonna breed jealousy and rage. I'm gonna get me a girlfriend that grows clear hair and name her Horse Cock Phepner. Then I'll take her daughter's polaroid and introduce her to my prophet toy. I'm gonna take her picture and hold it up like a mirror to every girl and boy. I'll change her into a welldigger by day and a Calvinist by night. She'll be predestined to become an evil Jesus and kill every witch on sight. I'll take her down to the melon patch for all the folks to see, that she's as ripe as a cantalope and as invisible as me. Oh she'll buck and snort and chew her nails and holler up a storm . . . the wind will blow the clouds on in and the cumulus will form. The rain will make the rhubarb grow and the sun will make them think, then I'll pour myself some Wesson Oil and sit back and have a drink. Now I had a child once, I named him pork and beans, so he'd grow up in a hostile environment and fulfill all his parents' dreams. Yeah, I saw Dan Blocker in Playdead magazine with a soaking wet brassiere on. Your horse knows me. I had a turkey that drowned like that once. They shoot horses, don't they? WAKE UP SAM! THEY'RE PLAYING CHOPIN!

Voice of America #1
How are you, Mr. Criminal? Mr. Pork Chops? Mr. Cock Sucker? Fuck Face? Cunt Face? How are you, Mr. Criminal? Because you're my friend, I will kill you for nothing. This is the Voice of America. What about Reagan?

Nancy Reagan
Nancy is a waif, a piece of cake
A blade of grass, Nancy takes it up the ass
Nancy gives good head
Nancy fucks Nixon’s son
She is Ronnie’s dildo gun
Nancy is a cunt of rum
Nancy is the Whitehouse scum
Little lady of the night
Nancy loves the cock to bite
Nancy takes big white up ass
She is one good lady

(Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha)

She kissed Mr T.
Mr T. has a big skull
Nancy plants her lips upon
Big Pepe shot up red
Nancy sips between the spread
The CIA is after me
Because Nancy sucked off Mr T.
Nancy’s juices flow Potomac blue
I came on Nancy, I have spewed
Mr. T. rammed jizz in her hair
While Nancy had a press conference
Ted Koppel had a hard on
Nancy sucked off Sam Donaldson instead
But Nancy’s bladder busted pee
Because Nancy swallowed Mr T.

(Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha)

Nancy took a limo out to the bog
She ran into the bending log
The log said, “Hey Nancy, want some Pete Moss mickey?”
Nancy squatted and said, “Omar, Omar!”
The log careened into her video vulva
Nancy grinned and kissed the maggot
She smells like the wharf, she rides like the wind
The scent of her V is the wind of Omar Sharif!
She hops like a wallaby, she has platypussy breath
Ronnie’s the son of 60 dogs, he has a log
But it’s out of order, so she went to the bog

(Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha)

I went hunting once, outside of St. Louis
All the cocks Nancy wants today are Jewish
Nancy spread her tits at the last supper
Nancy took head on Jesus’ popper
They eloped on Mount Sinai
Jesus planted Holy Water in her eye
Jesus rode Nancy on the way to the bus stop
Nancy loved the little drummer boy’s limp pop
They eloped on the mountain under the midnight moon
Jesus ate out his last supper with a spoon

(Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha)

Then Nancy bought China
Nancy is the first mom against drugs
Nancy shakes her tits at Chinese thugs
Nancy quivers Ho Chi Minh
Nancy douches Akhino’s gin
Opium pipes sneak up her ass
Mrs Reagan smells good gas
Mao Tse Tung puts fart in air
Nancy sniffs Siberian bears
Marcos’ lips grow Nancy’s crabs
Nancy’s tongue peels Marcos’ scabs
Ronnie doesn’t give a fuck
Ronnie shits huge hockey pucks
Nancy’s vagina is diseased
Chinese poets write poems like these
Fuck me Nancy won’t you please?



Esta Susan En Casa?
Esta Susan en casa? Si! Esta con un amiga.
Donde esta en la sala? No, en la cocina.
Cuando arreglan me cuerto? Ay caramba los hermanos?
Cuando arreglan me cuerto? No habla espanol....
La noticias es muy malé . . . De La Madrid es mierda!
Esta Nancy en Casablanca? Si, esta con Jeane KIRKPATRICK!
Donde esta en la sala? . . . No No No, en la alcoba!

Cuando arreglan me cuerto? Ay caramba los hermanos?
Cuando arreglan me cuerto? ¡No habla espanol!

Cuando arreglan me cuerto? Ay caramba los hermanos?
Cuando arreglan me cuerto? ¡No habla espanol!


Aristocrats of Impertinence
Keep your mouth shut, you poor bastards
I'm sending you a treat
I'm reeling out my fishing line
With nothing on the hook to eat
So if you keep your mouth shut
You'll only starve to death
But if you insist on complaining
I'll hook your mouth, you pests
If brutality is to power what poverty is to greed
One must use the other in order to succeed
And when I think that I've succeeded
I know there's more in store
I'll rob you of your dignity
To make sure that I have more


It's Underneath the House
It's underneath the house
It doesn't smell like it's alive
I'm afraid to go down there
I don't want to drag it out
The ghost is spreading its legs
Issuing the fume of doom
I don't want to turn on the Christmas lights
Cuz it might start smelling stronger

I Protect You From Me

I protect you from me...I know what I'm doing. If I didn't I'd be lying and we'd both be to blame for what you might do if I did the wrong deeds while I care for myself with the impressions I bring to the whole world in general and you in particular, when you see the deception I've formed in this song, most your theories and insights will be proven wrong. So listen, my friend, to the portrayal I give of my system of knowing your weakness and faults and take heed in the knowledge that we all can be prone to commit acts of thievery when we're hungry and homeless and more than the greedy with more than they need; more than that; just like people with children to feed. My impression is deceiving. I've robbed you of more than what you might find in an old grocery store. So you think that I've robbed you of more? Well, you're right. I've said little of that which you'd murder for. Of all the ideas that spring from your head, if you had no conscience, you'd soon want me dead. Therefore, contradict all that your conscience implies; for pleasure, for safety, for reason and lies and the pain that you feel when you reflect on it, has a coincidental reflection of death, and the seaweed that would twist around me and my soul, has no conscience to save you as we slowly roll to the bottom of that which is larger than this, for a method of reversing perspective no less. And now you can feel what it's like to be me . . . Take refuge in knowing that I protect you from me.

CIA Man
Who can shove a Contra up your ass?
Beat Khadaffi with a touchdown pass?
Who's got chunks of J.F.K.'s head
Floating in a jar of formaldehyde under his bed?
Who sucks off the Pope behind closed doors?
And spits the cum into your open sores?
Who can squash republics like bananas?
And try to pick-off cigar smokers in Havana?
Who can snake a tire iron down your throat
And laugh as you're falling in the moat?
Who'll hand-feed a Zionist with a spoon?
And kick the Palestinians to the moon?
Who can plant a car bomb in Beirut?
And make peasants suck on united fruits?
Who gives you a piece of the rock?
As you're sucking-off their ugly cock?
Who can slip a needle in your arm?
Three days later you have bought the farm
Who can train guerillas by the dozen?
And send them out to kill their untrained cousins?
Who can stab a rumor in your back?
So when you bleed it's documented fact
Who wears black and drives around in big dark cars?
And takes to the sky in silver bright cigars
Who can steal the jungles of Zaire?
And then wish you a happy new year
Who can take the sugar from the sack
Put in L.S.D. and pour it back?
Who's behind the death of Malcolm X
And thousand others while you're having sex?
Who can kill a general in his bed?
Overthrow dictators if they're red?
Who can build a pyramid overseas
From Pretoria to Tel Aviv to Washington D.C.?
Who can take Egyptians, Saudis, and Jordanians
And turn them against the Libyans, Syrians, and Iranians?
Who delivers Bibles to Iran signed by Horsecock Phepner?
C.onfusion I.nterwoven A.s we speak
C.atholic I.nstitutional A.ids
C.entral I.mpotent A.merica
C.omittee to I.nflict A.trocities
C.ontrolling I.ntravenous A.pathy
C.onspiracy of I.nternational A.ffairs
C.onmen I.ndustrializing the A.mazon
C.horeographed dis-I.nformation A.pes
C.omputer I.nformation A.ccumulation with the
C.remation of I.ndonesians A.ssociation carrying out
C.overt I.ndulgence in A.frica while
C.ontinually I.nstigating A.rabs paid for by the
C.ouncil to I.nduce A.rmageddon legislated thru
C.ongressmen I.ndebted to A.ipac which is really a
C.olony of I.ntergalactic A.liens

Or maybe it's the: K.G.B., the B.O.S.S., the D.I.N.A.,
the FBI, the IRS, the COUNCIL ON FOREIGN RELATIONS,
the IMF-WORLD BANK MAFIA, the NATIONAL SECURITY
STATE DEATH SQUADS, or singing in monotheistic 3-part harmony it's:                                        THE MOSSAD INSTITUTE OF TERROR
                                       THE PERSIAN GULF APPLE PIE DICTATORS
                                       THE VATICAN CITY OPIUM FARMERS


Dreamland
Dreamland, dreamland
Like underwater in marineland
I've got to know, I've got to know
How much of this is real

Schemeland, schemeland
Turning my jungles into lifeless sand
I've got to know, I've got to know
Where it takes you to feel

Cleanland, cleanland
How you dirty up our cleanland
I want my hand all around your balls
And then you'll know just how real

Squeezeland, I'm gonna squeezeland
I'm gonna pop off your testicles in my fisted hand
I'm gonna show you how wrong you are and how
Fuckin' right I am

Now hear this, now hear this
Hear my lovely little splitting kiss
I want to give you all I dream for you to take
Inside your mouth straight down your throat

RRRRAAAAAAAARRRRAARARAA . . . . .
RRARARARRRARARAARRRRRRR
RARARARARARRRARARARARAR . . . . .
ARARARARAR . . . . RARARARARR

Pornoshop
Wo-oh-woh, wo-oh-woh
Edwin Meese, Edwin Meese,
him and his flock of Canadian geese,
are flyin' to the south side of town
.
They're comin' to close me down
cuz they can't get it up anymore.
(Come on down, come on down
come on down to the Pornoshop)
They're tryin' to close my store.
They're comin' down to try to bust me
but they can't take away my inventory.
Wo-oh-woh, wo-oh-woh

Come on in, we got private booths
Where you can wear a leisure chute
Come on in, we'll give you rope
so you can jack off while you're shootin' dope
I own the door . . . .
I mop the floor . . . .
Nobody uses the ashtrays anymore

I been workin' here all my life
I ain't even got no wife
but I got inflatable dolls
We got vibrators up the ass
You can come and make a pass
Slap the monkey while you wait
Come on in and suck the bait
Wo-oh-woh, wo-oh-woh

Miss McDonald had some porn, E-I-E-I-O
And on that farm she had a master, E-I-E-I-O
With a dead cock here and a dead clit there
Here a clit there a cock everywhere a crock pot
Miss McDonald served some porn, E-I-E-I-O

Over 33 dead after they were served! It's not as horrid as
them awful hamburgers or disgusting french fries, you crock pot!

We put everything in a brown paper bag
Because we are purveyors of fine smut
They tried to get me to open a Pizza Hut
Instrumental break! ("Oh, I love your big cock!")

We got tapestries of Charlie Monoxide givin' head to a parrot,
not to mention his priceless erotica collection, international in scope!

I don't care if you're from France
or Spain or Belgium with a pack in your pants
I'll be workin' around the clock
If I get bored I'll play with my cock
My job to me will never matter
cuz I'll end up with the pancake batter
Wo-oh-woh, wo-oh-woh

Here comes Ed Meese with his Russian babe
She's from Kiev, her name is Gabe
And she's sufferin' from a severe case of Soviet jewelry
We never close (we never close)
Cuz we know you gotta hose
(and because we know there will never be a
separation between SHOP and STATE)

Ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong
Ding dong the shop is closed
The Pornoshop, the pornoshop
Ding dong, the pornoshop is closed!


Voice of America #2
I want to give you a good idea about my prick. My prick is 55 centimeters, without the knob. The knob is 25 centimeters. Altogether, is 75 centimeters. Is a very nice prick. Sometimes I have people, they come from all the world to take some photo, and they pay big big amounts, about one million dollars. If you want to have the low quality, you pay 100 dollars, but if you want to take photo, this is very expensive. Very, very expensive, about one million dollars. You understand, Mr. Criminal? This is the Voice of America, Mr. Fuck Face, Cunt Face, Pork Chops, Cock Sucker, Cock Sucker Pork Chop! Thank you.

Eyeball in a Quart Jar of Snot
A couple nuts stuck on your leg
Got a little dribble on your chin
Nobody knows you all sweaty inside 'cept the tooth fairy
"And he's been dead over 3 thousand years"
It looked at your head and it got all hot
LIke an ol' eyeball in a quart jar of snot
My mama loved my grandad late one night
And when I was a little kid he used to give me a lot of sass
And he said, "Son, when you makes love to your mama, you gots to wash your ass." I don't know a whole lotta things like you all of you do . . . some say I gotta switch in my head and when the light goes out, I can't help myself and I want to take a knife to my old grandad.
He made me live and that ain't right
He made me wrong but that's alright
He made the switch and he tanned my hide
He made me see with just one eye
I watched as he pulled that old drippin thing outta mama with a shit eatin' grin on his face. She smiled and said, "thank you paw," and all I could feel was disgrace . . . then he used his finger, you know, the one that he lost over at the sheet metal factory a couple years ago . . . and started pokin it around. Then she made some noise like she was about to sneeze but grandpa put his drippin' thing over by her face . . . I am maroon and tomato juice. I'll go home and open up a can of sardines and some lemonade . . . Then I'm gonna beat my grandpa straight to hell with an empty fifth of ol' Rebel Yell . . . . .
He made me live and that's alright
He made me wrong and that ain't right
He made the switch and he tanned my hide
He made me see with just one eye

Passenger Seat People
Passenger seat people, they don't drive
They stare a lot, they're in it for the ride
They stare at me, they don't know
They don't drive, how can they know
Passengers without aim
Blind hockey pucks getting slapped around
They'll die for values that don't exist
They'll die for money that will buy them gold
It'll still be hard when they're dead and old
Passenger para-military they've got too
They won't get me but they might get you
Monkey see monkey do, monkey see monkey do
Lesson here is to become alive
Lesson here is learn to drive

Saint Bernard's Observation Booth
Here I sit at the top of the steps
Forever looking down
A galaxy laid out for me
And not a single sound
I take my place above your face
Your vision to behold
I'm graceful, hungry, strong, and young
While you're getting very old
I'm in Saint Bernard's Observation Booth
I'ts a pleasure to be of service
To an animal with a brandy keg
And a human without a purpose

Kill the Klansmen
Pow Pow Pow!
Saddle up the horses out in the stable
I've got some pals who will back us up
We'll ride down the hillside to the Klan demonstration
We'll all listen to them assholes talk
(and then we'll)
Kill the Klansmen
Kill the Klansmen
Kill the Klansmen
We'll Kill the Klansmen
Kill the Klansmen
Kill the Klansmen
Pow Pow Pow!


Professor
O-o-okay! I'm gonna turn you over to a man now that used to live in our neighborhood but now done moved to New York and became a philosopher! Heh heh! I don't know where it comes from nowadays! But he's mosyin' on in, you just bear with me, here . . . . . Will you train these seals? You're all absolutely vile! I would prefer to get on with this body of poetry I've been neglecting through this corridor. Let it be! With my glimpse into your existence, into your being, I am writing YOUR story better than you have eaten all your meals throughout your entire life! What I want to mean by this is I truly love the chance I have created to actually think I have control over something. Not my life, but yours! Yes, if I contribute any emotional turmoil in your soul, I will be satisfied -- and how will I ever know if you have been swung by my imposition of will over you? By listening to me now, at the moment, you are mine. You, like myself, are completely helpless. You would love for this world to survive in peace, in love, in unity. I would love to see the opposite! An honest declaration of destruction where babies melt into their computer! Fleshless skeletons! For you to see the origin of life, the origin of all of your precious ideas. They are all for me to kill you with! And for you to die in eternal death. You are the ultimate enemy, fellow man! I cannot trust myself to like you! You cannot ever be like me! I hold this dearly as my only weapon. Therefore your understanding is not important. My confusion is all that will ever matter. You cannot predict how I think you will improvisationally die. You will never carry the tune. You are human. You are this insignificant pimple on the body of my confusion. I wish you eternal exile from yourself. It starts out like a song, a poem, and suddenly it all becomes absurd and clear simultaneously. I hate all of my preconceptions, and this includes you! I was once a promising young human being!! The only one inside my school/skull that had a chance to break the cord!! And to be king and to be god and set it straight!!! To eat the rich and feed the poor!! Abolish torture, end all battle and wars! To sabotage conspiracies, and liquidate the money scheme! To call on powers great and weak! Destroy the concept of the church, worship nothing but the earth, eliminate you patriarchal bastards and the cancer you have planted deep inside our hearts, our minds, into our souls!!! Fuck you all the way to bed, in the bed, in the fields, in the streets, in the end for the feeling by the will through the flame under skins over sin because the only way to freedom in this universe is to destroy it all. We are free to perish . . . If you only knew how good death was going to be. I will never apologize for my lack of skill, for this skill is your end. You were taught how not to conquer but how to melt. You are the most skilled of fools. My respect for you is nil beyond that one skilled aspect. Which is you are a trained and brilliant fool! This makes me laugh and I love you for it! You are the race of failure. I want to pull the plug on the ones who say, "Stop The Bomb"! I also now realize that I shouldn't go out of my way to over-intellectualize and show off my knowledge of grammar and articulation. I am profound in telling you this, and this only: I want the biochemical nuclear holocaust now!! So that most of you stupid corpse-computers get BLOWN OFF THE STREET INTO NOTHINGSVILLE, where you all belong, and I can get on with pretending I'm an island!! I'm not kidding or trying to be absurd! I want you fools off my turf! Of Earth! And I want you off now! Cremation! Hang you! Pound stakes into your chest! I'll machine-stamp spikes into your skulls!! Now you're absolutely vile!!

Mirage/Spaceman/The Men in Black

Picture of a spaceship, A-Number 89, cruising above the 13th planet of Star System 51. The year: 1997. In a little while, supposedly the ship will be landed and specimens taken. Vegetable, mineral, and, if any, animal. These will be brought back to overpopulated earth, where technicians will evaluate them, and if everything is satisfactory, stamp their findings with the word "Inhabitable" and open up yet another planet for colonization. These are the things that are supposed to happen. Picture of the crew of the spaceship A-89. Captain Ross, Lieutenant Mason, Lieutenant Carter. Three men who have just reached a place which is as far from a home as they will ever be. Three men who, in a matter of minutes, will be plunged into the darkest nightmare reaches of . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . You thought I was gonna say it didn't you? This is all about you now, you've been plunged into this. Everything else matters not, it is you we want. You are the specimen. You, isolated, isolated amongst the illusions of your life. You are the specimen, yes YOU. All of the propaganda is illusion. It is all illusion, the anti-propaganda is all illusion. It's YOU who we want. We will have you. We will GRASP you. We must have you to survive. But we will not make it easy on you to receive the reciprocal energy. We cannot make it easy for you. Never. Never. You must come to us as we come to you. YOU MUST! Or the exchange is impossible.

Huh, step right up. Ha. Try your luck? Only cost a quarter. Shit, you've got a quarter. Everybody's got a quarter! Everybody that can listen to this has a lot more than that when it comes to . . . . heh heh, what do they call it there, that, that sham? Oh yeah: money. Ha ha! C'mon, take a chance, spend a quarter! You know, just seconds of your time. You're not gonna get any slick thing from here. It won't be slick. I know you're used to the slickness of the backs of these guns that you shoot, but it only costs a quarter, what the hell do you expect? Go ask your neighbor for a baseball glove. If you wanna know what it means, take that baseball glove and unscrew the receiver on your telephone. Take the cap off, put in that baseball glove, put it in a brown paper bag and walk outside onto the lawn, preferably about 4:30 in the afternoon. Swing that bag up over your head as high as you can get it, and scream at the top of your lungs "I'M A FOOL!" Obviously, you wouldn't be if you'd went to the instructions. You would've immediately been picked up. We woulda picked you up. We woulda picked you up. We'd uh picked you up by the fire hydrant, picked you up and taken you away. And you won't believe what you're gonna see . . . except you hear that sound? Don't bring along a harmonica, or anything like that. That kind of sound bugs us. We can't stand it. [Harmonica sound] THAT sound. We don't want any of it.

Uh, yes, uh, there's been a, there's been a rumor here about, uh, someone throwing their luggage down the stairs, is that true? Is that true? Yeah? [unintelligible]

Have you heard about the Men in Black? Have you heard about the Men in Black? Hey, answer me. Have you heard about the Men in Black? Have you heard about 'em? They're coming. That's why we gotta get out of here. The Men in Black. They're coming. Have you heard about 'em? We gotta get outta here. The Men in Black are coming. They're coming! Have you heard about 'em? Have you heard about the Men in Black? They're comin'! They're coming to get ya! Before I go, if there's a Universal Mind . . . . if there's a Universal Mind, who says it has to be a sane one? Have you heard about the Men in Black? They're comin' to get us!

Oh wow, we're back, I'm David Dare and you just heard the Sun City Girls, that's right, the Sun City Girls. They were live in studio right here at KUSR. It's 10 o clock, wow, they took exactly an hour, and uh, I guess I should, uh, get these things out of the way that we missed. Play a few promos here, and then we'll be back with some music from, guess who, the Sun City Girls. Anyway, coming up right after these two messages -- oh, and then maybe I should tell you about the Fishbone concert since KUSR is sending five more lucky fans to the Fishbone concert Friday night October 3rd at 7 at the Metro. We'll be back right after this.

Hey, wanna try something new?

X+Y=Fuck You
I come from the center of the earth
in the language of after death and before birth.
The man with the nuclear wallet in his back pocket
came closer to Utopia than the supposed 30 billion
inhabitants on Planet Earth circa 1939 when 26 billion
non-Jews died in an “EAT MY HOLACAUST”
when he put it all on red one metaphysical night in
Vegas and it came up blacker than the ass of jade
earrings worn by the princess of Phnom Penh while
the court practiced slam-dunkin' Portuguese generals'
colonial skulls into canopic jars made from kabbalistic
urns in Bombay by the Zoroastrian diasporadics who
became porcelain emperors from the profits of home-grown
Earl Moghal tea which was made if you may wonder from
the tender stalks of famous comedians' scalps because the
Iroquois tribe didn't take to hell the notion that piracy was
at its peak in the early 20th Century off Long Island,
sounding all too coincidentally similar to an old
Richard Harris ballad, cracking on a 78 phono player
in the droop bend of the Red leather pantheon bar.
Since the year 2323 will be the year of the future the
past isn't what it's going to be for all Sinhalese
clarinet blowers hopped up on amyl nitrate gang-rapin'
the highway from hell to breakfast at the speed of
vomiting diamonds or forever hold your peace trains
O.J. Love Boat Breakfast Chariots of mired in the mud
autobiographically speaking how the shit has no dame
to call and say I drug you for the association if the
enhancement of mallard rubles, cube steak also has a vision
of Siamese phlegm bouncing into limos from Salvation
Army Christmas bells autographed by Hans Muslim
Andersen. While the balloon full of money floats ever
closer to the outwretched palm trees dripping with
tabasco floss between your thief and a card face….
The Jack of Plutonium to be precise is towards that
elusive garlic bulb necklace around Fela Lugosi's
Richard Speckled murder scarf up the feces split into
through the capital of Lemuria is Antarctica City with
a primate marsupial population of minus 100 below
Spiro Agnew of Copperopolis wheel of torture fame
catapulted his thyroid blandly upon the ruler of the Wong
Dynasty, but Monty Hall wasn't pleased with Pat hijacking
that Vanna-American flight to the pituitary gland of Max's
Convenience Market or to end-all obtusity radio marti-
McGraw due to the lion of Zimbabwe being the only black
Russian on the planet, skirt around the muletide,
spruce up your glass colon, where a mere comma doesn't
stop the bleeding, for an appointment please squat in
the street. Quit your grinnin' or drop your linen
because the friends at channel eight are watching
Westinghouse watch you are the church, I am the
steeple open it up and see all the people fighting
with margarine moustaches and machete-wielding Moors,
who if victorious at the Battle of Tours would've set
up a bowling alley in Amsterdam where the freshly
beheaded faces would knock down freshly pruned legs,
cut above the kneecaps, STRIKE. Three little figs are
mine, I eat them all the time, to feel the things I
shouldn't, and to flap the wings I couldn't. Do you
understand rhythm as it's crawling along your spine?
Can you drink Burmese-produced champagne as a dead-again
Christian falls from the sky? It's rainin' Satan. Do
you understand granite as you grab it with your right
hand cuz you fucked up tryin' to fly? If you were
a hundred monkeys all rolled into one would you cut
your giant tail off or sweep through Wall Street? Crank
your soul up about six notches where the sun becomes
your tongue. Don't forget to leave me out of your
memory, I've had enough of your thoughtless dung.
Thunder of wit, tall, etcetera. I ran over my preacher
in my Buick Elektra cuz God came down and he talked to me
and opened the gates to set me free and I stain the
land from sea to shining sea and there once was a man
in a bucket, so God put a straw in to suck it, but
there also was someone who kicked the bucket and lived
to tell God to go FUCK IT. If you can comprehend
polyrythmic murder to the tune of ignorance is bliss,
you know there will never be a critic who will
ever be qualified to critique this.

Sexy Graveyard
(exact transcription from a letter -- from here)
"Ha,Ha,HAH....("And so the dead tongue
sang"-backwards masked)
"We rode to the great divide. Down
rock and rubble, we flew inside (throat
clearing rites)."
"Down rock and rubble we flew inside to
the depths of the crusty mantle;
to the crossroads of the verticle and the
horizontal. And spirits grew where weeds
had grown inside the moist and oily loam.
And at the spot our steed had steered,
the hell Baron Samedi appeared...
And rose from the muddy mire and mist,
he granted us one final wish...
Only if we as intruders of the middle
could give him an answer to his final
riddle. When we could illuminate these
infinite nights. Then he could administer
us our final rites "His riddle never has
an answer. It eats away at sense, like cancer.
It burns like acid thru the soul
And leaves a gaping breathless hole
In Charons boat we always row
For the mystery, you'll never know
And you'll never recieve my final
wish, for you'll always be sleeping
with the fishes....

With the vengeance of Jezebel- a
baby fell from the sky- it learned
her mothers curse 'Keep dagger,
spike and sword adorned for
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'...
'and use those weapons without hesitation,
for you, like me, are governed by
hereditaryies legislation.'
"My hot blood is a furious sap
you shared while inside my womb
unwrapped. It leaves a code stuck
in your head. It's words are sticky
hot and red. Its in your nerves;
its on your tongue. The same holds
true for everyone. It shouts a call;
it animates your elan vital.
"Its an originating birthday favor;
however it only accounts for part
of your behavior. Prior to birth this
gift was pre-composed to act as
latently pre-disposed of what the
present can never know for sure
A genetic trap you must endure
"And the foetus stuck in the pit of
my belly like ulcers on fire...A
lung from a cross made of twisted
barbed wire.
"Then they popped my eye from the
back of my head...And from the optic
nerve it bled. Pretty soon I could
see the back of my own head
"He crushed the communion wafers
and mixed them with his own feces,
and fed them to his wives-they
contracted his disease
"there is a devil; there is no doubt:
he's either crawling in your mouth;
or he's matter falling out
"there is a devil-there is no doubt,
he's either trying to get in or trying
to get out! He's either crawling thru
your lips, or he's crawling outta your piss...
"And taking the tea leaves, and
seperating them from the stems, I
steeped them in Holy Water and
beheld the cult of Siamese Twins.
"He cut off her breasts with a
needle and thread. And he pulled
them with incisions and gouges. With
her own blood he made her sign
a pact with the devil; and with
her breasts, he fashioned tobacco pouches.
"The fine tobacco flowed from the
nipple like pus freely floating
from the head of a pimple
"The fog hung down in the low
gluey paste as I peered thru the
opening at the rip of loves place.
The steam burned off and it lifted and
fleed, for her cunt was filled with
ashes that could only be seen by me
"And dreams that invade like an
incoming shroud that could scream
like the lightening that scribbled the
low, dark clouds with faint little dreams.
"I beheld the Baron Samedi rise
from the grave on a crest with the
coat-of-arms of Saint Lazarus
tattooed on his breast.
"Making a new departure instead
of repeating old habits-he held up
the heart of Erzuli and with his
knife he did stab it. Like Cupid:
a baby with wings and a dart- he
aimed the bow and peirced her heart.
"Lets have a moment of silence
for the terminal mythomaniac.
"Lets bow our head for those who can't
afford therapy. For those quirks
of behavior that will never be 'healed'-
if depression is fate, then one's fate
will sadly be sealed.
"Lets put a smile on the fate of the
professional man-who'll accept a big
check from the man with the frown
whenever he can....
Upside down, the frown makes sense-
happiness has its own expense...
"And on and on, anonymous- the
victims silently obsess....
"Van Van oil-'the weeds of misfortune'-
'tying the Devils shoestring'-'the crowning
glory'-'Samsons delight'-'the elevation of
Lazarus'-'the Double-cross oil'-
'the Consecration of Damballa'...
"She had a face as sharp as an ax..."
*(transliterated from Bahasa Javanese):
'ting tanka ling manuk teen
turlin teen utsen. Plas cackal bapa
satar bulingen....
(repeat)
"Ning Ning Nang-Ning Ning Nang...
(repeat)
"Dalam Dalam sumping, dor badir jor
tu tung juck malanti yeh oh, yeh
oh yeh ombong"
"Scratchin' scratchin'! He
just started scratchin at the poison
(coughing, etc.) Scratchin' etc....
"Like a fast acting poison, he
just started scratchin etc...."
(Final gong tone)
The End

-C. Gocher
1992-1995
(New Orleans, L.A., Seattle,Wash.)


Hector and Chino
In the land of the damned with thick skin like bark
The children were jeering a boy in the park
Blind in one eye from the day he was born
It was common for all one-eyed boys to be scorned

Hector cried from the children's cruel rejections
And on top of that he had no depth perception
They spit in his face and they gave him no pity
But that was the way kids used to act in the city

In a city without pity no one cries many tears
And they always express way too much of their fears
Through their anger which never gets bottled up inside
While they gradually develop a tough enough hide

Now, Chino was blind as a bat
He had little or no use for a map
To a city of light in which his sight was his touch
And the children all loved him so much

The extent of their love was eternal
Growing out like a seed from a kernel
In his presence they would be very nervous and faint
For Chino was revered as a saint

And Hector loved Chino so much
For Chino had such a refined sense of touch
He could pick a lock in the light of the moon
And help all his friends rob the neighborhood's rooms

They would cut him in for a part of the take
Take him out! Live it up! Buy him steak
To people with vision robbers all look the same
But none of his victims suspected the boy with the red and white cane

Life was smooth for his partners in crime
With Chino they never feared facing time
Their heists worked as smooth as a wheel and a cog
And with the loot they'd bought Chino a seeing eye dog

One night on the fourth of July
One-eyed Hector was so lonely he cried
He wanted to go out that night and play
But he didn't want to go alone to the fireworks display

Now Chino felt sorry for Hector's great sadness
And, perhaps to atone for his badness
Chino went with him out to the old fairgrounds
Even if only to share with him the exploding sounds

The tension in the air rose a full latin mile
The brilliant display shone upon Hector's smile
A rocket shot up like a drunken old fly
And it came down and put out Hector's only good eye

Hector and Chino strolled home hand in hand
Two sad saints negating an unseen land
Misfortune is strange: It can make people wise
When they find out that if God is love -- love is blind

Soft Fragile Eggshell Minds
I went fishin' with a hammer and sickle
And a bone crusher attached to a pickle
I snuck into the nest, pulled a pin from my vest
Started suckin' on that juicy little trickle

Why should we change this world today?
(Those soft fragile eggshell minds)
When we can smash 'em at will or let 'em decay?
(Those young fragile eggshell minds)
We'll keep them well-fed with our poisionous crumbs
(Those soft fragile eggshell minds)
And they'll keep their heads up our ass to see where our shit comes from
(Those young fragile eggshell minds)

We're gonna make 'em bleed! (breed?)
We're gonna make 'em cede! (seed?)

I chopped the head off of Mother Goose
Let the jailbirds all out on the loose
Oh so pretty and young and so very well hung
When they're swayin' on up there in the noose

Let's give 'em an inch and then take a mile
(Those young fragile eggshell minds)
And plant buck on the teeth of their naive smiles
(Those soft fragile eggshell minds)
We'll explain it away as a new disease
(Those young fragile eggshell minds)
As we genetically create nodding heads that say please
(Those soft fragile eggshell minds)


A Bad Dream
This is a bad dream. One day when the corn was soft in the ear, and the oak leaves rattled like the poplar at sunrise, we all awoke at 4 AM. And, with maw framed in the kitchen door cookin' breakfast like she had done for so many years before, and ol' paw, yawning like an ol' grizzly bear, he told us all to hurry up and eat breakfast; for there was plenty of hard work to do out on the farm. And work we did, until sundown. And then I awoke from this bad dream. AND WHEN I AWOKE, I KNEW THAT I HAD TO TELL YOU FELLAS SOMETHING FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART. SOMETHING THAT I'VE WANTED TO TELL YOU FOR SO MANY YEARS: ANYBODY FUCKS WITH YOUR UNCLE JIM, THEY FUCK WITH ME, GOT ME??

The Geography of Swastika
How ya doin' fellas? This is your Uncle Jim speakin, guys. Now fully knowing myself as being an enhancement used as a juxtaposition adjacent to one of those other phlegm-drenched CD compositions on your local college radio station, here I am again to brighten up your night in your dormitories. You go read your lists, your lists, your numbers of who's on the charts, and see who's number one baby. Yeah, if ya know what I'm sayin. Number two's more like it, you know, bowel movements? But nonetheless, I'm takin ya on the movement of time. The movement, the battle, that's right, the battle hymn of the spare parts. The spark plugs. A history in time that lay decaying outside your viewpoint where your rearview mirror is turning cycles around the inner cerebral scum linings of the stockings hanging over Christmas bells. And Santa came down that chimney. He wasn't gonna give you nothin' until I told him "Yeah, give em a, pass em out some ginger bread, send 'em over the little red riding hood way. Skip to me lou baby, skip to me lou." You know I always wondered where Melou was. But anyway, we're talking about the battle, the battle for the soul. The finance, information, intelligence, friendships, music, noise, distractions and illusions. The pseudo-multireality. Nightmares of toxins. We've got nationalism, machismo, crime, vice, vitamins, gladiators dueling in the mind control colosseum. Scum schizo depression GUYS. They're all hyped up speedball 360-degree flips into the trapeze circus of Americana. Etcetera, fellas, et-ceter-ah. And here you are. Listen to the medley, baby, and take it on the town because me, I, I never did brown-nose nobody. And all of you out there, yeah why don't you make a little phone call into your radio talkface, scumbucket, uh skull doody, doodelee bob now, yeah. Take it on out the Dixie, way out on the Dixie GUYS. Cause we got the war fellas. It's the nonstop avalanche of the emotional holocaust. Well you can eat my holocaust, guys. You know that place where there's always a Jerry to make fun of? That's right, those dodging the identity steel balls, the breathing corpses called humans in the spectacular pinball machine sidestepping the laser display. Doin' the oddball time signatures. Give me your John Hancock, dance of the demon outcast. That's right, take it out on the stratosphere. So be it. It's the War of the World, the War to End All. That soft cigar of El Destructo, burnin' slow and ever so evil. Let's take it all out on the geography of the swastika and relax on the sofa of the genocidal opium den. You can put on that mask that we've all chosen for the opera of the psycho-suicide. That mask, we'll rip it down from the walls in a frenzy. Cause you know you gotta wear the mask, because you're scared of being left alone without one for all the world to see you as you are when the mirrors come down from the skies, GUYS, burning. And it's burning the daily raid of the interterrestrial mind. There's fucking the guided missiles and the chemical semen fallout. You think you know all about that military hardware, don't ya fellas? Just turn that radio up, guys. We're splashing all over the bodies as we bathe in its eternal vile. We're yearning for its cleansing power in a release from the shackles of the torrential monsoon of doom. Do you feel the death fog coming in out of the ambiguous slow-mo shrapnel called Western Civilization? Well good night and sleep tight, guys. Don't open it up. You may not make it to the morning mist all right. Your Uncle Jim's got a voice better yet go for it, you'll be better off. You're ever so good, you'll feel real good, darlin'. And if you're ever so good, the sensuality of a thousand snakes will never bind you to the world. You know the source of the smile is discovered within the prison cell. Yeah you know what they say over there, they say "baby, it's either shit on the dick, or blood on the knife." The necklace of ashes tracks the breeze to its master. Well the smoke that I produce here is among a subspecies of fog, mist, down by the dueling bog zone, right up there beyond the dial that says loudness. Turn it up. Guard the entrance to your exit. Lady you're gonna need this passage. We're gonna program your computer to wait forever, guys. Just let the industrial revolution come full circle. When I go black it's time to light up. But who's the eunuch on top of the birthday cake, fellas? Nobody knows the man in the robe. He's got the new age in a perfect perfume capsule and he just popped it in his mouth. Yeah, thank your lucky scars that we've only scratched the surface. Now! Do it! Take it away! Fellas! Alright, bring it down, don't play so goddamn much new age jazz music, now bring it way down, way, way, way way down. For to go any deeper would be to witness the unattainable grandeur. It's the vice grip. You know that vice grip? That vice grip that's clamped on your skull? The vice grip that's clamped on your skull has been put on hold. Now, if you don't like it, well the cane walks by itself to frighten corporate executives. Yeah they did a little dance on the doorknob face. Yeah okay let's bring it right on up to the level of the subspecies of the crayfish. Okay the mystery behind it, it's an old hat that someone was never afraid to put on. Well you know folks, you know fellas, you know guys..... the legend says that the legends have it. Now, take it a little on the pinball dixie, doo-wah-diddy, take it now, alright, bring it on home, bring it on home to daddy. And it's beautiful. Crank it up a few notches, well no, don't blast it, alright. Break some doors down if ya got to. You gotta know which ones to bust down, because if you break into the wrong room, you've had it. You'll be doing the Cherokee Disco. You'll be just another broken record going round round, 78 speed, 45, 33, 16, 8... try going 23 speed, fucks 'em up real good. Because it's not on their groove for 49 or 69 or 86 'em. Yeah that's right, chickens and fix 'ems. If ya got the guts, it's part of the range. Home on the range. Decipher the nomenclature into a subversive, a crazy fool. Sonofabitch DeVille. That's my Cadillac baby. And I took the top off and I'm riding my Sonofabitch DeVille. And I don't think of anything in my way as being a nuisance, I'll just run 'em down. I'm on the front of all the newspapers. In the stars and on the plateaus. I'm a geographical logistics problem for that blast from the past, the good old historical concept. So here's your quiz for the day: is well-written erotic literature, is it exciting? Or is it interesting if in the right mood? Or is it good only for masturbation? Well we're gonna plaster-bation your skull all over the walls, cause I got a friend who makes fliers down at the Kinkos shop, yeah we're gonna Kinko the pinko right on up the yazoo stream, baby. Light by light, light by day. I'm in the way but not out of sight. Yeah, I was just kickin' the clock around, whose arms go separate ways, but I'm breaking down the doors to where I don't belong. Heh, now try to top that one there, Musty. That's right, try to take it on the groove bog. You ever been down that part of the way? Yeah, it's right around Shrapnelville. It's right around Shrapneltown. That's right, let's get crosseyed with 'em now. Take it all down over with the invisible Cadillac, [phone starts ringing] jump over the ghettos and smash on those tracks. We're gonna take the scrub-brush, take it on the scrub-brush sidewalk. Hold on, let me answer the phone, here just a second, keep it a-rollin. [picks up phone] Hello? Yeah, there's nobody home here. You don't like it? Spread it! Spread it with a King Imperial Margarine. Fine! Fine!! [hangs up phone] Alright, we're gonna ride off into the sunset. Let's jam that fuel tank into the gas, and let's get ready to ride off, never slow down, and the fire goes out and the bark on the trees will eat your skin alive. Yeah I saw a little corporate boy who was skinned alive, right up Yuppie-town. Skin him alive, hang him from the largest branch, a Citibank. We're gonna take him up on the tree. We're gonna take him right on up the bark-way, the George Washington Barkway, and hang him from the branch. A master charge. We're gonna take him right on down, we're gonna take him to Wells-Fargo, we're gonna take him right on over, right there in Oakwood Park. We're gonna take the 10.5 interest credit card and we're gonna focus on this. Then we're gonna see the shadow of a wall with a little kid's dream in a city whose mother is 17. How many graveyards do you call home? And can your tongue dial a telephone? I think I know why I treat you like this. Because you asked. And I deliver. Cause daybreak came and the dogs ran wild. And the women came out with their teeth well-filed. And I saw that noose around that guy from Citibank's neck. But I didn't bother to cut him down. Because I was just too busy waitin' around for my next pack of cigarettes, fellas.


Flesh Balloons of Tibet
Thank you ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Lake Bologna School of Hair Drying. As you can see, we students are busy hoeing the fields and breeding the ground with the seed of the Great Sperm Whale. But don't let this simple illusion fool you; life up here in Tibet is never what it used to be. Our students here at the identity crisis correspondence school are busy concentrating on the effects of time without duration. So join us now, as we careen through eternity in the Niña, the Ford Pinto, and the riverboat Natchez, and climb on our broom as we spread our message of dread and uncertainty from high atop the golden radio antennas of the Kremlin, straight through to the heart of the Lincoln Administration. Like a cholera epidemic from the Sahara Desert to the valleys far below, join us now as we sweep through the Milky Way, then join Art Linkletter wearing an Indian headdress in a whorehouse on Old McDonald's Farm with Fats Navarro in 1923. And, if you've got an extra seed or two to sew, you can teach the native women how to sing "E I E I O" as you're swallowing your pet rooster's head with pickle relish. So don't get left behind in the crowd! Take a tip from me and your old Dutch Uncle Suzy, and join us as we prepare to: Pay the Fiddler.

Pay the Fiddler
I'm the inventor of the burning pillow fight, so step up boys and give me a light, in the matches' red glare, feathers burning in air, to the mattresses far below. We studied evil with Paganini. And I've got a nice red violin with strings made from the dried bowels of the dead wife I murdered with a hammer over 23 years ago. So come on boys and light your cigars with one hundred dollar bills cause where you're going you won't need them anymore and prepare to pay me, the fiddler, with your own life because the one you're living isn't good enough. You'll be released from the shackles of the calendrical year because time is only a sewer pipe through which boredom flows slowly. "Hello, who is it?....Oh, another music critic?...well, why don't you just crawl up my ass and spit nickels." So instead of sucking on Satan's anus all the way up the ladder of success, do something for yourselves for a change and join me as we climb the ladder of the great stack of death masks piled one atop the other all the way to the lighter heaven known as multi-messiah land....Alive is fearful, yet it's sweet..... immortal beings suck our meat. All we are in this form is just a vat of warm flesh and pure fat continually collapsing into itself, with lit firecrackers taped onto its side, nervously twitching in a semi-lucid state only partially aware of our own joy and pain. And in one of our more thoughtful moments we invite all of the human race to the Brooklyn Bridge to all hold hands together and then jump off. So, if you ever wondered what Bob Mitchum would look like with a Joan Crawford mask on while engaged to infinity, look at me, the fiddler, as I revoke the law of gravity and perform the final marriage between heaven and earth. (Any of you New Age women ever eat dog?)

The Brothers Unconnected
(Oh sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.) Aah, that's okay. So, I got my wife, you know, the brunette, a plastic Marilyn Monroe mask for her birthday the other day . . . . . Well, we rented a hotel room that night. So, she got dressed up like Marilyn and I got dressed up like both Jack and Bobby Kennedy. You know, the dark blue suit, green silk tie, Florsheim shoes, and a St. Christopher's Medal, right? Comfortable. So, before you know it, we're both naked on the floor having oral sex together and I realize I had to cut Marilyn's plastic lips off if I wanted to drive deep. I've got 'em right here in my pocket, wanna see 'em? I guess the short dark hairs distracted me because I started moaning "Oh Jackie. Oh Jackie." And she started screaming, "Oh Mr. Gable, you finally rose back up from the dead." Then she started holding me like a microphone and sang, "Diamonds are a girl's best friend." I started shining like a sunlit temple for Apollo. So I sang "Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm schizophrenic, and so am I." Then she said, "Well, 23 Skidoo!" It was the biggest fucking group orgy I've ever had with one woman. Listen, Marilyn was so hip, she had AIDS years before it became popular. Well, when I realized that it was too late to call the Supreme Court and ask for their approval as to whether I could have a mutual orgasm with Miss Monroe . . . . I started a-twitchin' and a-shakin' like the Washington Monument, and just as I was ready to shoot, my head popped off and blood squirted all over the ceiling. And when it dried, it perfectly resembled the nativity scene by Hieronymous Bosch. Then Marilyn murmured, "Oh Jack," and I said, "Uh, thank you ma'am but you can call me MISTER Ruby!" So, later that night, as I drifted off to sleep, I said goodnight to Dallas, Texas and hello to a land dominated by nightmares and superstitious motorcades. Thirteen days later, I realized that my mother-in-law spoiled my marriage. (Oh yeah? What happened?) Well, my wife came home from work early one day and found us in bed together. By the way, what's your name? (Sirhan Sirhan.) Yeah yeah, I heard you the first time.

Hippie Conglomerate
In the big gravel clearin' was a beheadin' and a spearin'
Some hippie conglomerate denied two feds a hearin'
A couple black suit agents got under a whiskey spell
Had to waltz a jig highwire across a hot gravel fire
You can color me nigger but this one is bigger . . . . . . . .

In the big gravel clearin' was a beheadin' and a spearin'
Some hippie conglomerate denied two feds a hearin'


Five Minutes
All my life I've been perverted. That's what the sun dial told me. He told me it all was going to take place in FIVE MINUTES. I'll keep my love alive for at least three. But only my wild heart knows for sure that in FIVE MINUTES we'll have forgotten about all of this. Ah, the web flew out, it floated wide across the open sea. She'll be ridin' six white negroes when she comes. Round 'em out in loveplay and sportin' Ella B. [?] I shall never leave my love at home, at least not for the next FIVE MINUTES. Many die when they see that terrible thing called time but just five minutes for me, and that's the way it should rhyme. As you all shall see . . . . in about FIVE MINUTES.


Charles Gocher Sr.
Hello. My name is Charles Gocher, Sr. I was this gentleman's father. I was born in San Leandro, California, in 1906, and died in Los Angeles in 1964. Charlie was very young then. Right now, his song is paying homage to the past. You folks might not realize this, but every one person in each of your ancestral chains is very important to you, because without each link's role in continuing your lineage, you would never have been born. Listen to him as he plays his song, and its meaning will become clear. He's discovered a new method of cheating the cycles of Hindustan. He's donated his body to Columbia University's Musical Sciences Department. After he's passed through this form, the department will take his body, remove the skeleton, and hollow out the bone marrow. They will be used as instruments for a thirteen-piece orchestra. The eight bones that comprised his arms and legs will have trumpet mouthpieces attached to one end, and will be used as horns. The five remaining bone sections -- the rib cage, the hip bone, the shoulder bone, the back bone, and the skull -- will be used as the percussion instruments, with the hands and the feet serving as the beaters. The musicians will be instructed in the methods taken from his writings pertaining to improvisational music. During the orchestra's performance -- delivered annually on November 12, his birthday -- his internal organs, preserved in a canopic jar sitting on the stage front, will be guarded by a young Nepalese milkmaiden who, during the course of each ceremony, will fall into an ecstatic possession trance, and invoke his spirit in the same manner as he is invoking mine right now. Listen to his song. Let me leave you with one last thought: If his idea seems too preposterous, and if you don't believe in the reincarnation of the soul, how do you know that we're not all dead already?

A Man is an Insect is a Flame

A man is an insect is a flame
And god is the old man to blame
But just cause he's older
He appears to be bolder
But me and the man are the same

Yeah! A man is an insect is a flame
He's hot and he's rotten and lame
He's an old cardboard soldier
From a red can of Folgers
And a pancake will tell you the same

Yeah! A man is an insect is a flame
And the same is the same is the same
For breakfast, lunch, and dinner
He's an unlucky sinner
And no one will tell you his name

The water won't go down the drain
It looks like we've had too much rain
So the fire's gone out
And the termites will pout
As the berets slowly float down the Seine

Yeah! A man is an insect is a flame
And the twin babies' parents are to blame
For the parents up and left
And the babies punched each other to death
For a stork is a vulture is a crane
For a man is an insect is a flame


Persistence of Vision
This is what happens when you spend a lot more time thinking about the particulars, as opposed to thinking about the generals. It ruins your persistence of vision. So much so, that we, like rabbits with eyes diametrically opposed on either side of their heads, have this habit of being able to see better behind themselves. It makes them better at running away at things that wanna prey on them. And that's why I ended up in the county hospital. I descended all the way down to the bottom of hell. I ran into some people that I've never wanted to see before. But my old friend Norma, she said "Jimmy, you know being around you is like living in Russia."


Dear Anybody
The pale fox with the poker face
He fucked his mother and fell from grace
He performed the act with such great haste
And defied the order of the natural race

The foxes aim is to be free
From the formal conditions of reality
Though his family has no pedigree
Yet to them the restrictive frame of time is free

No longer are there days of old
Now all his actions seem to be foretold
To a higher order he appeals
And this is the way the future is revealed

Now it appears to be absurd
How the word called "time" is only important when it's heard
Maybe the concept should be banned
Because it is only understood by man

The fox finds truth in a shadowy realm
With an antithetical method that time won't tell
Freed from time and its restrictions
He sifts through lies and contradictions

He destroys the language; gives it a cleaning
And removes the association between words and meaning
He apprehends the truth, removes its disguise
And separates the symbol from the symbolized

Lift the curtain; lower the boom
I can't seem to find a word that rhymes with boom
Maybe it sounds unorthodox
But you might do well by thinking like a fox

Oh, meaning seems so deceiving
When you rely on advice from an analyst's call
First you fly now you're grasping not feeling
Then you sputter and float then you choke then you stumble and fall

A bird at night was singin' along
Singing' till the Balinesian dawn
He crooned and crooned with a feathery smirk
And now let's listen to what he liked to chirp

The old hunchback with Maureen O'Hara
Her raven trusses flowing in the air
Well she finally did just what she oughta
So he spoke right up and said "She gave me water"

(SPECIAL GUEST)
Now I'm a guy who likes to rhyme
I sang "I knew a jew named Frankenstein"
But now I sing a different thing
Based on a song by Oscar Hammerstein
(GUEST OUT)

An outstretched hand with one last meal
Represents the way I feel
A picture of a plate unstained
Tells what words can't always fully explain

Raise the curtain, lower the boom
I can't seem to find a pair of pants that rhyme
Maybe it sounds unorthodox
But you might do well by thinking like a fox


A Secret Revealed Unwittingly
Occasionally, when we are asleep, we become aware of a form of tension. An inner taunting that occurs when each of us becomes aware of a secret that we unwittingly reveal to ourselves. As peculiar as a dream may be believed to be, its essence is held up to daytime's waking mirror, and flowers magnificently as it broadens the scope of its own deception.
      "Once when I was asleep, I saw a man walking in the forest. I was tired of being alone, so I ran up behind him. I called out but he wouldn't answer. When I caught up with him, he turned around and pulled me to the ground, and I could feel his warm kiss on my cheek."
      "Were you afraid?"
      "It was a headless mannequin. Sarcasm in its worst sincere form is always frightening."
      "When you woke up, I knew that you had been away."
      "I never remembered it until now. Something in this room reminded me. Something I heard a long time ago."
      "Something that connects your blood together?"
      "And keeps me warm." They know that it would be unwise for anyone to feel as they do because the lack of sincerity would be so unceremonious. "The next night he called me on the telephone. I hung up on him, and had my number changed, but he found out what it was, and called me again. And told me that:"
      "Claustrophobia in its most sincere form is always frightening." Some-thing in this room reminded me. Something I heard a long time ago."I called out but she wouldn't answer. Something in this room reminded me."
      "Something I heard a long time ago." As peculiar as a dream may be believed to be, its essence is held up to daytime's waking mirror. "And he leaned into me, and kissed the inside of my head."
      "Something that connects your blood together?"
      "And keeps me warm."
      Something I heard a long time ago.
      "Flowers."
      "And keeps me warm."


Helen Waite
Two pagan gods staring at each other in disguise. They both wear masks with no holes cut out for eyes. One calls herself Belembere, an ex-member of the Human Race. My old friend Iris put a filtered cigarette out in her face. Now Chuchin and Belenbear challenged the dual nature of all things: If everything is in opposition with itself, could you divide infinity into two things? You can no longer say that everything originates from one essential source though I know that light is inseparable from life - I've seen the fire, I've felt the warmth and the never-ending burn. I know that unlimited convergence makes the nature of all things turn. If you think you have an ultraviolet rose for a heart you're not wrong. There's an awful lot of power in these Orphic spells and songs. Half human, Orpheus of Thrace found himself a new Troy. Now he knows what they mean when they say that tragedy is joy. Rust and moss, a cloud of black smoke, Eurydice bit by serpents at her wedding, now she's drifting in the stygian boat. Luscious little tendrils form a knifey halo from the base of her neck to the back of her throat. Drifting shades of light take an unpopular journey underneath the world to make a deal that has been accomplished by only a very few. You're a snake-charmer of a man Orpheus, now that your wife has left. You should be ashamed of yourself for asking for sexual favors from a man such as Death. Now Orpheus, you can take her home but don't look into her eyes. Your sparkling orbs present a problem that she doesn't realize. But it's too late Eurydice, your irresistible glance has unwittingly betrayed your desire to live, baby. Another Orphic sadness, or maybe death just got jealous. So go to Helen Waite. She'll be happy to keep a record of your fate.

Jessup's Dairy
A peculiar thing happened out at Jessup's Dairy last week. You know that old field out next to the milking area? Well I don't know how to explain it but the pebbles on the ground grew into rocks, and then the rocks grew into statues that resembled the likes of men, and one of the statues grew into a temple. And on the door of that temple was an engraved image of a man with a hundred eyes all over his head. The inside contains a large granite altar. The ceiling is covered with finely detailed engravings of shrubbery. A beautiful stone garden, hanging upside down. And on the wall behind the altar was a message that read: "No human influence can save you now. You've got to sacrifice all your dairy cows." Old man Jessup wasn't very happy about that. And to make matters worse, the cows broke the gate open over at the pasture, and formed a line leading up to the steps of the temple. Well we decided to sacrifice one cow just to see what would happen. We took half a cord of firewood, threw it on the altar, took one of the older cows and used a forklift to get her up on top. Then old man Jessup took his blowtorch and lit the wood on fire. We stood outside and watched as a thick purple smoke issued out the door. Inside the smoke there were thousands of diamonds floating upwards. And as they bounced against each other, they made the sound of tinkling bells. The cows were back out in the pasture. I've never seen those cows happier in all my life. And as the sun set, a new statue grew up from the ground, and it bore the likeness of old man Jessup's face chiseled onto it. I was determined that tomorrow I would be the man holding the blowtorch and I would sacrifice the next sacred cow, so the next morning I set up more wood and put my own cow Betsy on top, my own cow. I lit the torch, a cloud of pure white smoke drifted out of the temple, and inside the smoke there appeared to be a spiraling carousel of the moving faces of everybody throughout history floating upwards towards heaven. After the fire burned out, the smoke drifted out of sight, another statue emerged out of the ground. This one bore the likeness of old Betsy with a grin on her face. Then, just to rub it in I guess, old man Jessup turns to me and said "It looks just like her, don't it?" I guess Jessup made his sacrifice by having his name mentioned in account of this story. Now folks around here are gonna be pestering him forever wanting to see his new statues. And you can call me Old Betsy, because now you know what kind of dreams we cows have.

The Ballad of (D)Anger
Times drive men to anger
And men will always maim and maim
It's always the same, time and again
And revolt lies just around the corner

Now, men can never see around corners
And if someone is different than them, it causes horror
So, take your lawyers and your juries
And let them do away with justice in a hurry
Cause justice is a fearing hater
And it's creating more and more dictators

Now, anger comes to conquer fear
And pain, it comes to conquer anger
Inflicting pain causes more of the same
When anger comes to conquer (d)anger

But I don't believe in explanations
Explanations only come from liars
Descriptions will do....Revolt, then you too,
Can take revenge and set the town on fire!

Bitter Cold Countryside
We soak the mush from bleeding chests
Our wings they need-a-fixin
We swarm the oven's open jaw
Our talons spread wide, glisten
We coax the Father's tenderness
From neath his chin unshaved
And smash him way upside the head
For all the souls he's saved

(Chorus)
And we buried him in the shallows
And we buried him far and wide
And he swayed some more from the gallows
Of the bitter cold countryside

Well he came from the great big city
To instill in us shrunken brows
And he came without any rifles
Any chickens, pigs, or cows

And he came on Sunday morning
On the coldest day of the year
But we don't want no uninvited
City slickers to come 'round here

(Chorus)

And he came with a badge of courage
And a book and a bag of gold
And he rode in on a white pony
That Ol' Bobby Wiley eventually sold

And he came a-preachin' Jesus
Fearing God, goodwill and hope
Then he loosened up his collar
And I said "Floyd....get a rope"

Then we hung him from the rafters
And we lynched him in the barn
Then we wrapped him from head to toe
With some of Aunt Opal's finest yarn

Then we chopped him into six pieces
Two arms, two legs and a head
And his mid-section made a fine table
Next to Jimmy-O-Wilkinson's bed

And his toes now creep in the river
And his fingers they tickle the corn
And his skull flies high in the hemlock....
From dusk till the early morn

(Chorus)

So let this be a warnin'
To you God fearin' urban scum
If you wanna live in the country
We're gonna show you how it's done
-DONE!


Ruby on the Ferris Wheel
Shrapnel girl, oh one-wing crow
Mocha wind the old spoon I'm glad nobody knows
The antique air show is ready to begin
And what's inside the big top without a final spin

CHORUS:
Round and round the red moon glows
Sweep the skies for all to see
Don't forget to water the flowers for me
When you turn the corner
You steal the sun blind
Ruby on the ferris wheel let's leave them all behind
Shall we?

Are you ready for the white-out jamboree?
Please be sure the lights go out before everybody leaves
Its raining sex and murder cuz it's that time of day
That this bloody little carnival is finally here to stay

CHORUS + Round and round, so far around it'll take the top of your head off, and I won't be crying . . . .

The girls in the sky like to count to twenty-three
Cuz when the tide comes in we'll be taken out to sea
Science is a hula-hoop, tonight we're gonna fly
And scan the black horizon for the jewelry in their eyes

CHORUS + Round and round, in a semi-circle, clockwise, counter-clockwise, counterculture, I think I'll take my cadillac out and run over a pedestrian. I don't give a fuck even if he's into equestrians [?]. Ruby on the Ferris Wheel, let's leave 'em all behind, and bury 'em out back and no one'll ever find 'em. Kill 'em all!

Fetus on the backbone, a lotus in your ear
The holy land is east of east at least ten thousand years
You gotta pay the yin-yang, the fiddler isn't home
In fact he never was, now try to make it on your own, fuckhead.

CHORUS + It glows so brightly! It glows in your eyes! Like little baby marble . . . . . Why don't we kill you all now, bury you in the back....

If you've got a secret, you better promise not to tell, baby
Cuz Queenie in the tinder box will burn you all to hell
Jesus shaved his beard off, Mohammed dropped his drawers
And Krishna cracked a smile when Durga walked in through the door

CHORUS + I wanna take a buzzsaw to Buzz Aldrin and then chop off the head of John Glenn and stick it on the flag on the moon. Let's leave 'em all behind in a ditch, and then we'll take a lawnmower and drive over their children!

The merry-go-round lifted up into the air
As cremation ashes rained down on everybody's hair
The smell of burning flesh smoked like burgers on the grill
And no one cared to look to see which animals were killed, all human!

CHORUS + And I did not cry because I like to eat human flesh and all my friends are cannibals too! And if you don't like it, well just put in a complaint at the FDA.

See the little girl with rings around her eyes
If you knew her name than you she surely would despise
Just sit down and shutup! The circus is in town
Take your hat off as we feed you to a dozen hungry clowns

CHORUS + I love human flesh! Necrophilia's alright too for some people!

The catholics were lined up from here to de Molay
Stripped buck-naked, I encouraged them to pray
When God showed up, they got door number three
And then Shiva stepped right out to vaporize them on their knees

CHORUS + I hate 'em all! Every corporate executive hanging with their little weak flesh from a little oak tree right outside Washington, DC. Or maybe even Austin, San Antonio, Portland, Boise, Detroit, Cleveland . . . I know more about this country than you'll ever dream of, fuckface! And I'll rip your flesh off too.

The sky went hot, the earth grew cold
Reminds me of a story that my great grandchildren told
A diamond turns to dust when you sprinkle it with blood
But Ruby shoots into the sky when buried in the mud, oh yes....

Round and round, the red moon glows
Sow the seed for all to be
Don't regret what you shall inevitably be
When she turns the corner, she'll steal the sun blind
Ruby on the ferris wheel will leave you all behind
(I don't have any mercy on all those people who died from any kind of tribulation. Yeah, like I'm gonna worry about it . . . I want them dead . . . I want nothing to do with 'em at all! Kill 'em, burn 'em, fuck 'em, eat 'em . . . just EAT 'EM!)

The curtain has been raised like a skirt above the waist
I like to wake up in the morning with it draped around my face

Song of Co-Dependency
"What weighs more -- a bomb or a head?"
A bomb can be said to be heavy
But a head is much more deadly
A grenade in the hand could have
prevented Custer's last stand
But making a bomb fit for mystics
One must first have a head filled with physics
An old cannonball can still prevent
Tomorrow's roll-call
But if we want them all dead
We must fuse all our heads,
So we'll run out of people tomorrow

People are an unwholesome lot
They should all be taken out and shot
But if we make them all dead
Who will bake all our bread?
And if there's no food to carve
I guess we'll just starve
And if that upsets your conviviality
(remember) Hunger knows no morality
So when we rent that one final coffin
I guess we'll all just diet more often

Joan of Arc
Picture me in some abandoned corner and listen closely to what you think I may be saying. If voices were toys we could have so much fun,
but I'd rather take them apart and see how they run.
If the voice of St. Joan were a supplement for thoughts culled from memory, would you feel her pain as if it were your very own? (I doubt it.)
If her voice were made of wax and it burned at the wick,
would its smoke hover in the air and turn black and thick
and sing songs of torture that would make you feel sick?
Yep, you guessed it, it's the year 1431 and the guards are leading Joan of Arc to the courthouse where the inquisition will try her on the grounds of heresy.

A Venus in armor, a heart made of muscle
and with the sword of St. Michael, the olive branches rustle.
Then they wither and fade from the long warring dance
after Joan earned the victory driving the English from France.
Fe, fi, foe, fum...I smell the blood of an Englishman.
Be he alive or be he dead....I'll crush his bones to make my bread.
The English were incensed, they made no amends.
Joan added injury to defeat, the English wanted their revenge.
They said she was infernal, a consort of the devil.
The inquisition was alerted of the maiden considered Satan's own rebel.
Her head was shorn of its hair, a skull on the make
for after the trial she'd be burned at the stake.
"It's time to light the fire."
The crowd assembled to watch her burning.
They stood and watched with bitter yearning.
The fire crackled her mortal shell
in a terrible coup between heaven and hell.
Flames of death all yellow and fierce
rising up towards heaven climbing up through her skirt.
The crowd looked on at the maiden fair
as the fire licked onto her pubic hair.
She steamed and she boiled and she prayed to her maker,
grasping a burning cross to her breast as it baked her.
There are onions in the field that make tears roll strong
but the sight of Joan's unburned heart in the ashes convinced the inquisition their judgement was dead wrong.
They had committed a crime, a sin without redemption. The judges could not hide. God's eyes stared down upon them and they all committed suicide.
Joan of Arc met a martyr's end.
She took the blood of the Englishmen.
They had captured her beloved France so she ran them away.
So, for crushing their bones she was burned today.

Holiday for Shakespeare

Oh William, Oh William, I love you so much,
but you're history now, Bill, unavailable to touch.
The sum total of your life was an eight plus a five
divided by zero by the skeleton and the scythe.

Afflicted by sorrow for a man I've never met.
Desire is a remedy for his fake silhouette.
Does this longing for you mean that I'm guilty of self-projection?
Oh I forgot, you're not here to answer my questions.

With no object of affection how can this need mean so much?
Can we project love onto things that we can't even touch?
If desire is in question you were necessity's answer
to the cause and the effect of this emotional transfer.

Necessity seems formless, something in common with you,
yet when it attaches itself to matter it sticks better than glue.
It takes all your belongings and into a burning hole it pushes
Oh, the fragrant crackle of dried rose bushes

I burnt for you not with you your fire needs no end
Someday I'll join you in the vacuum into which I only stare.
So divorced from your image, I sent alimony checks of love
in heaven-sent envelopes addressed to none of the above.

(She was a martyr of free expression. She kept her letters in a locked compartment because she knew someday the role of Judas would be played out on her deathbed by the New York City Police Department.)

The Harley of Horror
This is your Uncle Jim speakin', fellas. Welcome to the ride upon the Harley of Horror. Step into my chamber, where instantly your insignificant fish-smuggling life ends and the horror begins. Y'know, I've always felt sorry for the monster. And I've always been interested in the old horror pictures. Tonight, we could watch an hour and ten minute long film, or a movie that lasts an hour and fifteen minutes, guys. We can get into some of the classics. Karloff. Does it ring a bell? A classic. Frankenstein. Y'know I've always loved the Frankenstein pictures. Karloff, Lon Chaney....there's something about the walk. The arm movements. And the mournful dreamlike call [eeeaaaggghh!] as he walked on down the hall. But if Karloff isn't your bag of bones, baby, we could move on towards the more contemporary things, like the Hammer pictures with Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee. Y'know that Christopher Lee is a true gentleman, that's what I hear through the circles of private parties and discreet situational captive cul-de-sacs. Oh we could drift back on into time, and see the original of the originals: Nosferatu. Or move back up into Lugosi. Dracula. White Zombie. I've got 'em all on film. I've always got at least a few cases of videotapes in the back room that are at the ready. And steady as it may seem for me, tell me now, are you nervous? Well then have a cigarette, fellas. Smoke! I always keep ten, twelve cartons around in the back in case of a blizzard. Perhaps you'd like to see a film called The Fog. It's a story about the supernatural starring John Houseman. Or maybe you'd rather see The Demon starring Cameron Mitchell. And on the lighter side of the cryptic world, we could see Land of the Pharaohs starring Joan Collins. It's the story of a conniving woman. You know, ever since I saw Pumpkinhead a couple years ago, I've always wanted to grab the wife and the dog and take the car up into the hills of Appalachia, West Virginia? And go around and gather the folklore of the mountains' hill-people. Take a drive around the old steeples. Round the bend and the curves of the mystic roads and drive upward until we heard all the dingling and the cranking of those wet mountain toads, fellas. Then we'd know we'd be coming into the territory. We'd be getting into the lightswitch. When it turns on, your mind turns to dust, guys. You know I do believe in reincarnation, because when I die I'm comin' back. My mother always told me, "No strangers in the house, Jim. No strangers in the house." But your Uncle Jim, he's no pushover in the world of wraparound eyebrows and safety glasses. Between you and me, I know who killed Kennedy. It was Ladybird Johnson, fellas. Ladybird Johnson. She had the nerve to do it. You love a mystery? Who killed Colonel Mustard? Was it the icepick? A cylindrical dagger? Or a scraggly old flautist with a strep gout and a thyroid goiter-blob bellowing in from Richard Basehart's depth finder? I've always felt sorry for the monster. So when the mood strikes lightly, don't expect me to feel sorry for you when on some deep, dark, dank moment of a black hair-raising fear collector implanted in your yellow bellies since wombtown, you'll become hunted and haunted in your own house. Home alone, where the demon bison roam, and the fear and the ragged-cloaked fray away from the confidence level that dwells in the inner chamber of your mind. Because your Uncle Jim is always savagely waiting beyond that counter, across, under the chair, between the couch and the lamp, where the corncob pipes are roastin' and you can't see the smoke as it blows into your face. Is that Prince Albert in a can? Or is it just Prince Albert in your mind? The sweet scented fumes of your darkest fear.


Let's Pretend
I ran away with myself; away from sobriety
I was tired of living out the old drama called society
And all the while I kept hating and hating;
the only things of interest were music and dating
Conflicts arose: I was caught in a trap
I lived next to a tree filled with a milky white sap
Next door to the tree lived a withered old woman
I asked her to water the tree but she wouldn't
She was an agin' old spinster. A horrible old wreck
So I buried her out back in the ground up to her neck
She dug herself up then she ran off to hell
By flinging her own body into a deep dried up well
Her vision of boredom was relieved by the facts
H
er corpse was found in the well gnawed by rats

My wife's name is trouble; her teeth are made of lead
The sound of our love is like clinking ax heads
I blew air into her lungs then I kissed her and I teased her
It smelled like the last breath of Julius Caesar
She's a great judge of character: she knows my real name
And when I get into trouble, trouble always takes the blame
We pretend we're both religious -- we really act like saints
My name once was Oedipus but now it's Saint Louis
I'd have to shatter my illusions and correct all my lies
By taking my fingers and putting out both my eyes
After I'd finish my illusions I'd have to pay the price
I'd go to church on Sundays and drink the urine of Jesus Christ
Let's pretend this song was written by you as you try to figure out
The experimental meaning lying buried here --
one that a mind reader
Once told you about

Floppy Pus

The little rabbits smiled sweetly as the pus rolled out their boils. Ha ha ha ha ha ha . . . . Little Peter came over and said, "I'll have some of that, too, can I please? Oh my god, what a desolate bright head you have, you little rabbit fart. Ha ha." Oh, and he climbed down to the rubbish heap. Yep, and he dropped his stuff into the sack, and he felt himself for a few minutes, and then Michael bought an autumn leaf at the antique store. It was from way long ago. That's right, and then the flopsy little bunnies dripped out more of their little pus. And Little Peter collected it in a little bitty skull bone and put it on the fire for Uncle Pussy's hair. Oh, how mysterious it could have been . . .


Bloddy Zipper

A girl pulled down a bloody zipper. She had chopped her lover's finger off and stuck it deep inside herself. And the seed was spilled to drench the desert floor below. In her womb, the blood had mingled with forgotten folklore. On one occasion I was able to explain, your cunt is filled with rubies that can only be seen by me! [sobbing] Locked inside a bowel, in darkness displayed. Finally a jewel that has never infected anyone. Just a bleeding finger, brought back to life. And here it is now, part of my own hand, and the bone is implanted tightly inside my warm raw flesh. Yes it's true. Those who aspire to the commoness of the masses, aspire to impotence. Now go and let your candy tongues lick at absurd jewels. Go.


Family of Nails

It was a family of nails. No, it was a cathedral full of cats. So then they came out of the brushes running and there's all this matter that has been transformed into a goo that gets onto their wormy skin. It crawls all over, and finally when it settles down it dries up like a bunch of 3000-year-old sand, and it just starts suckin' all the water out of the body and everything and everybody is just totally on the floor. They don't know what to do. So then all these elephants come out, and they're all asking the same question, they can't believe it either, except the jackal, who has been beheaded quite a while back, and before history, counting backwards, all the way to plenty of the elders, the jackal, not being able to understand what the elephants were saying, was not so much confused but disinterested and uninformed about everything, which they are a lot of times. There's a lot of indifferent hyenas too. I knew one that won an Academy Award for indifference. And then when he started shaking all the bushes and all of Australia started sinking into the ocean, which was about par for that golf course anyway, it was like a hole-in-one world. So I took my lawnmower out to the carnival grounds, and then the entire galaxy fell into the Indian Ocean. But the King in North America thought that was too much of a punishment for a simple galactical heresy, so he brought all the stars back out, shined them up, and they had to use kerosene to light 'em back on fire again. And I shot 'em back out into the galaxy like cannonballs. And while all this is goin' on, my old friend Jimmy is out there in the back yard with his barbecue, and he's trying to find somethin' to cook up, and Powell mentioned something about barbecued wildebeast, but it being out of season, and since I was in jail already for poaching in Africa, we figured that that might be a bad idea. But I wasn't there, I had to write letters back and forth from prison, and by this time I'd been transferred down into Australia and in my last lifetime I had been sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Now, in a future incarnation, being sent to live in the banana trees of Escargot, a fate that anybody with a good fortune in the future should consider. It was a wonderful gallon of milk, and it didn't have too many worms in it. Upside down and topless like Ethel Merman, Sir Walter Cronkite pulled the tirgger, and if it had been true that he'd been running a white slave trade service all up and down the Eastern seaboard, throttled the carnations of Brillo, assumed the role of Butler in an updated classic horror movie, went to bed with Mr. Ed (Meese), and had tried to form a new way of lying that would even please the president himself, what else could we do but put him in an ice cream truck and freeze him?


Fourteen
     "So your momma won't let you talk to strangers, huh? Ha ha ha ...."
     "Huh? No."
     "Strangers are alright. You don't have to worry about strangers. They're your friends!"
     "Who are you? What's your name? What's your name? Are you going to hurt me?"
     "Oh, I won't hurt you. Because I'm a stranger. I'm your best friend."
     "Have you got any money? I'm alone and have no money."
     "Hold my hand and we'll walk down to the store and I'll get you some money."
     "Your hand is cold."
     "That's because I've got a cold gun in it."
     "What? What? You have a gun?"
     "I'm gonna go to store and get us some money. So we can buy some candy."
     "Candy? I love candy."
     "You like candy, don't ya?"
     "Yes, I do."
     "Sure ya do. Get whatever you want."
     "Chocolate? Can I get some chocolate?"
     "You can have all the chocolate you want. Just go in the store and put 'em in your little pocket. That's all you gotta do."
     "I got a big pocket."
     "You don't need money. Not at this store we're going to. Everything is free."
     "Free? I have a big pocket. Can I put in a lot of chocolate?"
     "I'll get you a paper bag and you can fill it. You want a big bag?"
     "Yeah! Is it paper or plastic?"
     "Whatever you want. Both."
     "Both? What's your name?"
     "You don't want to know my name."
     "Yes I do, I don't have any friends."
     "Uh . . . my name's Billy!"
     "Billy?
     "Yeah what's yours?"
     "Well my name's Billy! Are you my daddy?"
     "I can be. I'll sign the paperwork and I could be your daddy. Just hold my hand."
     "It's cold."
     "Oh it's getting warm."
     "Billy? Billy?"
     
"Where's your momma right now?
     "Why are you wearing those funny looking pants? Where did you get those, at the store we're going to?"
     "You know, you kids sometimes ask way too many questions. Why don't you just keep quiet and grab all the candy you want. You see that guy at the cash register?"
     "Who, him?"
     "That's -- it doesn't look like him, but that's really Santa Claus."
     "Santa Claus?"
     "Yeah, this is the North Pole Convenience Market. You can have everything you want."
     "How much is it?"
     "It's free!"
     "How much for the market?"
     "You can eat so much candy you can get sick if you want."
     "Is there any seafood? Any yummy seafood? Do they have duck-billed playtpus?"
     "How old are you?"
     "I'm four . . . teen."
     "And you've never smoked a cigarette, huh?"
     "No, can I have -- twenty? Can I have twenty? Give me money? Gimme [unintelligible, both talking at same time]"
     "Well then here, have one of these Winston filtered cigarettes. Your momma said it was alright for you to smoke. I didn't start smokin' 'til I was eight years old, kid. [kid, in progress, babbling: "....where am I where are you going where am I going...."] Now I'm going to give you this gun, and if that -- if Santa Claus gives you a hard time
[kid: "Can I shoot him?"] , you just take it and pull the trigger. Just point it at him, and then go ahead. If he screams at ya, just pull the trigger. You can do it!"
     "My grandfather told me Santa Claus doesn't exist."
     "What, your parents won't let you play with guns? You can use my gun anytime you wish, because you're my best friend. My name is, that's right, it's Billy."
     "Billy, Billy, give me the gun, Billy. Can I have the gun? Who do I shoot?"
     "Shoot anybody you want."
     "Well that's not nice."
     "Just don't point it -- hey, hey, don't point it at yourself! No! No, point it at the cashier!"
     "I wanna point it at me!"
     "You stupid goddamn kids are all alike. You won't listen to adults, will ya?
[kid screaming throughout] Point the gun at him! Point it at him, now pull the trigger! Pull the trigger! Goddamn kids won't listen to a -- I told you to pull the trigger! Don't you listen??"
     POW!


Sal Manilla
Death on the left side and light is in the right. Why I'm blind in one eye and half crazy in the other, in this breakdown of the laws of identity. And everything is cast into infinite space. I'm always seeing death over my left shoulder. However, how can I see death over my shoulder when death shed its light? Darkness sheds light with a frequency that can only be seen by me. And I see you now. You're invisible, but I know you're here, because if you weren't, you wouldn't be able to hear me now, would you? What do you think? Did I send my voice to you on this slab of black vinyl, or did you make the decision to request my voice? Or, perhaps, both? But wait, I'm transforming into a chicken now. [And here they can go into the chicken section -- shit man, YOU transcribe it! Here's one bit: I'd rather eat vulture and have no choice, than the vulture eat me and eternally rejoice.... KISS ME! EAT ME RAW! EAT ME RAW! EAT ME RAW! EAT ME RAW!]


Six Kids of Mine
In a town full of hard luck cases
There's a waiting there for me
My pregnant wifes in a hospital bed
In a ward of maternity.
With five children already at home
I've reached the end of my rope
I'll take a pillow from the closet
And extinguish all of their hopes

One at a time, their neck in my palm
I'll squeeze the breath from their bodies
And get rid of all of my spawn
Dear god in heaven give them all your best
For here on Terra Firma I need a little more rest

Anticipation is my only name
I took a pillow from the closet
And choked my newborns flame
I went down to bribe the doctor
With a "C" note and when I left
The death certificate said the reason
Was attributed to crib death

Its three in the morning
And the screaming fills my head
Its driving me god damned crazy
And my face is turning beat red
I'll smother the little screaming monsters
Then I'll head on back to bed
And at sun up in the mornin'
They'll find another kid dead

Six kids of mine and they're cryin' all the time
It's three o'clock in the mornin' and they're drivin' me outta my mind
I'll take the pillow from the closet and choke them all to rest
And call the doctor in the morning and he'll blame it all on crib death

Now, crib death is a horror
it can strike at any time
The good ol' lord can give life
And he takes it all the same
But I choked their little noggins
And silenced the brothers grim
And at the funeral parlor
I blamed it all on him

Now, crib death is a horror
I bow my head to the east
And I pray to god, I may be forgiven
For altering his bountiful feast
Though I haven't slept in ages
I've got an alibi at least
And now I can go on back to bed
and finally rest in peace!

Dan and Ross
I knew a man, his name was Ross
he ripped his pants running from the cops
he ran so fast he escaped their clutches
but he sprained his leg and wound up on crutches.
One day he was insulted by a man named Fred
so he took his crutch and hit him in the back of the head.
An ambulance came to rescue Fred
But when he got to the hospital, they pronounced Fred dead.

Now, Ross was a pretty clever man
so he went out and found a man named Dan
Now, Dan was a man with a very hot head
and so Ross told him that he'd been insulted
by the man named Fred. So Dan told Ross
that he wanted to make Fred dead
by clubbing him across the back of the head
Then Ross could put his murder alibi in order
for he had recorded Dan's threat with a tape recorder
and sent the tape to the police through the mial
so the cops threw hot-headed Dan in Jail!

So the judge told Dan in jail he'd stay
and he sat there still, until yesterday.
Dan was foolish and his head was hot
so good ol' Ross was never caught.
Sometimes the law just ain't so fair
cause they're taking Dan to the electric chair.
He'd caused a fight and he killed a guard
so his punishment was very hard.
Ross heard the story on the radio
so the truth the cops will never know.
Ross laughed out loud till his face turned red
when he heard that Dan was finally dead.
I made up this story and it ain't so nice
but I'm sure that its really happened once or twice.

Book of Revelations
Through the deep folds in the lace I hid the grimace on my face
In the rattling bullet shells I heard the sound of wedding bells
Jesus! I love you but you're a big pain in the ass
If you were a woman you'd be one ugly fuckin' lass
But you're not, you're not, you're a demon in disguise
Sometimes you're so well hidden, I can't find words to describe you...
Yet I do, I do, the truth just can't be concealed
Even light can't escape the gravity of your negative force-field
You're just skin dislodged from a skeleton with ease
Living with your reason is like living with disease
I read the dictionary...it taught me how to kill
I've always had that problem and I guess I always will
I've got an Oedipal distraction larger than an old Greek temple
I shot my dad at seven in the forehead through the temple
I've always loved my Katie and she's always been my fall
Ever since I was on my throne in heaven, she's my goddess of the odd
The flecks of our skin fall like the peels off an apple
As we fall from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel
Onto you, the you inside you was born inside my mothers womb
Filled with rubies that could sparkle inside a living tomb
I know you want to stab me and burn off all my hair
but I'll fuck you up the ass so hard you'll need a wheel chair
Please Lord help me to keep my thoughts peaceful and still
Cause if you don't I've got a knife that rhymes with kill
Ever since the middle ages my mother taught me right
She used to always tell me that I was very bright
So I took a can of lighter fluid and poured it on my head
And lit myself on fire till I thought that I was dead
I shone bright in the darkness, I swung from nail to nail
Until a fire truck screeched to a halt and they locked me back in jail
I was darker than a nuns cunt with a womb filled full of lead
With an unfulfilled desire for a brain I wished was dead
I sold my soul to the devil to make that lighter fluid roar
So his victim wound up bankrupt when the devil went to war
Then I chewed all the skin off my finger and I spit it in a rubber glove
So you could take all my troubles and convert them into love
Up and down on a playground wing my love enraptures everything
With a mill stone chain around my neck I walked on the lake of swill
And concentrated all my thoughts on why I love to kill
Inside of every mans a killer, a killer with a firm resolve
to kill that part of man that his conscience can't dissolve
I'll take this song and burn it, right here in my cell
The smoke will waft up through your nose and lift you off to hell
If yellow is the reflection of the absolute shade of light
Let my skin reflect the courage of the absence of the night
And with an erection in one hand and a razor in the other
I'll attain my state of bliss.....so why do you just stand there
And let me rant and rave like this?
I sleep with one hand opened to make my final chess move count
I slide my finger across the razor, it moves straight like a rook in doubt
I gotta wife who eats two bails a day and lies like a saddle tramp
Someday her face will adorn my knife and look like a canceled postage stamp
My mind is like a garbage can that everyone fights to get inside
You got so far up to his neck, it felt like suicide
I'll give you your life like sparks from a grinder
Let the speed of light be a constant reminder
Give me your tongue that likes to suck
My fingers strangle claw and fuck
Maybe you'll like this new sensation...
caught in my grip of inspiration
Give me your life and I'll give you my word
Like an old man breathing on a dried up turd
Give me a knife to make the orchids yelp
My cunt lips scream out cries for help
If love can fly on a trusting wing...
then I can't trust any god damned thing
If love could live in a heap of dung
I'd spray it with a halo of my own white cum
When I butcher all the bitches in this world of whores
Then I'll spit my cum into their open sores
When your panties are transparent and expose your dirty lies
Then you'll know I'm God in heaven wearing band-aids on my eyes

Bird of Prey
Ships out on the harbor
Wet Painting in the sky
The rain falls down
And the paint begins to cry
Darkness is upon us
The lightning wants to talk
Listen to the voices
That the sparks will all unlock
Ecstasy shoots arrows down upon the ear
A zenith from the skyline for everyone to hear
Wailing shouts and screams
Expressing joys and fears
Sometimes dark and gloomy
And written down with tears
With a flower of blood that rises
In a hypodermic needle
Only to relax oneself
After an abundance of creative zeal

Now listen!
I've got a secret so listen closely; let your ears feel the mood I'm in
Your flesh is a screen that projects a myth that is erupting right now
from underneath your skin

I look up into the dark night sky at the face of a lonely woman 10,000 feet high.
Auburn hair and red lips litby Revlon. Hello my lovely one.

Out in the starry starry sky a pair of eyes are about to cry
Please don't think about tomorrow for it will only lead to sorrow
And with so many stars in the sky, how do you know that one
doesn't already have your name on it darlin'?

Excuse me while I kiss your entire body all over your gorgeous red lipstick rose.
I'd much rather do that than see you all dressed up in maudlin buttons and bows.

And with the taste of love in your mouth as you're kissing something solid,
When your imagination tells you that it tastes a lot more like soft black olives.

On some opaque dark mass, this womans soul is revealed on the face
and features drawn on her radiantly golden brass.

Brass! These are all ecstatic revelations that are converted
from the energy that speeds up dissipation.

So don't think about tomorrow
It will only lead to sorrow

Broken lips float on the sky

You won't find that bizarre
when you spell the word 'surreal' with a capital R.

So how do you like this?
How do you like that?
How would you like that if
I put that over........
Hear the sounds of an ancient society.

Modern civilization compared is much more wicked
Its giant steel cantilever arches standing tall,
above the crushed, uneven rubble dangling
in the midst of a swinging, wrecking ball.

And a suspended machine emblazoned with
a cross of human bones held firm
Its oppression is relinquished when it represents
the sincerity of a newly digging worm.

These are all eternal examinations meant
for the ambassadors of telepathic communications.

And then the sky rose it's facial curtain and the sound of ideas peeled out and
transformed into space and the air shot through into a complete works of dripping architectural fireworks displays.

Bang! A series of flying silver pinwheels draping themselves over
an iridescent green backdrop that crackles as they drop and flee into fabulous antiquity.

Bang! Descending bits of burning vinyl form the shape of a fiery carousel of light that drifts out of the dark sky falling quickly as it brilliantly burns the star-studded eyes out of your face.
No, not really.

Bang! A giant gold fountain (pleasure under difficulties) glittering X-ray
piano sprinkles that tell let slip leak pour forth spill down and fall hysterically.

We all have different opinions about the way things R, don't we?

Different opinions appear, yet so often values flee; when our judgments
reach out for a thick state, our differences flee into infinity.

Those divisions may emerge but let's don't divide love and death (it's so cold).
Lets change it,
I know, I'll quote the final scene from Tristan and Isolde:

"Let's both drown ourselves in the world's resonating whirlwind, and as we're disintegrating
into pure sounds that go unheard by mortal ears we'll sink and drink the kiss of the overwhelming rapture of death. The end."


Civet's Tango
Well My Death it Lies alone between the seeds of 7 mangos
Amidst a yellow patch of shrubbery where a couple Civets Tango
And a droplet and a dollup dance decrepit dumplings deadly
Where a bobcat peers around the swag to listen to the medley --
And its 5, 4, 3, 2 Fingers up the neck of Django
In a yellow patch of shrubbery where a couple civets Tengo
My heart is only honest in a town of 3 tomorrows
Where yesterday is flavored and the way is never sorrow
Sippin' on a straw plugged into 7 lucky mangos
Amidst a yellow patch shrubery where a couple civets Tengo

C.C.C.
I was layin' around in a sweaty chlorine aroma
Drifting late nite in a Calcutta codeine coma
With a Drake R8 Implant Eardrum Stereo
Sleepwalkin' six feet deep Sudder Street nowhere to go

Goodnite elixir Bengali sippin' his soma
Floatin' late night in a Calcutta codeine coma
With a flashlite in one hand bottle of cough syrup in the other
Stumblin' thru the Kali temple lookin' for his mother

When a stink comes from the sewars
Sweet Agarbathi from the roof
I forgot where I was buried
Because I don't need to show the proof

I was layin' down low in a sweaty chlorine aroma
Driftin' late nite in a Calcutta codeine coma
Swimmin' up the crooked Hoogley like a fish no one could catch
Washed-up ugly in the marshes half the way to Bangladesh

Rookoobay
I had to take a chance
And go to the Shango dance
I wanted a new romance
That's why I went to the Shango dance

The high priest looked very mean
When he appeared up on the scene
He make a seemy seemy
So they began the ceremony

Oh what they sang now...
Rookoobay, Rookoobayella (rookoo, rookoobay)
Rookoobay, Rookoobayella (a comparti aroma y velma)
Rookoobay, Rookoobayella (bing bop, bing bope y velma)
Rookoobay, Rookoobayella (rookoo, rookoobay)

I don't know how it happen
But I was so very frightened
The high priest had me in dread
The man made a goat walk without a head

Then there was an old lady
With a snake tied round sheepily
With an old pan in she left hand
Throwing sweet oil on the opium man

What they sang now...
Rookoobay, Rookoobayella (rookoo, rookoobay)
Rookoobay, Rookoobayella (bing bop, bing bope y velma)


Insect Dilemma
In some Damn Good Daylight I had an insect Dilemma
I was buzzin' the Horizon stung the scarlet Panorama
And the guards took my Camera
But my skull Doctor's Photos showed no infectious diseases
only 37 pretty pleases -- And a queen Bee She Rises
She stole my History kept me a mystery
And a queen Bee She Rises -- And a queen Bee She Rises
She stole my History and kept me a mystery
And a queen Bee She Rises

Wuthering Corpse
The corpse was born, it swung around
It walked out of the lost and found
And all the money not burnt to ash
Was behind glass at the new museum

The hormones in the storage tanks
Would drain into a vacant lot
And trees in the shape of a V
Began to grow all over

And the unedited version of the Infinite Commandments was blaring in
Sanskrit from air passing by
The clouds were all doing impersonations of famous TV meteorologists
Then the custodians came out to drain in the road
They danced with their mops up in the air
And all the toilets backed up

Between you and me, there's a trickle of blood from where neither of us drinks
To turn back now would be to insult the unknown
Don't have mercy on those who do
But the ceiling and floor can crack open doors
But the walls are too wide to escape from the side

It's a personal thing
Exercising my illusion
Hang off wire likes to pull the sky
You know he hijacked Air Force One and demanded "Take me to corruption"
Wow-ow-ow and these are all one, two, a-two superpowers
They stepped to the rink and the lights went out
And then the national anthem disintegrated into Robert Goulet's throat
yip, yip, yippie-tie-oh


Asian Women on the Telephone
We are wild Asian women on the telephone
Our movements secluded in rice paddies
In the humus of good earth we are beaten
Emotionally scoured and subjected
into believing our Geisha minds
We are WILD!!!!! water buffalos without sleep
We are rising beneath silk kimonos
and confections bite in queens nails
We are wild and we mean business
And you cannot find us
We are Asian women on the telephone
We are rural women living urban
We have been beaten into this good earth
We are scratching now with retractable claws
We are wild and we'll never be beaten again
Scoured or subjected to the servant or the fan
We are wild Asian women on the telephone!

(ring-ring, ring-aling)

The Magic Switch

Hey, have you heard about the Men in Black? They're watchin' you out there. You've heard about the Men in Black. Did you hear about the time that Beelzebub visited West Virginia, hmmm? We're gettin' ready to pipe this into all them radios that are turned off right now. We're just gonna push that magic switch. We don't know where we got that switch, we bought it in South America, it was black market. [responds to notes from guitar] Hey don't get us into that neighborhood! Deep within the suburbs of North America. Come down and graybeards'll be comin' out of those radio speakers, intertwining with the little quilts in the bed. [?] people be walkin' up the steps . . . they'll be walkin' . . . . (Dog walkin'!) . . . . Dog walkin, now . . . .

Coffee With Eyelash
Have you ever received a vicarious thrill from counting someone else's money? Well I never have! We were stranded out on the edge of town the other day out at Grove Cafe. We got a little cup of coffee, and THEN . . . . . well his penis was dead, but we had coffee, and I know that, that we had a little cup of coffee and my coffee had an EYELASH in it. I guess I lost it, cuz now that waitress will no longer ever be seen again by mortal eyes. Her disappearance will be one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the 20th Century!

Insect
Hmm, hmm hmm. I could tell at a glance that you were out of your
league. You're an insect. Termites are crawling around in my cabin and
they are eating their way into my gums. I could tell at a glance that
you were out of your league. You're an insect, an insect, an insect.
Who's playing that instrument as if he had a voluntary illness? I
saw him in that movie last week, yet at the time I didn't know who
his name was. He had that malingering illness. You're conceited you
little insect. Jerk insect, die. [whistling] You're an insect!

Enough!
Enough!!!!!!

It's Ours (Reprise)
[First Voice] I am really what all they do. But there were forces
beyond my will that can possibly keep me from doing what I want to do.
What I couldn't do, with the a-a-anger. With the anger and oh I don't
know anyway. [Second Voice] We will take what you will, always will.
We will have yours. We will have yours. As you have had ours.

Yellow Fever
You're living in New Orleans and it's 1869. There's been a water shortage for about two weeks, so everybody's drinkin' the water out of the cisterns that are attached to the side of their homes. You take a big ol' pail and you grab yourself a whole bunch of water out of the cistern. You take it down to Ma and Pa down there . . . down in [laughter] -- down in the kitchen down by Dogpatch! You take it to your brothers and your sisters and you take it to your little baby sister who was born about two weeks ago, because she's cryin', she wants water, and you know -- [laughter] -- you can live without food for about three weeks, but without water, the little baby sister won't live much longer than a couple o' days! [laughter] You know, she's little! [laughing] But little does she know that as she guzzles that water -- because her mom's mammary glands are ran dry from milk, because there's nothin' in town, there's only evaporated milk that hasn't even been invented yet [much laughter] -- that all around New Orleans, that in the cisterns in which the rainwater has come down for weeks on end, slowly, twelve inches of rain a day, that the stagnant water has been breeding mosquitos, and especially the female encephalis mosquito, and that you're all about to get one of the worst diseases that ever hit Louisiana, and probably -- hopefully -- ever will. All the way from Dogtown, Lousiana through the Hajafalias swamp, down through Baton Rouge, all the way to end of the Mississippi River, where it merges with the Gulf of Mexico, one of the worst things that'll ever terrorize that town is the dreaded yellow fever. That yellow fever starts coursin' through your veins, you get the worst fever you ever had! It's like the flu, but multiplied a hundred times. You go to sleep at night in that deranged fit that has you in convulsions, and your last dream before parting the face of this great glorious earth is being one of the caskets that follows the two-mile long train of caskets to that Catholic Church down in the center of New Orleans. Because you're dead! Gettin' that final send-off by the Archbishop of Canterbury, who's been especially appointed by the Pope! There's one sure cure for yellow fever -- it's DEATH!!! [Laughter]

I Deal a Stick
Hey the fuck it's me buddy
Smash the ones that smash the free
Until they're gone the world will end
Just don't ask me who they are
I Deal a Stick
Cuz they are old and they are young
and they should be shot, stabbed, bashed and hung
Don't ask me who they are, because they taught you to ask me that question, so they could hide among the ambiguous slime that shrouds their diabolical empire, yeah
Well it's been too late for centuries
Cum on them before they cum on you!
Yeah -- peace, love, freedom, happiness
BLAH BLAH BLAH!
BLAH BLAH BLAH!
BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!
Fuck 'em down a one-way throat
I Deal a Stick
Gimme some of that Hitler coke
I Deal a Stick
(yeah I Deal a Stick now I think you better believe it now)

Doorknob Journalism
I ain't home
I left Joanna
You got time
Well I got a gun
I'm gonna scheme
I'm gonna put you in the back page of the Times
And I've got money
And I've got money
And I've got time to find to teach you, to put you in the paper
I've got a lawnmower
And I'm gonna roll over
And I'm gonna put your right feet in front of the whole wide world
Good idea, put you in a plastic bin
Wrap through your eyes, just takes a pin
Better fix this swim
Out in the pond
And I've got nobody left to turn you on
Next time say please

Is It Stroked?
[First Voice] "no, uh where are you gonna do that stroke thing"? [Second Voice] "Stop you mean?" [First Voice] "Alright, stop, yeah." [Second Voice] "Well as soon as you hear me say 'yeah, an aquarium'" [Second Voice] "OK, no problem."

Indian Graveyard

This is just another one of the many episodes that comprises the totality of our lives.
[scat singing]

Tobacco Bong Hits
Bring it up, bring it up not so much. It's Arabic. Singing Arabic. Allah. Arabic English. Espanol. Esta di Ella Muerta. Bien no estaba. Dos gracias. Jambala.

Cooking With Satan
Buy low, sell high
A centipede between the eyes
Looking hungry at the flock
Spill the blood, improve the stock

White trash riverboat Tom Sawyer
He tried to sue my voodoo lawyer
I held him up bringin' home his bacon
and I cooked it lean in the kitchen with Satan

And him and me with our brackish frowns
Dressin' down, sleaze broker town
We moved 'em out, we took 'em down
We're dressin' down with a cell phone
Answerin' calls, this cookin' pays
Gimme a call, 1-800-FUCKIN-A

I'll put you in a cardboard box
Slip you out into the rocks
Sit back and watch your momma pray
'Cause fuckin' maggot you're in the way

Buy low, sell high.....

Rodent With A View
Rodent with a view
It's a vermin at the pew
It's a flamin' of the shrew
There's a weasel fuckin' you

There's a grasshopper
stickin' out of the lizard
Stickin' out of the mouth
of a rodent with a view
vermin at the pew
flamin' of the shrew
There's a weasel fuckin' you

There's a lizard
stickin' out of the mouth
of a rodent with a view
there's a vermin at the pew
it's the flamin' of the shrew
There's a weasel fuckin' you

Caterpillar out of the mouth
of a grasshopper out of the mouth
of a rodent with a view
a vermin at the pew
flamin' of the shrew
there's a weasel fuckin' you

My Daughter

Salty tears I cried for you
And from your lips perfume I drew
But my stare is not aimed at your face
Your ovaries are eyeballs all filled with mace
Your lipstick issues a trembling glow
With a needle and vulva your lips I sew
To close the door to the future race
You need to suffer and be chaste
Someday I'll find a husband for you
Then I'll rip those threads and melt that glue
Your lips will scream, your eyes will spark
But until then your womb stays dark
Your internal organs will only know
If bloody discharge and poisons flow
If I could write a song that killed
I'd aim it at any man whose semen spilled
Into your womb without my approval
This song would serve as his removal
From the pleasures of love and penetration
And whose intentions aren't in raising future generations
Death to those who don't bring life
They don't understand the purpose of a wife
If her belly fills with blood and pus
And bloats in grease with flies and rust
And larvae eggs course through her veins
With demons steaming in her brains
And menstrual venom hungry to eat
Her body filled with rotting meat
Maybe then I'll open the ancestral pipes
To the garden of fruit by now too ripe
I'll marry her off to some fine pilgrim
They'll settle down and raise some children
And at season's end when she's had enough
I'll take pine needles and sew her back up
When man's honor is tested his face turns red
And anger fights off his sense of dread
And when his spirit has been shamed
There's always a convenient woman to blame
Pain conquers fear so man takes aim
And fires the arrows until his woman is slain
And now that his honor is restored he screams,
"Fuck you, dead cunt, go to hell and reign."
If this song could kill slowly let it create a new disease
That would enter the bloodstream, it would clutch and would seize
The heart of man's pride would be drained with ease
And would choke the life of anyone who would write poems such as these
Except of course for the likes of me

The Apology
"Incest is best"
A man with a beard was smiling
He told me this one day
He kept apologizing to me
"Incest is best"
A man told me one day
He had a beard
He kept apologizing to me
"Incest is best"
A bearded scowling man told me one day
He kept apologizing to me
"Incest is best"
A scraggly bearded man told me one day
and his hair was never combed
He kept apologizing to me
"Incest is best"
He told me one day
He had a beard that was never stroked
He kept apologizing to me

Caterpiller
Caterpiller climbs the tree
He's got more legs than you
Caterpiller's gonna get captured
By a kid with glass jars in his garage

Caterpiller shines in the sun
Turns into a flying thing if he can last that long
Before some curious kid smashes him
With his bike tire in the driveway


White Ball

THE MOVIN' EYE was big and twitchin'. All the lights flickered yellow and dust blew brown on all the sense around with all the money down, shotgun sweatin' all over a finger. Trays started fillin' with all the busted-out teeth from the mouths sewn shut and the wind swirled around the moon a blizzard of fine, curly hair. The scenes of all those beheadings from beside that mine shaft outside of town a voice sewn-shut started howlin' muffled numbers: "22, 23. 17, 29." The only mouth with teeth yelped "37" with all the money down and the little white ball spun round & round.

Detergentleman
I MADE EYES AT LOOTING from sewn knee-high corn. Under the box I'm pyre come dry tongue. Dead moon ruined joy -- Rum twenty, hyacinth Nothing. I don't need damn gliding as a salted sideshow amusement tans-a-hidin'. The pencil that wrote Bill Lee in search of elusive melodies left my heart in Alamut with the fear that rides the western range like some easybake oven cong spook-patrol was on loan from the den of thieves. 17 SISTERS & 23 Blisters -- guests forbidden you're not as dead as shown. Cardamomma warm tongue sprouted from the glazin' hedgerow a sprinkle from the shrine of the lord of the world: Neuroses are red, Neuroses are blue, cashew blossom moonshine crack pot over you.

Seeing-Eye Latte
I HEARD YOUR BOYFRIEND ATE A CHURCH while the little girl choked on the bubbler. And at noon high the cow dung had six shades of green motherfucker. The pricklet had a datura episode as he drank the promise of a comedy from his seeing-eye latte. There's a laugh in the carven stone hangin' under the necro clothesline. And your boyfriend choked on a church and the little girl jacked the bubbler.

Rage Counselor
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, a cop knocked him down, rubbed his face in the ground -- had his hand in a car window -- rolled up on his elbow. Carjack gone wrong or a citizen's arrest all along a dotted line he was wishin' somebody would cross to show those pricks who rape your mother who the fuck is boss. And up the river he goes on hiatus solitary cuz every other public cretin is singin' like a canary. So he aimed his flamethrower at the aviary and the 2nd hand smoke blew into January. And his rage counselor called him a wagon burner and he got to speak live via satellite with Ted Turner and the truth is action when it hurts and a lie don't move inside a purse.

Blood Baby
WHO SAW WHAT AND WHAT STANK MOST. New guests butchered by traditional hosts. Death is sloppy in clothes too clean. Blood runs lonely in a burning dream. And who saw what ain't what was seen and what stank most was in between a life worth living cannot be found cuz chopped-up babies don't make a sound. And a bloody little boy kept the whole town clean & a bleedin' girl child melted frozen dreams and the suns came shinin' like two big eyes and the sky spread her legs wide open, wide.

Switch Stripe Shins
I GOT SWITCH STRIPE SHINS cuz I did it again -- had to fetch it myself -- I used to laser jump the principle and landed in the switch house I ditched the big Red Buick -- left it afloat in the moat, Revved-up engine 71 & turned off the daylites one by one, Elementary 115 my Port Watson. I got my stripes now. I did it again and again aboard my switch stripe shins. I went over and out -- took the west world south. I went above and below where the Byrd Admiral knows. Now I roast society's hog from the slopes of Mount Analog -- Now I got my stripes -- Now my food is ripe -- I got S.S.S.

Sex Cult From the University
WITH the smell of SHRINE and a head-split jagged cut a soul escaped the scene of a Nevada mystery Fuck -- must of Been that Sex cult from the university -- a snappin' dragon up the skirt, ya see? And a Dog-eared smile, that which needs no light, graced her face in the hills tonight.

Weather Funeral
THE CLOUDS ARE MOVIN' and the stars are fallin' and the sky's-a-fakin' night and the sun is outta sight. And the mornin never comes and where the wind is comin' from ain't the blowin' that they teach cuz the moon ain't outta reach. And the children they been struck by a lightnin' out of touch and the graveyards they will flood under foamy pools of blood.

The Clearout
WITH MY SHRUNKEN HEAD in a guillotine, I walked into the lobby drinking Gasoline. I was looking for somebody to play -- it didn't matter who, cuz they're all in the way. I was shovelin' a load of their favorite shit then I bled-em dry like high-desert cattle. Then I went on a tour of their safe deposit boxes and jumped on my Siamese Camel. Stuck my head underneath the saddle and rode back off into battle.

Great White
There's 3, 8, 12 polyester Gigolos standin' way out on the archipelago. And she caught a dragonfly by the toe & broke every heart in the barrio. I know a ticket scalper named Mario and the lighthouse keeper's better safe than sorry -- oh. He feeds the bugs in his left ear oregano -- no longer hears the foghorn mist in stereo. And you sail your ship into a big bight & bounce off the rocks down the throat of Great WHITE. There's a brown tree snake fuckin'-up the ELF towers and a broken clock stuffed sideways in a bag of flower and I'm watchin' all my friends auction off their power cuz the sugar in between their teeth went from sweet to sour. So go sail your ship into a big bight & bounce off the rocks down the throat of Great WHITE.

Flying Skillet
MY FLASHLITE LOVER had a spirit house mortgage. She was known for her gluttonous wizardry after the cliff branch landslide. She had definitive secretions, Fourth down completions, on a high wire she hung smokin' with her 3rd lung And on a misfit wet pony came a trick & a phony. Talk to me sir vineyard give me the free ticket to the thicket from a flustered motivation came the next decapitation -- a jaded ballerina folded-up like a table philosophy and it didn't matter much to me. It was an ordeal in dense foliage about the infatuation with a flying skillet.

Shovel in the Chest
ONE EYED-BLACK, the other red, Every fuckin' one of em dead. You don't care neither do I -- A shovel in the chest and hang em high. I wish you luck -- I wish you well -- your soul sewn shut if you ever tell -- headless and white, name smeared in lights -- the telephone's fucked and your cartiledge is sucked. The ink is a squirtin' for the goddess in flirtin', your eyes are floatin' in a soup boil smokin' -- you don't care neither do I -- A shovel in the chest and Hang em High.

Femacide
AND THEY WONDERED WHY he was screamin -- son of a frump -- Jap of Diamond. Gulf breeze disease comin' off one runway. Marsala goat's feet surrender longstreet. It was the avenue of the unentitled. Blisterin' chapel in the sundown with Jesus. Clowns, and the fact that you are not here. Barns, windmills, and other lonely town constructions with relocations out to where there may be no more interruptions. And a boat wasp breast-bleeder set a seven day human cargo feeder. In a torque laundry cola-bucket scaffold blanket saucer ring, beheaded tots with nerves-a-twitchin', dump-trot the empty lots of the outpost kitchens. AND THEY WONDERED...

Ghost of South Carolina
DEMONS COME A DIME A DOZEN. Most of em got 13 cousins. Saucers don't do second comings cuz the first one costs too much fuckin' money. Jungles dot the coast of Carolina around a ghost supposed to come from China. And the mornin's always caked in orange like a spook inside a hundred warnings & the doctor's packed-up left for Georgia cuz the sick got sicker bled the river and a gator's hide made one fine quiver for the spectre of an indian giver and one mornin' when the dawn broke early come a canoe rockin' swift and empty. And the stink of an invisible carcass left a ring around the neck of Carolina. The parakeets opened up to forage from an antique cedar chest in storage & a witch come only one in thousands . . . But this one swept the whole HORIZON . . . . .

Black Eyed Boat
I CROSSED A GLUE RIVER in a black-eyed boat and flew the sun like a kite. The sky shot lightnin' bolts in each of my eyes as the dogs jumped over the moon. The damn broke inside my skull. Blood flowed out my ears and perfume splashed from out my nose. The leper on the weather vane dried to a crisp and its breeze blew from my throat across the river in a black-eyed boat.

Through the Heart
When she was mine beyond the poison dreams In a floating closet quiet and still. The horrors she reflected came to rest on a nite of smoke and then I left her an invisible scar on a sunken boat and I couldn't say why the raven on my shoulder died and I couldn't kill my love for her so I slaughtered hers of mine and she carved it on a headstone across my neck the end of time. I shot myself in the foot so now she drinks my blood with friends and I left her thru the heart and she borrowed me to the end and she never heard my voice and she never knew my name and I left her in her glory and I left her end of story.

Disallowed
AND THE LAST SCREAM that I heard was mine. It has all been disallowed. And all the trees were hollowed by all the souls who followed and with flesh pelts sewed both ends, we drummed with bitten-back fingertips -- kissed the night with phantom lips. And the highways of all space and time were locked inside an empty mind and all the lovers roped and tied, muzzle burned in between their eyes. With knives, sharp sticks, and assorted parts were cut-out their chests' still-beating hearts..... and a kerosene mist stuck around the towns and the gods were burned in their holy gowns. And the sky was swept with flashing lights and the grounds razed clean. It was all over but the dreamin' and the rant replaced the dream and it was all over but the screamin' and the cold fog blew the screams down and it was all over so I dreamed, locked inside this empty mind. And the last scream that I heard was mine.

Indian Summer Moon
I was strollin' through the city in a trumped-up mood hangin' low inside with no interest in fashion and I was whistlin' some funny tune walkin' past the seepage 3 or 4 months past June under that Indian summer moon . . . layin' down a statute in some forbidden courtroom under that Indian summer moon. A thief of souls inside a window warden's dream -- mowin' down the whiskers without foamin' shaving cream -- I aimed my cloudbuster at the sky to kiss a witch aboard her broom underneath that Indian Summer Moon. Yeah I was out trollin' for an inkling of that severed fingertip and a-jostlin'-and-a-scrapin' for some alien fawcett drip . . . . but I'll never switch the light off if it's movin' in the room underneath that Indian Summer moon.

The Detector
It's scary out there if you dare to wear the detector -- put it on. It's scary out there if you've got the guts to wear the detector. Let's see ya put it on and sing a different song. Let's see you sing that song when you put it on. Go ahead and try -- try to play me.

Doctor Greenbomb
I knew a nurse with an indian rope trick who worked for doctor Greenbomb. She knew when I wasn't home -- kinda like never being alone. I wasn't sure if I was grazin' for a higher rancher in the tunnels or on call for lobotomy if my brain would fit the funnel. But my sister, she's been fryin' in some psychedelic oven cuz she copped the secret code and refused to join their coven. And I know a friend of doctor he used to gamble for the proctor -- used to scramble minds for doctor whos too busy with your future -- gave his mind to the big computer cuz he failed, a miserable suitor but I don't know if I'm followed or if you and I are swallowed so I've given you a blueprint in two minutes very well spent.

Curse of the Left Shoe Demon
I've been steamin' over a counter-attack of the curse of the left shoe demon -- without prior knowledge I was trippin' over foliage in the patch of sky cabbage, my toes scraped with scabbage. And his brother, the storm fiend, never howled so it seemed -- Hantu Ribut across my left shoe and I slipped along the tiles converting kilometers into miles. And that howl that revels in the blast refused my future as I walked past and just when I thought I'd slipped outta dreamin' I was walkin' on my head with the left shoe demon. Jalan, Jalan -- I can eat all the wind -- I can tap dance the sun in a bottle of gin. And I owe all my quick-witted uncharted schemin' to a steppin' razor curse called the "left-shoe demon".

Cichlid
The dream has vision -- a two-headed fate and I, Cichlid, mouth of colors, clot my own wounds -- the gold is buried inside the other musics of internal organs, sweat of copulating mosquito orgies, mistress malaria and the nectar of paranoia. The sweet danger protrudes like swollen, bubblin' cartiledge sprouting from a warrior's leg grinning like an alien egg and a necessary collection of festering worms rules your mind and an essential abyss of mutated stingers pricks your eyes and a fair league of gentlemen glisten from trees hung there by ropes, sawed-off at the knees.

Third Lung
"Hey C'mere" and then they gather round look you slow and old, cut you down early in the morn as your body starts to rot your spirit brings them to orgasm from a boiling, smokey pot. Breathe again my shallow tongue and lick the salts from beneath the sun & spit the crystals from a one-walled room -- begin the hopeless journey from beyond the tomb. They suck you into lung exhale you out to pasture where your agony is over-shadowed by the groans of howling dogs -- the only space which accepts your thin, gaseous breath is a suction from 'neath the earth where a third lung swirls your emptiness in smokerings of rebirth.

Once Upon a Time in Persia
HE GROUND DOWN HIS TEETH and he stained all his sheets from back in the night he crept in for the feast. With switchblade he carved tiny children he starved and with one axe to grind he opened some minds. Juxtaposed what was thought with the weapons he brought. Served large platters of heads with the brains he had bought and his men jumped to death and his women sucked breath but he never was there so nobody would dare. And he still does not lurk between Afghan and Turk and he still does not smile between Indus and Nile. But I've seen him around outside some fucked-up town and I gave him ten bucks helped to fix-up his truck . . . and he'll deserve what you get but he won't get it I bet.

Kingfisher
Souls of the broken fish float the unknown tanks -- all space is filled -- all times alone -- all justice is not and all truth is for sayers -- surrender this world to the lie of the player -- Kingfisher, sing high -- sing wild, you know why -- take them now to sing high -- break water at dusk -- water drips off your crown -- lips weren't a beak and the fish in your mouth taught your young how to sing -- sing wild, take them now you know why sing high -- break water at dusk -- water drips off your crown -- lips weren't a beak and the fish in your mouth taught your young how to sing -- sing wild, take them now you know why sing high -- Kingfisher -- SING HIGH.

Miss you? . . . No
A pipe wagon, you and me, and the indian by the tree with a voice rattlin' like a pelican chewin' a mouthful of english walnuts -- 3 kings up, 4 Aces down like a crow gnawin' on the severed head of a woodchuck -- walkin' into the morning, jump on a horse, feel no remorse -- everything I right about I'm write about. And all the legs bend slowly with strange mange cookin' and open sores fryin' -- you wouldn't believe the scenario if I cut off your tongue with the nail of your big toe. And it won't matter who you are -- can't distinguish color of feathers in a pit of tar . . .   . . . can't revive a heartbeat from the trunk of a car since nobody's wonderin' where you are.

Viking Christmas
NO two bodies are the same when you're learnin' how to maim. And the slicin' from the hip takes the first blood's sweetest sip. And the brewery in your mind foamed the suds from swollen glands and the sauces in your limbs settled in between your hands. No two eyelids blink the same in a dream forever slain. And a breathing low and cruel -- a tragic flaw for all you fools. And the skulls they looked like kites among the branches in the timber lights. And the entrails dipped in rotting pine brushed an old lord's booted, bearded shine. And the hearts atop the trees are now the shooting stars for you and me.

Sky Sharks
MESS-TATTERED LUNG, what was spinnin' has spun and the ropes from the limbs have now all been undone. Harvests are clean with expensive machines but perceptions predictable not organs delectable. Gut-fluid yellows as bright as new lawn chairs drip from the chins of mistaken gray fins as a clouded red musk fills a twilight field dusk and when the smoke cleared, a new legend was feared. Facing up underwater is a mirror of horror -- no detectable topography to trace an aerial monopoly. To explain the unknown is forbidden cuz Satan knows God is just kiddin'. After 3, 4, 8 days you can't put-out the blaze gettin' rid of what's already ridden. No one expects the unthinkable cuz no one can think or expect. Jousting landscape detractors, 4 Billion bad actors all think they produce and direct. Soft gelatin eyes-are-a-blinkin' and musty dry throats are a-guzzlin' and when blood comes to town it won't stay on the ground if the snouts from the sky are-a-muzzlin'. Theres a thousand black angels and a little boy mangled . . . and the newspaper said he was sucked-dry instead by a rabid dog's rope he untangled.

Chinese Checker
There's A HOT CHINESE CHECKER growin' sores like bell peppers with a sawed-off space gun, comes complete with vinyl head-dress -- a pill-dropper, hilltopper and a semi-pro couch parrot with Arctic lotion sac in hand and a one-eyed pastry stand -- the canvas that stretched the earth left a V-NECK glue trail and his 3rd leg was female and his bodyguard was a fat man with a shoe-shinin' grin plan and the dominos fell for venus . . . and the gun warehouse was loaded. On a French porch he's exploded . . . sent 3 money markets crashin'. Not supposed to know woodpecker just ate the Chinese Checker.

The Great Fuck Inaccessible
A spiny and sleek little thing made of meat, she twisted and taunted the old shrine is haunted in a land of the forgotten where midgets were banned and maned lions won't stand to a day-glow arena they came just to see her do flips and careen through a flourescent green while the drummers wore black to delete their arousal. Was she 7 or eleven or fifteen or nineteen or perhaps thirty-seven? -- didn't matter -- they waited all hoping to touch her any man there would fuck her in any situation goddess big top sensation but she looked like their children writhing on top of pillows. Ring master Miami bought her a nice pair of jammys & planned to take her to the tiger cages and split her like a pumpkin and all the fez-totin' fellas with smiles thick & yellow hovered near all the exits with their hands in their britches -- they knew women as witches and female as trouble -- all bitch whores the rule with perhaps one exception and they focused their erections. And so the little white dumpling froze a solid jagged icicle beneath a crisp, solitary blue light beam. And as an orchid shall prosper in forest light darker she faded from sight at the dimming of night. When the ringmaster entered in spectacular splendor no trace of her beauty or wet cotton candy only elephants pissing, white trash couples kissing and the loins of the men began to sing after she danced them a saucy fling. An old phlegm-soaked grandpa moved near the wings in a rite of unimaginable spring. He leaped and he swung and he spit and he wept, stuck his tongue in the crotch of a camel in the corner and sucked all of Arabia from a herbivore's labia. Then she flinged and she sprung, swallowed elephant dung, twas the carrier of the foetus for a song never sung by the demon who fucked her invisible clouds protect her and her body bled moist as her hips turned to hoist like a fuckling tp torment the rotted-green doormen -- not a saliva was-a-stouter, not an unweird thing about her. But in transparent light -- she, the fuck of the night, a lie but you couldn't quite doubt her. And as you lay in the bed with a pillow round your head -- it's her thighs round your hips as you mount her.

The Draw
I've had a weird career & I'm a player of the year but this time gonna slip one on the barb -- Nantucket sleighride in the underwater orchards with skull-cap priestess electronic immigration -- you owe me a boundary to cross got no limitations and I'll see you at sundown on a day you thought you'd never get to and for doubting me the sunrise see I'll never let you. And the high style in the skies -- my main means of transportation and the low nature of most of my peers impedes my explorations.

Satan's Blanket
Twas the night of the devil where the field ain't level wrapped in Satan's blanket with a pitchfork up my nose on a firey-red Palomino ropin' stray souls with a garden hose. I was one nite on top of the underworld -- one night bare-back in the pool of cultured pearls and I promise to destroy the demons who devour your silence, to wake the dead and tell them we'll be late . . . . To string the moon from the sky to your heart . . . to wait out the rains and traverse the wet nites -- to guard the gates of your dreams -- to roam the stars as you sleep . . . To drag the cool back into your mind and defend your crystal visions from the drunken gods -- I promise.

Sun Bear Gall Bladder Bile
I know you drip when you start to smile. An Oozin' Sun Bear Gall Bladder Bile. With crust of goat spread on your face and Gazelle horn powder in your hair. Oh Maybelline why can't you be blue? With one eyelash blinkin' all over you. Early morning runoff lookin' at me -- she's the starin' Bee. Amnesia teabags under the Eyes -- Artichoke to death the bow tie on the dead guy. Dressed in buttered leather, Excuse me hows the weather? I saw you flat on slippery tile face-first in Sun Bear Gall Bladder Bile. I've never seen such style.

The Glide Underneath
GO DOWN MY DEAR, are you lonesome here? Sewed, tied up the tongue I roped part of the night can you play donkey on the run? I went from head-to-toe with a garden hoe. Wrap gun in your ear, come clean stepson, who'll hang till Leroy sings free? Don't be caught in the cup down the hatch of a church come on turn up the night. Don't tell me "Don't you understand." Your legs they stomp on home, your arms they fall on Rome -- you're the glide underneath. Come bed or ditch, I bleed the welcome cause the sleep, search the purse for your seed, bleedin' naughty night all the day.

Under the Light
WHEN YOU get under the light, they say "take your clothes off" . . . . "turn around -- yeah baby -- that's my girl -- take your clothes off" they tell you. "You got nothin' to be scared of" as they rape you with their eyes that's what they say when you get under the light . . . well you better do somethin' about THAT! When you get under the light, there's a lot of "BIG" people who'd like to observe you. When you get under the light, "There's nothin' to be scared of honey . . . everybody does it." When you get under the light you gotta be ready to knock em dead and surprise em with all your stored up ammunition . . . . . you gotta reach-up and smash the BULB!

The Decoration
YOU'RE NOT QUALIFIED to interpret me -- theres a graveyard down in Tennessee with a night deposit of a killing spree and there'll be arguments on where to bury me. You're not certified to be put in the ground, let alone even making a fuckin' sound and if your mouth keeps movin' at the speed of light you'll be served on a plate with apple overbite. Well I don't know much but I know it all Behind your back I'll fly in front of you I'll crawl but there ain't too much to know anyway and whatever it is you know I'm gonna say but the bottom line and I'll make my point is there's a tiny little chip placed between your joints and a groovy little switch in the palm of my hand that blows cyberspace away like a castle of sand. I've been accused of workin' for the government but if I did there'd only be ten or twelve of you left and there'd be graveyards AS FAR AS the EYE can see -- you're not qualified to interparate me.

Insurance
Insurance, Insurance what the hell do you mean? Never knew what I signed now you're pickin' me clean. I'm not familiar with specifics, I can't remember my dreams -- I run a tube from a water fountain to a vending machine. Now I heard if you eat money you get hooked mighty quick cuz they print it with sugar cuz your throat's kinda slick -- first I smoked me some grass then a needle I'd stick, now I'm gulpin' down fifties like a yuppie-ass prick. Insurance, Insurance I don't know what you are. I got ya for all my kids, I got ya for my new car -- got ya for fifty dollars every 12, 14 days and off this cliff I'll be-a-jumpin' so the both of us pays.

Not in My League
That's right fellas it's your Uncle Jim speakin'. You know it's a most difficult task to drink from my flask. I'll plant you like a seed. You're not in my league. Alright, I'll explain this, y'see? I slaughtered souls back in China. Y'know, while the widows sang "My Clementina"? I hacked away at limbs with a machete down those crowded streets of J. Paul Getty, guys. I bottled brain in Rhodesia cuz those goddamn British awoke with amnesia. I could spit blood on your family and still win an Oscar or a Grammy, GUYS. Yeah, I led a team of twelve oxen movin' poisonous toxins down the rivers of chromium, runnin' live plutonium. Yeah, I played drums with Napoleon. And I was a librarian at Alexandria, GUYS. I sold some stolen marsupials with a three-headed possum to a gardener from Zurich. One of those guys known for cultivating illegal blossoms. Yeah, I rolled dice on the vests of dead presidents' chests. With the money I won I purchased six Gatlin guns, GUYS. I flew in the force with Pazuzu and ceremonies of voodoo. Pistol-whipped a federale and dumped him in the trunk of a Masarati, you know. I tip-toed through the tulips, knee-high in Kentucky horse corpses, sippin' mint juleps. That's right, there's me, and you're not. But you know, a badly perfumed woman has no future. I bet you didn't know that. Just be careful -- you wouldn't wanna get your dick cut off in public, now would ya? I know you wouldn't choose to get beheaded in front of the three million dollars sittin' there at the altar. Gettin' the shit kicked out of ya by your girlfiend around all your cronies. You better go into training, since you're not respected at all by the ones who really matter. You can't even hum along with any of the tunes, you know, so how can you play 'em? That's right. That's right, you're not in my league, guys! Just accept it.

WFMU Station ID "Palmer"
This is Palmer from Asia and Emerson, Lake and Myself, and when I'm in the New York area watching Israelis celebrate on rooftops as the remote-controlled aircraft fly into two towers, and the American public are duped, as they usually are, I always listen to WFMU Radio.

Batman Theme
Batman!
Batman!
Batman!
Batman!
Batman!
Batman!
Batman!

WFMU Station ID "Bison"
Yo bitch, tell the captain I wanna go home! Yo, this is Bison Dele. And when I'm off here on my yacht, thinkin' about how stupid all you people are, I got my radio transmitter tuned to WFMU, New Jersey or somethin'. Yeah, the hell with Jason Kidd. I been watchin' you on my satellite TV, you're nothin'! Yeah, WFMU. 'Bout all I do out here on the high seas. Come and get me, suckah!

Where Is What It Was?
Hey, you still think Bin Laden did it? Like, I thought Ben Affleck was gay? If you don't like it, well, you can just get a life. Because you have no brain, and get new eyes too. When I die, I'm comin' back! When I die, I'm comin' back! When I die, I'm comin' back! When I die, I'm comin' back! And, uh, does anybody think J. Lo's ass is too big? Can you believe she has insurance for it? Like, DUH, she's -- her ass is not that great. And what's up with this Avril Lavigne chick? "Oh my god, I'm like so punk rock because I shop at Hot Topic!" Oh wow, she sucks. You don't like it, well, you can just . . . be boring! With no life. I know who killed Kennedy. It was Lady Bird Johnson, fellas. She's the only one who had the guts to do it. Hey, you still think Bin Laden did it? What's General about Electric? What is electricity? Where is what it was? Carnival Folklore Resurrection Radio is an Abduction Records production. All titles by Sun City Girls except "Genosha" by Specs One and "Straight Out The Mental Ward" by Laird Henn. Assembled and edited by Sun City Girls with Scott Colburn at Gravelvoice in Seattle. (Where my dogs, where my dogs at, yo? Where my dogs, where my dogs at, yo?)

Chameleon Street Hit Parade
"Best band on the planet . . . Sun City Girls"
I think therefore I scam
I think the air is sweet
I know not what I am
I am Chameleon Street
(RADIO COLLAGE) "and lock the door you'll be all mine"
"for those about to rock we salute you"
"your attention being taken by television"
"Savings and Loan companies"
"the way you say hello"
"emprende"
"drives me crazy"
"you should understand me like I understand you"
If you don't know this by now park it!
"one-hundred-and-twelve"
"well it seems that everyone we've known the love's grown cold"
These depictions of satanic activity result in media hype and hysteria. But just two weeks ago three Wisconsin women allegedly attempted to massacre a 26 year old man with an ax. Authorites say the women wanted to perform a human sacrifice for their devilish deity. Are you a victim of ritualistic abuse? Maybe you were tortured, forced into child pornography, or witnessed ceremonies to Satan?
"1-800"

Original of the Aboriginal
But I'm closer to the sun than you are, Napoleon Complex. The world you live in was swallowed by yours truly in a capsule when I was two years old, washed down with a bucket of quicksand. You wanna see if you got dandruff? Then shake your head over Johnny Cash. Now that's the way it is -- case closed! Sentenced to death! It's not elitist, it's the original. How could it be elitist if it's the original of the aboriginal?

Dead Sea Catholics
"Yeaaah, um, I wanted to comment on the fact that I don't really think that the, um, Catholic Church is really gonna, uh, give anything that's really true to the Dead Sea Scrolls. Someone had snuck into the Vatican, and he was really fluent in like twelve to twenty languages, and he transcribed the Dead Sea Scrolls."

Wheelchair Massacre, 1906
I'm just sittin' in front of my TV set, I'm waitin' for the first wheelchair massacre. Yeah. [fade up a song on the TV sung in Spanish . . . "Los Hermanos Ortiz . . . . . . . . . . back in 1906, there was a . . . . . . well anyway I'd like to comment on the uh, crash that happened today . . ."

What Brought it Down?
"And they're going to found out what brought this plane down" "The Taliban is gone!!"

Kill them all . . . . Gently
Joy and discovery, despair and torture. All can be found in the complexities of colliding entities of what can only be explained as madness. It is this frustration of attempted analysis of this phenomenon which directs those in search of truth and enlightenment towards simplistic conclusions and explanations. "The answer is love!" "Meditation and focus leads to eternal truth!" "Enlightenment is easy once one unlocks its secrets!" Yes, but the swami is also a con. Have you ever met a swami, a guru, a priest, a holy man, who was not well-entrenched in the complexities of colliding possibilities of interpretation? If the meek inherit the earth, I shall return as a cancer to kill them all . . . . gently. From the coyotes, desert fox, jackrabbits, and quail . . . from ghosts walking the empty streets at night in hard sole shoes, weirder and more dangerous than ever. Are you worried about your reputation? I'll take it. I collect reputations.


98.6 IS DEATH
To take it! To bookbind the opposition! To erase all that was, which was not, and to capitalize the period which comes after it. To erase the future before it bleeds to ink. To pound the eyeball. 98.6 is death! You are not alive! To pound the eyeball! To keep wounds open! He was in the zone. Fear was fading. It was in the [strange] that his cousin went down to the sea to do business in the deep. In these great waters, such desires set a man off floating a boat loaded with hacked hands, feet, and heads of Indian fishermen into the harbor. What was apparently unknown to the biographers of great explorers was the huge boredom which occurred day and night almost uninterrupted. To pound the eyeball! 98.6 is
death! You are not alive!

Anvils Keep Fallin'
Anvils keep fallin' on my head
And I never think that you will ever see me dead
Dyin' ain't for me, no
Anvils keep fallin' on my head
They keep fallin'
Because I'm me
Nothin's gonna kill me

No I never think you'll fuckin' see me dead
Dyin' ain't for me, no
Anvils keep fallin' on my head
With grand pianos
Because I'm free
Nothin's gonna kill me
Because I'm me
Nothin's gonna kill me
Nothin's gonna kill me

(Continue to suck on this....)

Matamoros Hit Parade
"y yo . . . casi giorno casi giorno" "my head's sticking out of the sand, and they would stand there all night, tellin' me they were gonna let the tide come in, and they were gonna let the ocean come in, and the little sand crabs crawlin' around in the sand were gonna eat me alive...."

Radio ID #1
That's right, fellas. Let's go tiptoe through the mint juleps, high on some of that Kentucky windage. You're listening to 91.9 'FPK, guys.

Sour Smells in Nevada
You know, human flesh is addictive. Especially the meat from the head and the insides of the thighs. You can tell a cannibal by them giving off sour smells, with eyes slickly greasy as though swimming in pools of fat. Just look in their eyes. That's how you spot a cannibal. And then he basically says, "Well, you know, I was down there in Nevada, and I saw this thing, and I'm not sayin' that it means anything, but...." It just kinda -- you know what I mean? It's classic CIA intelligence agency disinformation, and it's the hoax that will not die!" That sounds like a load of flockynockyhillapillafication. Don't it?

Matamoros Hit Parade #2
"The careless whisper of a good friend" "Todas tu compania" "Ha, I'll be there" "someplace else in Europe" "it seems like uh" "and you're not a part of it -- uh, it's a strange thing to be in my position" "happy to invite everybody except you and your husband" "they're consumers" "you gotta turn on heaven's power / turn on that guiding light / turn on heaven's power" "it's 91 degrees" "from the hill" "por mi . . . enque no . . . si no puedes . . . yo no te . . . tienes corazon" "the city of New Orleans" . . . 23 minutes before 3 o'clock.

Black Genie
Peace be with you, O black genie, with the black liver, black heart, and black lungs, black spleen and tusk-like teeth. Scarlet breast and body hairs inverted and with only a single bone. Cruel things that man may not name. Naked here without fear or shame. Laugh in the carven stone. And that mysterious disease cost those hotels some summer business. Oh yip yip, right on, old wiper blade, a-scrapin' a tractor windshield....

Limerick #241
There once was a world full of writers
Who, like me, were prepared to be fighters.
Then along came the test of their bravery
And without even knowing it
they found freedom in slavery.

I just heard four gunshots, excuse me while I go check and make sure my door's unlocked!

Radio ID #2
You're not listening to Rush-Hour Limbaugh here, are ya now. That's right, you're listening to 91.9, 'FPK. You got me? (I been thinkin' 'bout the lovin' I been missin'....)

Messages from Terminal One
"How are ya?" "Well, I've been better." You know, I've got enough pajamas for six people. They oughta divide the country into two sections, you know, smoking and non-smoking? I'd like to buy a castle, but I couldn't afford the heater. Have you seen The Candyman? How about Sub-Species? The new Dracula's two hours and ten minutes and Nosferatu with Klaus Kinski is one hour and forty seven minutes, guys. I can get a carton of name-brand cigarettes at PriceCo for fifteen dollars and some change. And those Chinese? [. . .] I got chopsticks in one hand and a full bowl of rice in the other. "Sea levels have risen between 12 and 20 inches along Maine's coast and as much as two feet in Nova Scotia during the past 250 years" "witnesses who said they saw missiles going up against that plane" "an elementary school crossing guard in Pensacola has found a way to slow down speeders -- he's got a [?] he wraps it up in electrical tape and he aims at a driver who's speeding, and they think he's got a radar gun so they slow down." "knocked down from that plane" "you're absolutely right"

The Closer
I'll crack your skull
With a greasy spitter
Walk the pitcher
Strike out the leadoff hitter


Matamoros Hit Parade #3
"No way the day before" "If you can just mention again, Sally, what you did yesterday. It was quite a shock to me and I'm sure a lot of other people. I asked what happened to the bodies -- you said there are morticians involved." "Yes, there are, um . . . a couple of the human sacrifices I remember took place IN a mortuary . . ."

Without Supervision/Radio ID #3
It was all over before the phony millennium bell rang, much the same as a child being one year old after 21 months of breathing. I smoked one long cigarette for 21 years, meditating in the lush night fog. A sun-scorched bone caress, crisp bird chorus sunrise. I watched you, goldfish, flop around on a tight snare drum head with a microphone hooked up to my skull. I've heard all your desperate pleas, your contorted prayers, your suggestive meanderings. Before the act of birth, the battles lined up to greet you. Israel, angel of death, paid his way to the front of the queue to clutch your hand as his bride of the world. I witnessed your fits of sneezing, your writhing from joint pains and super-migraines, your weird fatigued catalogings. Freshly unwrapped from this gift-box of life, you participated almost immediately in the mock burning of the library of Alexandria, under one bright blue star. I've seen your increased presence in jungles alongside bioweaponeers assisting in the manufacturing of mycoplasma. I know you insist in mapping the world's extensive cave networks and highways, when you should've been home breast-feeding. An infant down there in it, wheeling and dealing in your own big-style witchcraft. I photographed three of your more creative assassinations and left the negatives in a phone booth on the outskirts of Pittsburgh. Don't worry, it's impossible to blow your cover. You don't show up on film and your tiny crispy corpse blew away within those huge windstorms that occur now almost without interruption. The sun is now the lazy star, it sleeps on its side. I am here to eliminate the limits of your consciousness. I shall obliterate your beliefs. I will turn you loose without supervision. Find your own supervision. Find it. (It's your Uncle Jim speakin', fellas. That's right, you got me? I've got my global positioning satellite black box that I purchased for about forty thousand dollars with phony Chinese yuan, and when I use it, sometimes I'll tune my transmitter to what you're listening to right now, when there's the finest programming like right now, at 91.9 'FPK, fellas.) "I fall apart but that's okay . . . trouble man, don't get in my way...."

Questions and Answers/Only in America Inc.
Hello and, uh, welcome to questions and answers. I have the questions, and you answer them incorrectly because you don't know the answers. If you get one right I'll send you some wicker furniture for your birthday. Number one, who is the General behind Electric? Number two, how many microphones are in an average-sized cockroach? Number three, why does wearing seatbelts cause cancer? Number four, why are your intuitive abilities extremely damaged? Thank you, and good luck. (Number five, why does electric prostate stimulation in sheep cause them to ejaculate? Yes, indeed....)

Yeah, this is Bobby -- Mr. Rockefeller, this is Bobby from Only in America Incorporated. Just wondering if you wanted to check us out, put a little venture capital into our company. Basically, what we do is we send corporations and businesses bills in the mail, and put those who pay us on our preferred list and continue to send them bills. With the logic that, you know, many companies will just pay us without researching the fact that we don't even do business with them. We're not even doing business with anyone, we're just sending bills. It's kinda like asking for a donation in a different language. So if you're interested in this idea, I think we can make a lot of money. There's really no overhead other than printing and getting lists and sending our mailing, mailing our bills -- which we'll have, you know, several different styles of bills, different amounts -- to different companies all day long. We'll just hire a room and have a mailroom and probably get started with, uh, well, maybe half a million. We should do pretty well with that, I know you've got it, so gimme a call, it's Bobby . . . give me a ring here, I've got my own personal 800 number, it's 800-842-2312. So, give me a call if you're game for this! Thanks a lot, Mr. Rockefeller. Bye-bye.

I hope some of you teenagers are listening. Some of you who think you get a few bad grades, or get dumped by a girlfriend, and you want to go out and sit in a car in the garage . . . Yeah, and then there's those who just meet SATAN face to face, yeah . . . But people have been through much worse than you and they've made it. And you can too. God does care about you.


Evil Next To Blue

A huge unlocking came from deep in the love field
Malevolent alterations from a top-door blast
With Hi-Fi balls an unusual financier
Got a queer hunter goin all around and around
This boy had effortless deceptive qualities
Looked so sad when the little fuck went way down on his knees
Our funny little fella laced-up shiny leather boots
Looked like some classy corporate bitch in a 3-piece sharkskin suit
With mucus-layered focus and a specter he once knew
Came from corners of indifference crowning evil next to blue
Delilah licked the mirror every time she heard him say:
“I got the goods 24 hours a fuckin’ day”
He had a pickpocket palette for an after-shave lickety-split
And a pumpkin seed habit that he just couldn’t quit
Theres a beasts life in you for every half-dead dog twitchin’
And a horse-bleedin’ greenback or a surgeon-a-stitchin’
Black and white pajama cough drop scarlet from dispensers
For every cruel-quackin chauffeur there’s a scientist’s misadventure
Our funny little fella faced up saffron dusted yellow
A newborn baby somethin’….a stinkin’ movin’ pumpkin
In a blonde buxom belly he laid down to rest
Found him dead in the morning head-ketchup-skillet-dried stuck on her chest
This boy had an innocent perceptive fantasy
Looked so bad when they finally cut him down from up the tree


Mister 786

I’m doin business with a black and tan cuz he takes my shit
He’s service with a yellow smile over the cliff a thousand miles
Under a thick soupy rain we hammered out the deal
He’s got that sandnigger no-sweat cool steady feel
He showed me a photo of his wife and kids and then he played
me a song from his favorite film, soft-core sexy hymn
ya know where the 38 year old succubus drops in
I’m doin some business with a black and tan
between a foggy mirror and a swollen gland
He’d love to move some ivory or tiger whiskers
Cuz that dope’s been rottin’ in the sun
He’d like to move some guns
But I needed a half-ton of Persian pistachios
and some imitation shark fins cuz I gotta score to
settle with a Chinese Dick who specializes in bird drool
and he killed a queer buddy of mine in Yunnan
last year over two-dozen Toyotas meant for Lashio
found his carcass in a freight container bound for Medan
carved jack-o-lantern-style wrapped-up in some Teak
furniture I order once-in-a-while
I’m doin some business with a 786
Spittin’ up stains on mink and sable
Steeped in low-budget-meth-high Lipton yellow-label
I just wanna bust some Shanghai pricks
over this deal with Mr. 786
Motherfuckin’ Chinese set loud and pushy
gonna saw his legs like sticks with Mr. 786
But it’s a grain hustle…corn and millet
Short and clever, shufflin’ molecules with a black and tan
Towel-head-pocket-pistol in the back of a buckin’ Toyota
Spinnin’ sunny through the Rhodadendrons
He got me inside…now I got somethin’ to fix
Sawin-off somethin’ that kicks
I’m doin business with a black and tan
In an overlooked warehouse flatbed Indochin
‘bout ready to pound an Arabian spike into a Chinese coffin
and drink sweet white tea at the poly-funerals of pricks
with Mr. 786……not everyone’s a Dick.


Slim 293
My, how that one’s spiffy
Scannin’ other back-catalogue quickies
With mouth-slaughterin’ yummy fables
Splatterin’ all over floaty tables
Tar-pool bed to lay in
Watchin’ for the cue to fall the weigh-ins
Bring your docu-mama, hand her over
You’ll be spiked and pummeled sober
There wasn’t a dead dew-hickey
Former southern head state slickey
Fuckin’ sister headstone tricky:
“sit right down see me carve impressions-
chisel shit-off-wet with my expressions”
Here I am in the Athenian market place
Black hood, long stick, nine-sided face
Cardinal upside-down hung on stilt ladder legs
In a stain-glass windshield blast
Eagle right-side up in a blood-soaked tux
On the sole of an old man’s shoe
I’m way too busy fuckin’ with you
I’d chosen outside the lines made a sharp cut
Sleek then fine on the roll of the dice we’ll freeze
I’m hot for a thousand degrees
And my chances are better in a crosswind sweater
And the clouds ran off with the rest of the weather
Boy it sure feels good to sign my name to this letter
If it only just could of been me….number Slim 293.


The Demon 360
Shut the fuck I’m dancin’ and I come to make room
Make you feel the lancin’ I’m the top-star fortune June
I’m the rattle in the sun, keep my shovel low, always good to go
I’m the one over there, lookin mighty thrifty, two shades in the way
I’m the Demon 360
I won’t answer to a lay down shake/ In smoke and breeze I’m sleeves
And there ain’t no freedom when its always free
Here’s to lookin at me ya fuck
Just remember when the clouds roll in and its damp and misty
I’m the one over there….I’m the Demon 360


Dracula Frizzi (Music-Fabio Frizzi/Words-Alvarius B)
(Music by Fabio Frizzi from the film “Andy Warhol’s Dracula”)
(Words written/song arranged by Alvarius B.)
From the blood I drink from you
I get the life, I get the dream, I get you too
From the blood I drink from you
You are my love, you are my dream, it’s all come true
It’s from the blood I drink
From the blood I take from you
I take your life, I take your dream, I take you too
From the blood I take from you
You are my love, you are my dream, it’s all come true
It’s from the blood I drink….from the blood I drink
From the blood I suck from you
I drain the life, I drain your dreams, I drain you too
From the blood I suck from you
You are my love you are my dream we’ll both come through
It’s from the blood I drink….from the blood I drink.


Dirty Angels
(Ennio Morricone/Arranged-Alvarius B)
(From the film “Vergogna Schifosi” AKA “Dirty Angels”)
“Matto, Caldo, Soldi, Morto….Girotondo”


Ballad of Colonel Fawcett

Older women know when the Devil’s in town
Cuz their daughter’s crotchy scent seeps from under the ground
Dark pubic hairs wash up in the sink
And an old man knows when to follow the stink
A rainbow’s entrance has always been closed
And a canopy creature’s a followin’ his nose
In a Colonel’s jacket, he tripped and flipped
In a Colonel’s jacket………………………
In a puppet show in the middle of a mirage
After the red clouds covered the dusky garage
In a wet, ruthless silence….a sudden breath
Vanished underneath that cloak of death
He’s between the big secret all buried in myth
But how can you measure legend this narrow in width
In a Colonel’s jacket, he tripped and flipped
In a Colonel’s jacket……………………….


Sometimes I'm Like A Man

Sometimes I crawl the floor
Sometimes I lock the door
I cut my hair with a ceiling fan
Sometimes I’m like a man
I use a razor between my teeth
I use a mirror to wash the sky
I say hello with the back of my hand
Sometimes I’m like a man
Sometimes I don’t like to say
But I say it anyway
And the fires I put out
Are the same ones that I start
I’ve got a high thresh-hold of pain
I suck the earth like the salt from grain
And I can win without a plan
Sometimes I’m like a man

Missy Undertaker

There’s two coffins, one for me, one for you
And they’ll stay empty ‘til our business is through
Deluxe appendages drape down for the ride
And the old ditch’ll be my bride
And I can’t wait to be by your side in the ground
Well this world’s one big canvass of blood to splatter
I love it when you say you don’t care who cuz it doesn’t matter
And if I killed em all for you then you’d know my love was true
Miss Undertaker, take me down
Missy undertook me beneath the ground
She’s got a lotta miles on her one-night-standish
And she spiked an old man to a flagpole with a rusty tent peg the other day
She’s got a flavor all her own
She’s pissed on 14 telephones
She’s always out takin’ care of fuckin’ business, she ain’t never home
I know that chimneys smoke and dead bodies float
And I might as well start slashin’ throats
But if I kissed the rest for you
Then you’d have nothin’ left to do
Miss Undertaker, take me down
Missy undertook me beneath the ground

The Feel

My next door neighbor dusted-off the chemical weapons in his garage
Then he went walkin’ down the street
He realized he was no expert on liquidation
But you know he feels it/he asked me for one more day
Just to go out and play/he told me he’d get the job done
He knows the difference between right and wrong
But he ain’t got time to wait around that long
He ain’t got time to wait around for someone else to cover
He used to say it don’t matter how much plutonium you had
Cuz in one little plastic ball he could take out everybody in PA
Cuz ya know he feels it/can’t do nothin’ about it if he feels it
He’ll take you all down/you’re goin down because he feels it.


Shenandoah (Traditional)
Shenandoah, I long to see you
Way away, you rollin’ river
Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you
Away, I’m bound away
‘cross the wide Missouri
Shenandoah, I won’t deceive you
Way away, you rollin’ river
Oh Shenandoah, I’ll not deceive you
Away, I’m bound away
‘cross the wide Missouri


Introduction (by Cantinflas)
From the mobile unit mothership of Abduction Studios, hovering somewhere off the map of consensus reality, good evening, and welcome to the Sun City Girls Radio Network. I am your host, Mexican film legend Cantinflas. On tonight's show, we'll be featuring a variety of high quality entertainment, processed through our unique transmitters, and specially prepared for the On The Wire BBC program. And so, without further comment, sit back, relax, and allow yourself to experience this next hour of excellent programming. Enjoy.

Anthrax Dandruff
"ABC News has learned that in the last 48 hours, intelligence sources have detected an increase in the number of threats against major U.S. cities, including New York, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C. Nothing is specific with regard to either targets or time, but senior law enforcement officials are conferring to determine the seriousness of the threats, to determine a response, and whether to raise the color-coded terrorist threat level. For now, that seems unlikely. Jim Hickey, ABC News."

Mysteries Behind the Curtain
Aaahhh, NagaSake. The sake that destroyed the Japanese, now let it destroy you. On sale at five liquor stores.

Radio Neocon #1
"And that's Tarzan."
"Mm-hm. I am trying like hell...."
"He's in the drink"
"Good"
"You can tell her you love her with words"
"If he'll stay away for good"
Oh, I'm just sittin' here writin'. You wanna commit suicide or somethin', so I can be the first to tell the world?
"to burn my life"
"we may lose and we may win"
"Brown's Coffee, AM, PM"


Limerick Anthropology
There once was a dogon from Mali
Who cast a spell on a sleepy anthropologist named Wally
He chanted "Science is tragic,
And this is black magic."
So he awoke as a dog on the island of Bali, rarr, ruff, ruff.....

Sacrifice in the USA
Sacrifice in the USA . . . Sacrifice . . . Sacrifice . . . Sacrifice in the USA!!! Welcome to another edition of Sacrifice in the USA. Tonight we're gonna talk about human sacrifice. Oh yes, you know that phenomenon of the missing child in America. The horror of every parent. Just the thought of little Billy or Susie running to the store for a half gallon of milk, and not coming home forever. "Never talk to strangers or get into a stranger's car," Ma and Pa'll say to their offspring, and I'm sure that's true. Some are kidnapped and escape, some are kidnapped and raped and even killed, their bodies left to rot in the forest or desert, yet many are just never found. Never heard from again. It's so easy to blame a satanic cult, or a Mansonist freak group, or a crazed pervert. Of course, these are the ones that are stereotyped villians, you know, who do such godawful things to young children, but what of other members of Western society, you know, whether individuals or groups? What about corporate executives or military officers? Doctors, lawyers, politicans, small business owners? Are they immune from such acts of kidnapping, and all the possibilities that surround the fate of a stolen child?
        No, they're not. And if you don't believe me, just listen and I'll welcome you to the 20th Century, a century in which human nature has not really changed all that much. Or even really paid that much attention at all, in terms of not necessarily the betterment of mankind, but just any real change in mankind. The characteristics are the same. The situations of things are very similar to the way they always have been on the face of Planet Earth. In the New Age, things are not so new, are they? Well, how old are you? I don't know and I don't care. Now, this is a century that is fundamentally the same as all previous to it in terms of emotion, custom, tradition, and beliefs. If you can't agree with this, then don't listen to me any further, because I'll only murder your tender little ignorant heart with a stab of my breath. Human sacrifice, to many human beings living right now is an acceptable practice to appease a god or goddess, probably the most potent appeasement available. You know, a sacrifice historically is performed for many reasons, to continue with a good crop in the coming years, to obtain wealth or power, to offer thanks to the gods, to appease demons who are feared, among other common and more esoteric motives. Sure, offerings of food, incense, or even the killing of small lesser animals are quite common, accepted even by Western society, but the idea of killing a human being to satisfy a deity or a host of deities, is but a barbaric act of the past or a current atrocity committed by weirdo fringe cults or groups who pop up now and again in sensationalized news headlines.
         What I'm saying is that I don't consider it ridiculous to assume that prominent members of American society, even household names, are presently and have been involved in sacrificing human beings. I'm quite convinced that it goes on regularly, and has been since the founding of this great nation. I can't point fingers, and I'm not going to. I'm not going to point fingers at anyone, because I'm not on the trail of such occurrences. That's not my business. However, secret societies have existed in high-power positions since the beginning of time, and perhaps some of the most successful black magicians, in terms of achieving wealth, power, and fame, not to mention what they're in for karma-wise in the future, are residing as I speak, living right now in the good old U.S. of A. Why not? Can't happen? We're in a civilized nation? That's right, baby, human sacrifice and black magic are one big giant fact of civilized nations. Or have you been spending all your time drinking out of the tap instead of tapping into the well? Or at least tap-dancing your way across the graves of those who have spent their lives trying to keep you ignorant? What is war, anyway, but human sacrifice? For a greater cause. Nobody understands it, so they condone it, in the name of Freedom, the great god Freedom. That's a deity to be appeased, is it not?
        Now, I wouldn't be surprised if insurance salesmen got together with their lobbyist pals and a few senators in some secret organization called Get Rich Quick and burned some kid alive, you know, some male child, in a pseudo-Masonic or extro-paganistic ritualistic manner, all in the name of high profits for the next fiscal year. Filmmakers, entertainers, artists, who knows? Just keep sayin' no to any idea you never heard before, and let little Billy walk the street at night, up to the corner market for a loaf of bread. You know, it's all big business anyway. Supply and demand, buy and sell, you gotta take chances to get to the top, but once you get up there it's time to fend off the upstarts. Maybe all this is just my own exercise of the imagination, but maybe little Billy'll be eaten by the next man you vote for at the polls. He might even use chopsticks!


Radio Neocon #2
"I can't look in your eyes"
"Not nearly the price"
"No I don't need a chimney to get in"
"Baked gingerbread cookies"


Radio Neocon #3
"This infrared energy, before it can reach the surface"
"Anywhere, all on sale"
".....Yes we're going to a birthday party......"
"Narcoleptic?" "Necro, necrophiliac..." "He's not narcoleptic."
"Orbiting other stars"
"Soldiers were wounded in Iraq and Afghan--"
"Are you worried, John?"
"No"
"McDonald Observatory"
"At Walter Reade Medical Center"
"The families are speaking to somebody that doesn't care"
"Military says guerillas ambushed the military patrol"

"....And pretend that he's the circus clown...."
"If you could get some remorse that might help a little bit, but there won't be any."


ANWYA
A natural wonder you are dashing thru fields with yellow, black scars. Tiny rivers of sweetness confluent you speak with a tongue-hurried spit and a smile for a beak -- And breath you can hold in your mouth -- gemstone gums where your teeth are the jewelry for little girls' fingers, your lips are the bracelets for old womens wrists who cannot tell the time and forgot how to climb. ANWYA -- washing in streams near the deserts on Mars -- humongous in presence but light as a feather, scaling the ladders in dangerous weather. And in death you can scold from your heart that which remains around little girl's fingers and old women's wrists who cannot tell the time and forgot how to climb.

Encyclopedia Vomitanica
I’m nauseous. I don’t want the world to see what I had for breakfast. No one wants to see human flesh floating in stomach fluids on the sidewalk. I was possessed by St. Bernard, the dog spirit. I acted out the fantasies of a rabid animal. A door to door salesman dropped by selling Encyclopedia Brittanicas. In my disturbed condition I overtook him and I ate him. Now I bring myself orgasm every time I just think about it!

Insignificanto
This is your Uncle Jim speakin' fellas. You know, the devil pays top dollar to be the ring around your collar. You know, Satan's game is in the sand. This is hell. Stick around and catch me if you can, there big boy. We got your corpses cookin' on a Death Valley floor, and they ain't fuckin' with me no more guys. Cuz I was smashin' skull red rover red rover, and drippin' blood all over my four-leaf clover. You see, that big black sky got all of me. Swallowed me up, set me free. And the devil pays the most to hoist those seedy banquets up the river. And the devil smells across the border. And the devil always fills his orders. The devil pays top dollar to string that goddamn noose around your collar, insignificanto.

Mark Twain August
I THINK I'M GOING to have a Mark Twain August and I'm gonna wear a straw hat on my head cuz I left my fishin' pole on the Mississippi and yesterday I read that Mark Twain was dead. I think I'm going to have a Mark Twain August and the wind will blow.....

Napoleon and Josephine
"Scuse me . . . . Scuse me . . . ."
      "Yeah?"
      "Cigarette, man?"
      "Yeah."
      "Y'got a cigarette?"
      "Yeah, here, have one of these."
      "Alright."
      "Here, why don't you smoke the rest of this? I just burned a cockroach's wings off with it."
      "O.K., man. It's -- it's no problem because I'm used to the fuckin' handouts, man, that people like you give me."
      "Yeah."
      "But what more should I expect from my fellow human? I'm transcending humanity -- I've been to the city of Napoleon!"
      "People like you don't bother me. It's alright. Just have it."
      "Hey man, you know that, uh, you have cockroaches, you know, the insects are microphones and miniature computer, uh, moving cameras, y'know . . . they are used for surveillance. They tell you they're part of the animal kingdom because they're not insects -- because the cockroach is a microphone and the flies are the moving cameras."
      "I've never heard it put like that before."
      "Well you've never heard it put because they don't tell you that. You think that they're a chirping little innocent part of the animal kingdom, but we know better. We know better because I've been in a visit to the city of Napoleon and even the one, uh, Josephine in the South Pole. Napoleon, uh, the secret city of the North Pole. There's a elevator shaft that connects all together with -- it goes at the speed of light -- you get to it just like that, man! There's a educational system inside this -- this community -- it's very warm underneath the polar ice caps. You don't know 'bout these things because you're, uh, they don't tell you about it. You take for granted the sun sets in the west, y'know, th-these places they don't exist -- they say it's far-fetched, uh, conspiracy theories and, uh, all kind of shit like that. But you got to realize there's lots of things going on y'know, the Soviet Union, y'know, United States, they all the same thing, man, they -- they push it down your throat. Divide -- they divide the people, they make one scared of the other and then they tell you they got big bombs to blow your ass out of the water, air or land in the dirt, man! Because they're the same thing. It's the old rule, like in Africa . . . in the third world, uh, they divide and conquer. They get the people against one another and scared of each other and divide them down the middle and then they help themselves to the big pie, y'know? You don't hear these things?"
      "I studied history, but I'm afraid I never heard that."
      "History . . . . history . . . . that's his story, no? History. They told me once -- it's his story. History is his story. Y'know . . . that's not the way it goes! But, uh, but that's like lightning, man. You know, lightning is . . . they tell you it's weather, it's real -- it's like, eh -- eh -- experimental, uh -- some sort of energy transaction that is conveyed by the people from the Pleiades! You know, that's -- that's right up here -- the sky -- there's one star you cannot see because of the fog and the greenhouse, uh, thing happening in the city, man, but you get into the country, you can see the Pleiades and that is, that is the people who are run, uh, the show. They're really not people, but in Napoleon they tell you these things. Hmmm. But what you say 'bout it? I mean you think I . . . you think I'm crazy because everyone always -- they kick me away and -- and think I'm crazy for thinking these thoughts."
      "Well, I've heard of the Pleiades, but as far as I'm concerned, they're just stars. They reflect light!"
      "Hey, if Europe is a continent then so am I, man! It's connected to Asia! They try the fuckin' egotistical -- Europe is no continent -- but it's a fact, man, the history books now you read them and dig and you -- you dig through the history books and you see Europe is a continent. They want to separate themselves from people they think are inferior to them when really the people in Europe are the most inferior people on the planet, along with the Americans. They're completely inferior."
      "Well they -- they've got boundaries! I mean, they . . ."
      "There are no boundaries."
      "You see this store back here? This store is my store. I own this -- this place and it's got boundaries. Like you walk through the door, you're on the inside of the store -- you don't walk into the door and out into eternity."
      "I don't recognize boundaries, man. I don't recognize boundaries."
      "You know my business is bad enough as it is! You hang out here all the time. Wh-why do you hang out in front of this place all the time?"
       "Well when you -- I don't recognize no boundaries. Try drinking a beer. You know they say when you're Roman do -- in Rome, do as the Romans do -- or when in Israel you do as the Palestinians do, well when on the planet of Earth, you do as you wish."
       "So -- so when you walk into my store, you're walking past the boundary. What are you doing to the boundary? I mean . . ."
      "I don't do nothin' to the boundary!"
      "Here's my boundaries, I gotta make a -- a living in this place and nobody's coming in here with you out here . . ."
      "We all make a living, man!"
      ". . . raving day in, day out! Why did you pick my store? You got something against me?"
      "I'm doin' nothin' but -- I could not be current, man! The current that they -- they teach you about in Napoleon. But you think Napoleon is this French man that came and marched across and met his end in Waterloo and then went to Ireland, y'know, and -- and died of the opium overdose or whatever they want to give you as information. But no -- Napoleon is a place, it's a city in the North Pole that nobody knows about. You can't even see it from the top, man -- you -- you have to know how to get in. It's gotta be the right timing and you must study the right -- form, the right content to get into it. You know, I's -- I got this -- the limericks, man -- I been writing poetry. I got a limerick for you. It's -- you can relate to it, I know . . ."
      "Don't do me any favors, pal."
      "It's no -- fuck you, man! Y-y-you listen to my shit . . ."
      "Hey, hey wait . . . wait a minute . . ."
      "You listen to my shit, man."
      "You know, I didn't come here to be insulted by you! My business is failing . . ."
      "I'm not . . ."
      "You're out here, god damn it . . ."
      "You don't need to fail, man . . ."
      "So what if you're not a white man -- I don't give a shit about that."
      "Whuh? You fuckin' racist, man! You're a fuckin' racist! That's all -- that's all! Transcend that, man, because you know -- I got a -- I got a poem that transcends everything like racism and sexism and politics! It's all just an illusion, you know -- there's a poem, man . . ."
      "I can justify this: I just don't like you."
      "Issa -- fuck you, man! You're gonna listen to this, man! There once -- there once was a TV named Sony who gave the young viewer a pony. So off the child rode in search of the mother load only to discover that the horse wasn't all it was cracked up to be when it tripped over a stack of federal reserve notes and broke its two front legs landing in the fire where men of no less than one hundred years old were lighting cigarettes rolled in hundred dollar bills, chanting: the real prize is behind door number twenty-three . . . the real prize is behind door number twenty-three . . . the real prize is behind door number twenty-three . . . the real prize is behind door number twenty-three . . . the real prize is behind -- is the door, man. You don't understand 'cause you're -- y'know, be -- to . . . 'cause you . . . to believe . . . you're a believer!! To believe is to be lead, y'know? To behave or to behead -- but to become is to begin to wash away the stain which believers call the end. And you know, they teach us mathematics in, uh, Napoleon -- y'know -- in t -- you know, one plus one equal four, you know -- this kind a thing, y'know, that's what they think -- one and one is two because all these people, these, uh, Descartes and all these people they think -- uh -- earth is round and all these things they take for granted, like the sun set in the west! Who? Where's it said, huh? Who's to say the west is not the south and north is not the east? Y'say one is one and one is one, who done . . ? The sky, when they put the stars up at night it's a big canvas, man, y'know they change it, they put up a big backdrop, you know, like in the theatre the whole thing is just a -- it's an elaborate spectacle production! In the theatre when they put the sky up at night, the throw the big canvas up, it's real subtle -- you know, and you just think it's the stars way out there when those things put you to sleep just like that, man -- just like that! They can take you life and then use your thought and your energy to fuel the computer! But man -- because the religion of division is multiplied by indecision but with the addition of clear action, I shall subtract my satisfaction . . . this is the kind of poetry they teach here, because -- they are -- they are not human and -- and therefore I am not human -- because I come in this form -- y'know, and they make movies like Brother From Another Planet to make it fun of something like it could never happen or they make it seem like it's something very ridiculous -- however, there are things going on that -- that the people do not understand -- at all -- they just go, and take it, and swallow it, man, and they burp and they shit and it comes out and they -- they get nowhere! So, you know -- this your fuckin' shop, man -- you make money, y-you go ahead with your life, you know, you think you got big plans, you get the cars -- and you get every thing!"
      "I've just about had it with you."
      "And so far, y'know, so far y-y-you -- y-you just sit here, you know, and you listen to me and you think things like: oh, well, I'm -- crazy -- I have no -- I make no sense whatsoever! But I do, man! You've got to -- you've got to find it -- you got to work for the information for the -- to -- to go through what it takes -- the time and put in the commitment to come to the conclusion and to take it and transcend, you know, like the quantum physic leap, you know -- it go way, way beyond what is the scope of your tunnel vision -- is, is, is -- is -- ih -- ih -- you can go way, way beyond it. So what y--"
      "Fuck you! I don't have tunnel vision! I'm gonna call the police!"
      "Well, you call the police, man!"
      "O.K.!"
      "I will j-just disappear, man! I could disappear!"
      "O.K.! You'll be outta here --"
      "I can be invisible! Fuck you, man! You know -- listen to me! I will teach you! I can teach you, motherfucker! Fuck you, man! Fuck you, man!"

Prick of the World
Does it feel good?
The Washington Monument's the prick of the world
Don't be a junkie of the USA
The Washington Monument's the prick of the world
Needle people talk poison in your direction
Stay off the needle
Grasslands turn to spikes
I've lived here, I've studied, and I have learned
The Washington Monument's the prick of the world
Uncle Sam scores again
STOP! You make it seem so orgasmic
Yeah, I'm gonna bust my Uncle Sam
You never fought but I did
Hit the source, dam the bad river
Cloudy muddy river of no return
The Washington Monument's the prick of the world
You get so high, who cares? Fuck you!
STOP! This ain't no multiple orgasm.


Suitcase Handler

Don't touch my baggage suitcase handler ya don't know what's inside. It could be a locket could be a docket -- better not touch my briefcase, suitcase handler -- didn't ask for a bellman -- get back behind that desk -- you're not in my league -- I don't need no help from you and I ain't got no money too -- go grab someone else's bag -- stay away from me you might never come back from my room after I get through with you -- don't look inside my Pan Am bag don't look inside what I've got under my arm -- I think you're farmed -- suitcase handler

Suck Suntown
Who's your favorite president?
Is his name Nixon?
Who's your favorite president?
Is his name Carter?
Choose one choose one
you've got ten seconds
You've got ten seconds
to name your favorite president!
Name your favorite president!
Who's your favorite president!
Name your favorite president!
Mine is Calvin Coolidge.
Who's your favorite president?
Choose one! "Nixon."
Who's your favorite president?
Choose one! "Carter. Warren G. Harding."
Who's your favorite president?
Did he come from Dallas?
Is his name Raoul?
Not talkin' about vice presidents
I mean the real thing
Who's your favorite president, president, president?
Who's your favorite president, president, president?
Who's your favorite president, president, president, president, president, president, ahaaa
I really need to know
It's important to my psyche
to know your favorite president

Mine is a secret -- well, I guess I'll tell you it's CALVIN COOLIDGE
Who's your favorite president from this country?
I'm not talking about the president of Canada
The president who's in the White House instead of Calvin Coolidge

A Wake
On the day December 31st in the year 1999 at 11:59 PM and 59 seconds (World Standard Time) there will be a moment incomparable to any other moment ever experienced in the plankton cell of what we naively call history or reality. When the entire collective mind of Planet Earth will be focused upon one second. To continue under the assumption that as human beings we can control our thoughts and actions, the moment of collective focus on entering the year 2000 represents the possiblity of mass genocide against individualistic freedom if that moment is used as a neohypnotic gate exposing our individual crystal atoms to a neutralizing or terminal intrusion. On a parallel interpretation, under the assumption that as machines we cannot control our thoughts and actions, the moment of collective focus on entering the year 2000 represents the possiblity of a mass awakening from computerized sleep, if that moment is spent either overloading all circuits or erasing and reversing all programming. And, given the fact that all clandestine subversive revolutionary acts are no longer attainable, due to external and/or internal surveillance, all methods of drastic change will have to occur in complete openness without a single trace of fear, hesitance, doubt, indecision. 

All contents, images, and files copyright © 1979-2007 Sun City Girls/Abduction unless otherwise noted.