through the bones. So the Buyer hunts up a young junky and gives him a paper to make it.“Oh all right,” the boy says. “So what you want to make?”“I just want to rub up against you and get fixed.”“Ugh . . . Well all right. . . . But why cancha just get physical like a human?”Later the boy is sitting in a Waldorf with two col­leagues dunking pound cake. “Most distasteful thing I ever stand still for,” he says. “Some way he make him­self all soft like a blob of jelly and surround me so nasty. Then he gets wet all over like with green slime. So I guess he come to some kinda awful climax. . . . I come near wigging with that green stuff all over me, and he stink like a old rotten canteloupe.”“Well it’s still an easy score.”The boy sighed resignedly; “Yes, I guesss you can get used to anything. Tve got a meet with him again tomorrow.”The Buyer’s habit keeps getting heavier. He needs a recharge every half hour. Sometimes he cruises the precincts and bribes the turnkey to let him in with a cell of junkies. It get to where no amount of contact will fix him. At this point he receives a summons from the District Supervisor:“Bradley, your conduct has given rise to rumors—and I hope for your sake they are no more than that—so unspeakably distasteful that . . . I mean Caesar’s wife . . . hrump . . . that is, the Department must be above suspicion . . . certainly above such suspicions as you have seemingly aroused. You are lowering the entire


“What ?”                                                                                                                                  “That’s the name of this town . Sea Level.. We climb straight up from here ten thousand feet “: I took a fix and went to sleep in the back seat . She was a good driver . Ypu can tell as soon as someone touches the wheel. Mexico City where Lupita sits like an Aztec Earth Goddess doling out her little papers of lousy shit. ” Selling is more of a habit that using. ” Lupita says.Nonusing pushers have a contact habit and that’s one you can kick. Agents get it too . Take Bradley the Buyer . Best narcotics agent in the industry. Anyone would make him for junk . (Note : Make in the sense of dig or size up.) I mean he can walk up to a pusher and score direct . He is so anonymous ,grey and spectral the pusher don’t remember him afterwards.So he twists one after the other. . .                                              Well the Buyer comes to look more and more like a junky.He can’t drink.  He can’t get it up. His teeth fall out . (Like pregnant women lose their teeth feeding the stranger, junkies lose their yellow fangs feeding the monkey.) He is all time sucking on a candy bar . Baby Ruths he digs special . “It really disgust you to see the Buyer sucking on them candy bars so nasty ” a cop says.  The Buyer takes on an anonymous grey-green color. Fact is his body is making its own junk or equivalent. The Buyer has a steady connection .A Man within you might say .Or so he thinks . ” I’ll just set in my room ,”he says. “Fuck ‘em all . Squares on both sides. I am the only complete Man in the industry .” But a yen comes on him like a great black wind


Shooting PG is a terrible hassle, you have to burn out the alcohol first , then freeze out the camphor and draw this brown liquid off with a dropper-have to shoot it in the vein or you get an abscess , and usually end up with abscess no matter where you shoot it. Best deal is to drink with goof balls. . . So we pour it in a Pernod bottle and start for New Orleans past iridescent lakes and orange gas flares, and swamps and garbage heaps , alligators crawling around in broken bottles and  tin cans, neon arabesques at motels ,marooned pimps scream obscenities at passing cars from island of rubbish. . . New Orleans is a dead museum . We walk around Exchange Place breathing PG and find The Man right away. It’s a small place and the fuzz always knows who is pushing so he figures what the hell does it matter and sells to anybody. We stock up on H and backtrack for Mexico. Back through Lake Charles and the dead slot machine country, south end of Texas, nigger-killing sheriffs look us over and check the car papers. Something falls off you when you cross the border into Mexico, and sud­denly the landscape hits you straight with nothing be­tween you and it, desert and mountains and vultures; little wheeling specks and others so close you can hear wings cut the air (a dry husking sound), and when they spot something they pour out of the blue sky, that shattering bloody blue sky of Mexico, down in a black funnel…  Drove all night, came at dawn to a warm misty place, barking dogs and the sound of running water.“Thomas and Charlie,” I said.


and market and liquorstore. You walk in and it hits you. ; But where does it come from?Not the bartender, not the customers, nor the cream-  colored plastic rounding the bar stools, nor the dim e neon. Not even the TV. And our habits build up with the drag, like cocaine d will build you up staying ahead of the C bring-down. h And the junk was running low. So there we are in this d no-horse town strictly from cough syrup. And vomited  up the syrup and drove on and on, cold spring wind  whistling through that old heap around our shivering sick sweating bodies and the cold you always come down l  with when the junk runs out of you. . . . On through the w peeled landscape, dead armadillos in the road and vultures over the swamp and cypress stumps. Motels with a beaverboard walls, gas heater, thin pink blankets. Itinerant short con and carny hyp men have burned – down the croakers of Texas… .in And no one in his right mind would hit a Louisiana at croaker. State Junk Law.ill Came at last to Houston where I know a druggist. I ae haven’t been there in five years but he looks up and ae makes me with one quick look and just nods and says: lie “Wait over at the counter.. . . ” So I sit down and drink a cup of coffee and after a ck while he comes and sits beside me and says, “What do you want?” it, “A quart of PG and a hundred nembies.” se He nods, “Come back in half an hour.” So when I come back he hands me a package and ire says, “That’s fifteen dollars. . . . Be careful.”


dicks,soft- spoken country sheriffs with something black and menacing in old eyes color of faded grey flannel shirt. . .                                                                                                       And always car trouble : in St. Louis traded the 1942 Studebaker in ( it has a built-in engineering flaw like the Rube ) on an old Packard limousine heated up and barely made Kansas City   , and bought a Ford turned out to be an oil burner , packed it on a jeep we push too hard ( they are no good for highway driving ) – and burn something out inside , rattling around , went back to the old Ford V-8 . Can’t beat that engine for getting there , oil burner or no.  And the U.S. drag closes around us like no other drag in the world , worse than the Andes , high mountain towns , cold wind down from postcards mountains , thin air like death in the throat , river towns of Ecuador , malaria grey as junk under black Stetson , muzzle loading shotguns , vultures pecking trhough the mud street- and what hits you when you get of the Malmo Ferry in ( no juice tax on the Ferry ) Sweden knocks all that cheap, tax free juice right out of you and brings you all the way down : averted eyes in the cemetery in the middle of the town (every town in Sweden seems to be built around a cemetery ) , and nothing to do in the afternoon ,not a bar not a movie and I blaste my last stick of Tangier tea and I said “K.E. let’s get right back on that ferry .” But there is no drag like U.S. drag . You can’t see it, you don’t know where it comes from .Take one of those cocktail lounges at the end of a subdivision street – every block of houses has its own bar and drugstore


world,there is one Mark you cannot beat : The Mark Inside…                                                   I left the Rube standing on a corner , red brick slums to the sky , under a steady rain of soot. “Going to hit this croaker I know. Right back with that good pure drugstore M. . . No,you wait here – don’t want him to rumble you .”No matter how long Rube . goodbye kid.. Where do they go when they walk out and leave the body behind ?                                    Chicago : invisible hierarchy of decorticate wops,smell of atrophied gangsters,earthbound ghost hits you at North and Halstead,Cicero,Lincoln Park,panhendler of dreams,past invading the present,rancid magic of slot machines and roadhouses.                                   Into the interior : a vast subdivision,antennae of television to meaningless sky . In lifeproof houses they hover over the young , sop up a little of what they shut out. Only the young  bring anything in,and they are not very long. ( Through the bars of East ST. Louis lies the dead frontier , riverboat days. ) Illinois and Missouri ,miasma of mound-bulding peoples , groveling worship of the Food Source , cruel and ugly festivals . dead-end horror of the Centipede God reaches from Moundville to the lunar deserts of coastal Peru. America is not a young land : It is old and dirty and evil before the settlers , before the Indians. The evil is there waiting .                                                                                                                      And always cops : smooth college-trained state cops,practiced,apologetic patter,electronic eyes weigh your car and luggage, clothes and face ;snarling big city


erosion.) But what does she care ? She does not even bother to remove the splintered glass , looking down her bloody haunch with the cold blank eyes of a meat trader. what does she care for the atom bomb, the bed bugs , the cancer rent , Friendly Finance waiting to repossess her delinquent flesh …Sweet dreams, Pantopon Rose. ”                    The real scene you pinch up some leg flesh and make a quick stab hole with a pin . Then fit the dropper over not in the holle and feed the solution slow and careful so it doesen’t squirt out the sides… When i grabbed the Rube’s thigh the flesh came up like  wax and stayed there, and a slow drop of pus oozed out the hole . And I never touched a living body cold as the Rube there in Philly…                                                                                              I decided to lop him off it meant a smother party . (This is a rural English custom designed to eleminate aged and bedfast dependents . A family so afflicted throws a smother party where the guests pile matresses and lush themselves out.) The Rube is a drag on the industry and should be led out into the skd rows of the world. (This is an african practice . Official known as ” The Leader out ” has the fuction of taking old characters out into the jungle and leaving them there .) The Rube’s attacks become an abitual condition. Cops, doormen , dogs, secretaries snarls at his approach. The blond God has fallen to untouchable vileness . Con men don’t change, they break , shatter-explosion of matter in cold interstellar space,drift away in cosmic dust , leave the empty body behind. Hustlers of the


The phisical changes were slow at first, then jumped forward in black klunks , falling trhough his slack tissue, washing away the human lines …In his place of total darkness mouth and eyes are one organ that leaps forward to snap with transparent teeth … but no organ is constant as a regards either fuction or position … sex organs sprout anywhere … rectums open , defecate and close … the entire organisme changes color and consistency in split-second adjustment …

The Rube is a social liability with his attacks as he calls them.The Mark Inside was coming up on him and that’s a rumble nobody can cool; outside Philly he jumps out to con a prowl car and the fuzz takes one look at his face and bust all of us.                                               Seventy-two hours and five sick junkies in the cell with us . Now not wishing to break out my stash in front of these hungry coolies , it takes maneuvering and laying of gold on the turkney before we are separate cell. Provident junkies , known as squirrels, keep slashes against a bust. Every time I take a shot I let  a few drops fall into my vest pocket, the lining is stiff with stuff . I had a plastic drobber in my shoe and a safety-pin stuck in my belt . You know how this pin and dropper routine is put down : ” She seized a safety pin caked with blood and rust , gouged a great hole in her leg wich seemed to be opened like an obscene , festering mouth  waiting for unspeakable congress with the dropper which she now plunged out of sight into the gaping wound. But her hideous  galvanized need ( hunger of insects in dry places) has broken the dropper off deep in the flesh of her ravaged thigh ( looking rather like a poster on soil


So We stock up on H , buy a second hand Studebaker , and start West.

The Vigilante copped out as a schizo possession case : ” I was standing outside myself trying to stop those hangings with ghost fingers … I am a ghost wanting what every ghost wants-a body- after the Long Time moving trhough odorless alleys of space where no life is only the colorless no smell of death … Nobody can breathe and smell it through pink convulsions of gristle laced with crystal snot, time shit and black blood filters of flesh. ”    He stood  there in elongated court room shadow , his face torn like a broken film by lusts and hungers of larval orgasm stirring in the tentative ectoplasmic flesh of junk kick ( ten days on ice at time of the First Hearing) flesh that fades at the first silent touch of junk .      I saw it happen . Ten pounds lost in ten minutes standing with the syringe in one hand holding his pants up with the other , his abdicated flesh burning in a cold yellow halo , there in the New York hotel room. . . night table littter of candy boxes , cigarette butts cascading out of three ashtrays , mosaic of sleepless nights and sudden food needs of the kicking addict nursing his baby flesh . . . The Vigilante is prosecuted iin Federal Count under a lynch bill and winds up in a Federal Nut House specially deisgned for the cointaimnent of ghosts : precise , prosaic impact of objects … wahstand … door … toilet…bars…there they are … this is it … all lines cut … nothing beyond… Dead End …And the Dead End in every face…


by a baying pack of People. ( Note: People is New Orleans slang for narcotic fuzz.) The Old Chinaman dips river water into a rusty tin can , washes down a yen pox hard and black as a cinder. (Note: Yen pox is the ash of smoked opium.) Well, the fuzz has my spoon and dropper , and I know they are coming in my frequency led this blind pigeon known as Willy the Disk . Willy has a round , disk mouth lined with sensitive , erectile black hairs.He is blind from shooting in the eyeball , his nose and palate eaten away sniffing H, his body a mass of scar tissue hard and dry as a wood . He can only eat the shit now with that mouth , sometimes sways out on a long tube of ectoplasm , feeling for the silent frequency of junk. He follows my trial all over the city into rooms I move out already , and the fuzz walks in some newlyweds from Sioux Falls.                                                             “All right Lee!! Come out from behind the strap-on! We know you ! “and pull the man’s prick-off straight  away. Now Willy is getting hot and you cane hear him always out there in darkness (he only functions at night ) whimpering, and feel the terrible urgency of that blind   seeking mouth. When they move in for the bust , Willy goes out of control , and his mouth eats a hole right trough the wall .If the cops weren’t there to restrain him with a stock probe, he would suck the juice right out of every junky he ran down .                                     I knew  , and everybody else knew they had the Disk on me. And if my kid customers ever hit the stand : ” He force me to commit all kinda awful sex acts in return for junk.”I could kiss the street good-bye.