which has been playing out there always for me, whoever can hear enough to write it down for a day to let men fiddle in space, blow a temporary brass tuba or wave a stick at a physical orchestra
and remember the Wagner-music in his own titty-head Consciousness—ah yes that’s the message—
That’s what I came here to compose, what I knocked off my life to Inscribe on my gray metal typewriter,
borrowed from somebody’s lover’s mother got it from Welfare, all interconnected and gracious a bunch of Murderers
as possible in this Kalpa of Hungry blood-drunkard Ghosts—We all have to eat—us Beings
gnaw bones, suck marrow, drink living white milk from heavenly Breasts or from bucktoothed negress or wolf-cow.
The sperm bodies wriggle in pools of vagina, in Yin, that reality we must have spasmed our Beings upon—
The brothers and sisters die if we live, the Myriads Invisible squeak reptile complaint
on Memory’s tail which us pterodactyl-buzzard-dove-descended two foot mammal-born Geek-souls almost Forget—
Grab—a cock—any eye—bright hair—All Memory & All Eternity now, reborn as One—
no loss to those—the Peacock spreads its cosmic-eye Magnificat-feathered tail over its forgotten Ass—
The being roars its own name in the Radio, the Bomb goes off its twenty years ago,
I hear thy music O my mystery, my Father in myself, my mother in my eye, brother in my hand, sister-in-honey on my own Poetry’s Tongue, my Hallelujah Way beyond all mortal inherited Heavens, O my own blind ancient Love-in-mind!
Who? but us all, a Me, a One, a Dying Being, The presence, now, this desk, hand running over the steps of imagination
over the letter-ladders on machine, vibrating humm-herald Extend-hope own unto Thee, returning infinite-myriad at the Heart, that is only red blood,
that is where murder is still innocence, that life ate, the white plasmic monsters forage in their fleet Macrocosm—bit apple or black huge bacteria gods loomed out of nowhere, potent
maybe once victorious on Saturn in dinosaur-inspired messy old hallucinated war—
same battle raging in tsraved cats and gahgard dogs for American ghostly bone—man and man, fairy against red, black on white on white, with teeth going to the dentist to escape in gas—
The President laughs in his Chair, and swivels his head on his neck controlling fangs of Number—
bacteria come numberless, atoms count themselves greatness in their pointy Empire—
Russian Neutrons spy on all Conspiracy—& Chinese yellow energy waves have ocean and Empyrean ready against attack & future starvation—Korean principalities of Photon are doubles in all but name—differing Wizards of Art of Electron divide as many as tribes of Congo—Africa’s a vast jail of Shadows—I am not I,
my molecules are numbered, mirrored in all Me Robot Seraphy parts, cock-creator navel-marked, Eye Seer with delicate breasts, teeth & gullet to ingest the living dove-life
foreimage of the Self-Maw Death Is Now;—but there is the Saintly Meat of the Heart—feeling to thee o Peter and all my Lords—Decades American loves car-rides and vow-sworn faces lain on my breast,—my head on many more naked than my own sad hoping flesh—
our feelings! come back to the heart—to the old blind hoping Creator home in Mercy, beating everywhere behind machine hand clothes-man Senator iron powerd or fishqueen fugitive-com’d lapel—
Here I am—Old Betty Boop whoopsing behind the skull-microphone wondering what Idiot soap opera horror show we broadcast by Mistake —full of communists and frankenstein cops and
mature capitalists running the State Department and the Daily News Editorial hypnotizing millions of legional-eyed detectives to commit mass murder on the Invisible
which is only a bunch of women weeping hidden behind newspapers in the Andes, conspired against by Standard Oil,
which is a big fat fairy monopolizing all Being that has form’d it self to Oil,
and nothing gets in its way so it grabs different oils in all poor mystic aboriginal Principalities too weak to
Screech out over the radio that Standard Oil is a bunch of spying Businessmen intent on building one Standard Oil in the whole universe like an egotistical cancer
and yell on Television to England to watch out for United Fruits they got Central America by the balls
nobody but them can talk San Salvador, they run big Guatemala puppet armies, gas Dictators, they’re the Crown of Thorns
upon the Consciousness of poor Christ-indian Central America, and the Pharisees are US Congress & Publicans is the American People
who have driven righteous bearded faithful pink new Castro 1961 is he mad? who knows—Hope for him, he stay true
& his wormy 45-year dying peasants teach Death’s beauty sugar beyond politics, build iron children schools
for alphabet molecule stars, that mystic history & giggling revolution henceforth no toothless martyrs be memorized by some pubescent Juan who’ll smoke my marihuana—
Turn the Teacher on!—Yes not conspire dollars under navy-town boardwalk, not spy vast Services of gunny Secrecy under drear eyeglass Dulles to ASSASSINATE!
INVADE! STARVE OUT! SUPPLY INVISIBLE ARMS! GIVE MONEY TO ORGANIZE DEATH FOR CUBAN REVOLUTION! BLOCKADE WHAT FRAIL MACHINERY!
MAKE EVIL PROPAGANDA OVER THE WORLD! ISOLATE THE FAITHFUL’S SOUL! TAKE ALL RICHES BACK! BE WORLDLY PRINCE AND POWER OVER THE UNBELIEVABLE! MY GOD!
AMERICA WILL BE REFUSED ETERNITY BY HER OWN MAD SON THE BOMB! MEN WORKING IN ELECTRICITY BE U.S. SADISTS THEIR MAGIC PHANOPOEIAC THRU MASS MEDIA THE NASTIEST IN THIS FIRST HISTORY!
EVIL SPELLS THRU THE DAILY NEWS! HORRIBLE MASOCHISMS THUNK UP BY THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION! DEATH TO JUNKIES THRU THE TREASURY DEPARTMENT! TAXES ON YOUR HATE FOR THIS HERE WAR!
LEGIONS OF DECENCY BLACKMAIL THY CINEMAL FATE! CONSPIRACIES CONTROL ALL WHITE MAGICIANS! I CAN’T TELL YOU MY SECRET STORY ON TV!
Chambers of Commerce misquote Bob Hope who is a grim sex revolutionist talking in hysterical code flat awful jokes
Jimmy Durante’s kept from screaming to death in the movies by a huge fat Cardinal, the Spell Man, Black Magician he won’t let mad white Chaplin talk thru the State Megaphone! He takes evil pix with Swiss financial cunt!
It’s the American Medical Association poisoning the poets with their double-syndicate of heroin cut with money-dust,
Military psychiatrists make deathly uniforms it’s Tanganyikan nerve-skin in the submarinic navy they’re prepared for eternal solitude, once they go down they turn to Reptiles
Human dragons trained to fly the air with bomb-claws clutched to breast & wires entering their brains thru muffled ears—connected to what control tower—jacked to what secret Lab where the macrocosm-machine
picks up vibrations of my thought in this poem—the attendant is afraid—Is the President listening? is
Evil Eye, the invisible police-cop-secrecy masters Controlling Central Intelligence—do they know I took Methedrine, heroin, magic mushrooms, & lambchops & guess toward a Prophecy tonight?
No the big dopes all they do is control each other—Doom! in the vast car America—they’re screeching on two mind-wheels on a National Curve —the Car that’s made to die by Mr. Inhuman
Moneyhand, by advertising nastyhead Inc. Dream Cancer Prexy Owner Distributor Publisher & TV Doctor of Emotional Breakdown—he told that Mayor to get in that car without his pubic hair and drive to Kill get to Las Vegas so the oldfashioned jewish communists
wouldn’t get their idealistic radio program on the air in time to make everybody cry in the desert for the Indian Serpent to come
back from the Oklahoma mound where he hid with his 15,000,000 visionary original Redskin patriot-wives and warriors—they made up one big mystic serpent with its tail-a-mouth like a lost Tibet
MURDERED AND DRIVEN FROM THE EARTH BY US JEWISH GOYIM who spend fifty billion things a year—things things!—to make the things-machinery that’s turned the worlds
of human consciousness into a thing of War
wherever and whoever is plugged in by real filaments or wireless or whatever magic wordy-synapse to the money-center of the mind
whose Eye is hidden somewhere behind All mass media—what makes reporters fear their secret dreamy news—behind the Presidential mike & all its starry bunting, front for some mad BILLIONAIRES
who own United Fruits & Standard Oil and Hearst The Press and Texas NBC and someone owns the Radios owns vast Spheres of Air—Subliminal Billionaire got
State Legislatures filled with Capital Punishment Fiends because nobody’s been in love on US soil long enough to realize We who pay the Public Hangman make State Murder thru Alien Gas who cause any form of hate-doom hanging
do that in public everybody agreed by the neck suffering utmost pangs Each citizen himself unloved suicides him, because there’s no beloved, now in America for All in the gas chamber the whole California Legislature
screaming because it’s Death here—we’re so hopeless—The Soul of America died with ugly Chessman—strange saintly average madman driven to think for his own killers, in his pants and shirt with human haircut, said NO to—like a Cosmic NO—from the One Mouth of America speaking life or death—looked in the eye by America—
Ah what a cold monster OneEye he must’ve saw thru the Star Spangled Banner & Hollywood with ugly smile forbidden movie & old heartless Ike in the White House officially allowing Chatterley attacked by Fed Lawyers—
vast Customs agencies searching books—who Advises what book where—who invented what’s dirty? The Pope? Baruch?—tender Genet burned by middleaged vice Officers
sent out by The Automatic Sourface mongers whatever bad news he can high up from imaginary Empires name Scripps-Howard—just more drear opinions—Damn that World Telegram was Glad Henry Miller’s depression Cancerbook not read to sad eyeglass Joe messenger to Grocer
in Manhattan, or candystore emperor Hersh Silverman in Bayonne, dreaming of telling the Truth, but his Karma is selling jellybeans & being kind,
The Customs police denyd him his Burroughs they defecated on de Sade, they jack’d off, and tortured his copy of Sodom with Nitric Acid in a backroom furnace house at Treasury Bureau, pouring Fire on the soul of Rochester,
Warlocks, Black magicians burning and cursing the Love-Books, Jack be damned, casting spells from the shores of America on the inland cities, lacklove-curses on our Eyes which read genital poetry—
O deserts of deprivation for some high school’d gang, lone Cleveland that delayed its books of Awe, Chicago struggling to read its magazines, police and papers yapping over grimy gossip skyscraped from some sulphurous yellow cloud drift in from archtank hot factories make nebulous explosives near Detroit—smudge got on Corso’s Rosy Page—
US Postmaster, first class sexfiend his disguise told everyone to open letters stop the photographic fucks & verbal suckeries & lickings of the asshole by tongues meant but for poison glue on envelopes Report this privileged communication to Yours Truly We The National Police—We serve you once a day—you humanical meat creep-hood—
and yearly the national furnace burned much book, 2,000,000 pieces mail, one decade unread propaganda from Vietnam & Chinese mag harangues, Engelian
dialectics handmade in Gobi for proud export to top hat & tails Old Bones in his penthouse on a skyscraper in Manhattan, laconic on two phones that rang thru the nets of money over earth, as he barked his orders to Formosa for more spies, abhorred all Cuba sugar from concourse with Stately stomachs—
That’s when I began vomiting my paranoia when Old National Skullface the invisible sixheaded billionaire began brainwashing my stomach with strange feelers in the Journal American—the penis of billionaires depositing professional semen in my ear, Fulton Lewis coming with strychnine jizzum in his voice making an evil suggestion that entered my mouth
while I was sitting there gaping in wild dubiety & astound on my peaceful couch, he said to all the taxidrivers and schoolteachers in brokendown old Blakean America
that Julius and Ethel Rosenberg smelled bad & shd die, he sent to kill them with personal electricity, his power station is the spirit of generation leaving him thru his asshole by Error, that very electric entered Ethel’s eye
and his tongue is the prick of a devil he don’t even know, a magic capitalist ghosting it on the lam after the Everett Massacre—fucks a Newscaster in the mouth every time he gets on the Microphone—
and those ghost jizzums started my stomach trouble with capital punishment, Ike chose to make an Artificial Death for them poor spies—if they were spying on me? who cares?—Ike disturbed the balance of the cosmos by his stroke-head deathshake, “NO”
It was a big electrocution in every paper and mass medium, Television was a baby crawling toward that deathchamber
Later quiz shows prepared the way for egghead omelet, I was rotten, I was the egghead that spoiled the last supper, they made me vomit more —whole programs of halfeaten comedians sliming out my Newark Labor Leaders’ assholes
They used to wash them in the ’30s with Young Politics Ideas, I was too young to smell anything but my own secret mind, I didn’t even know assholes basic to Modern Democracy—What can we teach our negroes now?
That they are Negroes, that I am thy Jew & thou my white Goy & him Chinese?—They think they’re Arab Macrocosms now!
My uncle thinks his Truthcloud’s Jewish—thinks his Name is Nose-smell-Newark 5 decades—& that’s all except there’s Gentile Images of mirrory vast Universe—
and Chinese Microcosms too, a race of spade microcosms apart, like jewish truth clouds & Goyishe Nameless Vasts
But I am the Intolerant One Gasbag from the Morgue & Void, Garbler of all Conceptions that myope my eye & is Uncle Sam asleep in the Funeral Home—?
Bad magic, scram, hide in J. E. Hoover’s bathingsuit. Make his pants fall in the ocean, near Miami—
Gangster CRASH! America will be forgotten, the identity files of the FBI slipt into the void-crack, the fingerprints unwhorled—no track where He came from—
Man left no address, not even hair, just disappeared & Forgot his big wall-street on Earth—Uncle I hate the FBI it’s all a big dreamy skyscraper somewhere over the Mutual Network—I don’t even know who they are—like the Nameless—
Hallooo I am coming end of my Presidency—Everybody’s fired—I am a hopeless whitehaired congressman—I lost my last election—landslide for Reader’s Digest—not even humans—
Nobody home in town—just offices with many jangling telephones & automatic switchboards keep the message—typewriters return yr calls oft, Yakkata yak & tinbellring—THE POLICE ARE AT THE DOOR—
What are you doing eccentric in this solitary office? a mad vagrant Creep Truthcloud sans identity card—It’s Paterson allright—anyway the people disappeared—downtown Fabian Bldg. branch office for The Chamber of Commerce runs the streetlights
all thru dark winter rain by univac piped from Washington Lobby—they’ve abolished the streets from the universe—just keep control of
the lights—in case of ectoplasm trafficking thru dead Market—where the Chinese restaurant usta play Muzak in the early century—soft green rugs & pastel walls—perfumèd tea—
Goodbye, said the metal Announcer in doors of The Chamber of Commerce —we’re merging with NAM forever—and the NAM has no door but’s sealed copper 10 foot vault under the Federal Reserve Bldg—
Six billionaires that control America are playing Scrabble with antique Tarot —they’ve just unearthed another Pyramid—in the bombproof Cellar at Fort Knox
Not even the FBI knows who—They give orders to J. E. Hoover thru the metal phonegirl at the Robot Transmitter on top of RCA—you
can see new Fortune officers look like spies from 20 floors below with their eyeglasses & gold skulls—silver teeth flashing up the shit-mouthed grin—weeping in their martinis! There is no secret to the success of the
Six Billionaires that own all Time since the Gnostic Revolt in
Aegypto—they built the Sphinx to confuse my sex life, Who Fuckd the Void?
Why are they starting that war all over again in Laos over Neutral Mind? Is the United States CIA army Legions overthrowing somebody like Angelica Balabanoff?
Six thousand movietheaters, 100,000,000 television sets, a billion radios, wires and wireless crisscrossing hemispheres, semaphore lights and morse, all telephones ringing at once connect every mind by its ears to one vast consciousness This Time Apocalypse—everybody waiting for one mind to break thru—
Man-prophet with two eyes Dare all creation with his dying tongue & say I AM—Messiah swallow back his death into his stomach, gaze thru great pupils of his Bodies’ eyes
and look in each Eye man, the eyeglassed fearful byriad-look that might be Godeyes see thru Death—that now are clark & ego reading manlaw —write newsbroadcasts to cover with Fears their
own Messiah that must come when all of us conscious—Breakthru to all other Consciousness to say the Word I Am as spoken by a certain God—Millennia knew and waited till this one Century—
Now all sentience broods and listens—contemplative & hair full of rain for 15 years inside New York—what millions know and hark to hear, & death will tell, but—
many strange magicians in buildings listening inside their own heads—or clouds over Manhattan Bridge—or strained thru music messages to —I Am from the central One! Come
blow the Cosmic Horn to waken every Tiglon & Clown sentience throughout the vasting circus—in the Name of God pick up the telephone call Networks announcing Suchness That—
I Am mutter a million old Gods in their beards, that had been sleeping at evening radios—cackling in their Larynx—Talking to myself again
said the Messiah turning a dial to remember his last broadcast—I scare myself, I eat my hand, I swallow my own head, I stink in the inevitable bathroom of death this Being requires—O Widen the Area of Consciousness! O
set my Throne in Space, I rise to sit in the midst of the Starry Visible!—Calling All Beings! in dirt from the ant to the most frightened Prophet that ever clomb tower to vision planets