tarium treatment has been more or less supplanted, or at least very definitely supplemented, by chemical ] therapy. Is this accurate in your opinion? What I mean . to say is, Doctor, please tell me in all sincerity, as one j human being to another, what is your opinion of chemi- | cal versus sanitarium therapy? Are you a partisan?”The doctor’s liver sick Indian face was blank as a i dealers.“Completely modem, as you can see,” he gestures , toward the room with the purple fingers of bad circu­lation. “Bath . . . water . . . flowers. The lot.” He fin­ished in Cockney English with a triumphant smirk.“I will write for you a letter.”“This letter? For the sanitarium?”. The doctor was speaking from a land of black rocks and great, iridescent brown lagoons. “The furniture . . . modem and comfortable. You find it so of course?”Carl could not see the sanitarium owing to a false front of green stucco topped by an intricate neon Sign dead and sinister against the sky, waiting for darkness. The sanitarium was evidently built on a great lime­stone promontory, over which flowering trees and vine tendrils broke in waves. The smell of flowers was heavy in the air.The commandante sat at a long wooden trestle under a vine trellis. He was doing absolutely nothing. He took the letter that Carl handed him and whispered through it, reading his lips with the left hand. He stuck the letter on a spike over a toilet. He began tran- scrbing from a ledger full of numbers. He wrote on and on.

“Chemical therapy?”                                                                                                                 His is voice falls flatand heavy in the damp air.                                                                       “Who can say. They are all stupid peasants are the so-called educated. These people should not only prevented from learning to read, but from learning to talk as well. No need to prevent them from thinking; nature has done that.”                                                              “Here is the address,” the doctor whispered without moving his lips. He dropped a pill of papaer into Carl’s hand. His dirty fingers, shiny over the dirt,  rested on Carl’s sleeve.         “There is the matter of my fee.” Carl slipped him a wadded banknote. . . and the doctor faded into the grey twilight, seedy and furtive as an old junky.

Carl saw Joselito in a big clean room full of light, with private bath and concrete balcony. And nothing to talk about there in the cold empty room,water hyacinths growning in a yellow bowl and the China blue sky and drifting clouds,fear flickering in and out of his eyes. When he smiled the fear flew away in little pieces of light, lurked enigmatically in the high cool corners of the room. And what could I say feeling death around me, and the little broken images that come before sleep,there in the mind ? “They will send me to the new sanitarium tomorrow. Come and visit me. I will be there alone.” He coughed and took a codeineeta. ” Doctor I understand, that is I have been given to understand, I have read and heard -not a medical man myself -don’t pretend to be- that the concept of sani-

door, suburban lawns to sound of the water sprinkler, in calm jungle night under silent wings of the Anoph­eles mosquito. (Note: This is not a figure. Anopheles mosquitoes are silent.) Thickly carpeted, discreet nurs­ing home in Kensington: stiff brocade chair and a cup of tea, the Swedish modem living room with water hyacinths in a yellow bowl—outside the China blue Northern sky and drifting clouds, under bad water- colors of the dying medical student.“A schnaps I think Frau Underschnitt.”The doctor was talking into a phone with a chess board in front of him. “Quite a severe lesion I think . . . of course without to see the fluoroscope.” He picks up the knight and then replaces it thoughtfully. “Yes . . . Both lungs . . . quite definitely.” He replaces the re­ceiver and turns to Carl. “I have observed these people show amazingly quick wound recovery, with low in­cidence of infection. It is always the lungs here . . . pneumonia and, of course, Old Faithful.” The doctor grabs Carl’s cock, leaping into the air with a coarse peasant guffaw. His European smile ignores the mis­behavior of a child or an animal. He goes on smoothly in his eerily unaccented, disembodied English. “Our Old Faithful Bacillus Koch.” The doctor clicks his heels and bows his head. “Otherwise they would multiply their stupid peasant asshole into the sea, is it not?” He shrieks, thrusting his face into Carl’s. Carl retreats sideways with the grey wall of rain behind him.“Isn’t there some place where he can be treated?”“I think there is some sort of sanitarium,” he drags out the word with ambiguous obscenity, “up at the District Capital. I will write for you the address

stick the tourists storm the frontiers, demanding with inflexible autohority asylum from the “unspeakable conditions obtaining in Freeland,” the Chamber of Commerce striving in vain to stem the debacle: “Please to be restful.It is only a few crazies who have from the crazy place outbroken.”

J O S E L I T O

And Joselito who wrote bad,class-conscious poetry began to cough .The German doctor made a brief examination, touching joselito’s ribs with long, delicate fingers. The doctor was also a concert violinist, a mathematician, a chess master, and a Doctor of International Jurisprudence with licence to practice in the lavatories of the Hague. The doctor flicked a hard, distant glance across Joselito’s brown chest. He looked at Carl and smiled-one educated man to another smile-and raised his eyebrow,saying without words:  “Alzo for the so stupid paesant we must avoid use of the word it is not? Otherwise he shit himself with fear. Koch and spit they are both nasty words I think?”                                      He said aloud :”It is a catarro de los pulmones.”                                                                      Carl talked to the doctor outside under the narrow arcade with rain bouncing up from the street against his pants legs,thinking how many people he tell it to, and the stairs ,porches,lawns,driveways, corridors and streets of the world there in the doctor’s eyes. . . stuffy German alcoves,butterfly trays to the celling, silent portentous smell of uremia seeping under the

self back in and say in a cold nasal whine: “You think I am innarested to contact your horrible old condition? I am not innarested at all/’)Rock and Roll adolescent hoodlums storm the streets of all nations. They rush into the Louvre and throw acid in the Mona Lisa’s face. They open zoos, insane asylums, prisons, burst water mains with air hammers, chop the floor out of passenger plane lavatories, shoot out lighthouses, file elevator cables to one thin wire, turn sewers into the water supply, throw sharks and sting rays, electric eels and candiru into swimming pools (the candiru is a small eel-like fish or worm about one-quarter inch through and two inches long patronizing certain rivers of ill repute in the Greater Amazon Basin, will dart up your prick or your asshole or a woman’s cunt faute de mieux, and hold himself there by sharp spines with precisely what motives is not known since no one has stepped forward to observe the candiru’s life-cycle in situ), in nautical costumes ram the Queen Mary full speed into New York Harbor, play chicken with passenger planes and busses, rush into hospitals in white coats carrying saws and axes and scalpels three feet long; throw paralytics out of iron lungs (mimic their suffocations flopping about on the floor and rolling their eyes up), administer injections with bicycle pumps, disconnect artificial kidneys, saw a woman in half with a two-man surgical saw, they drive herds of squealing pigs into the Curb, they shit on the floor of the United Nations and wipe their ass with treaties, pacts, alliances.                                                                 By plane, car, horse, camel, elephant, tractor, bicycle and steam roller, on foot, skis, sled, crutch and pogo-

tion the disease passes to the lymph glands of the groin, which swell and burst in suppurating fissures, drain for days, months, years, a purulent stringy discharge streaked with blood and putrid lymph. Elephantiasis of the genitals is a frequent complication, and cases of gangrene have been recorded where the amputation in medio of the patient from the waist down was indi­cated but hardly worth while. Women usually suffer secondary infection of the anus. Males who resign themselves up for passive intercourse to infected part­ners like weak and soon to be purple-assed baboons, may also nourish a little stranger. Initial proctitis and the inevitable purulent discharge—which may pass un­noticed in the shuffle—is followed by stricture of the rectum requiring intervention of an apple corer or its surgical equivalent, lest the unfortunate patient be reduced to fart and shit in his teeth giving rise to stubborn cases of halitosis and unpopularity with all sexes, ages and conditions of homo sapiens. In fact a blind bugger was deserted by his seeing eye police dog—copper at heart. Until quite recently there was no satisfactory treatment. “Treatment is symptomatic” —which means in the trade there is none. Now many cases yield to intensive therapy with aureomycin, ter- ramycin and some of the newer molds. However a certain appreciable percentage remain refractory as mountain gorillas. . . . So, boys, when those hot licks play over your balls and prick and dart up your ass like an invisible blue blow torch of orgones, in the words of I. B. Watson, Think. Stop panting and start palpating . . . and if you palpate a bubo draw your-

buboes.” A virus venereal disease indigenous to Ethiopia. “Not for nothing are we known as feelthy Ethiopians,” sneers an Ethiopian mercenary as he sodomizes Pharaoh, venoumous as the King’s cobra. Ancient Egyptian papyrus talk all the time about them feelthy ethiophians.So it started in Addis Ababa like the Jersey Bounce, but these are modem times, One World. Now the cli­mactic buboes swell up in Shanghai and Esmeraldas, New Orleans and Helsinki, Seattle and Capetown. But the heart turns home and the disease shows a distinct predilection for Negroes, is in fact the whitehaired boy of white supremacists. But the Mau Mau voodoo men are said to be cooking up a real dilly of a VD for the white folks. Not that Caucasians are immune: five British sailors contracted the disease in Zanzibar. And in Dead Coon County, Arkansas (“Blackest Dirt, Whit­est People in the U.S.A.—Nigger, Don’t Let The Sun Set On You Here”) the County Coroner come down with the buboes fore and aft. A vigilante committee of neighbours apologetically burned him to death in the Court House privy when his interesting condition came to light. “Now, Clem, just think of yourself as a cow with the aftosa.” “Or a poltroon with the fowl pest.” “Don’t crowd too close, boys. His intestines is subject to explode in the fire.” The disease in short arm hath a gimmick for going places unlike certain unfortunate viruses who are fated to languish unconsummate in the guts of a tick or a jungle mosquito, or the saliva of a dying jackal slobbering silver under the desert moon. And after an initial lesion at the point of infec-

hath penetrate his comrade ,whilst another youth does amputate the proudest part of thath cock’s quivering beneficiary so that visiting member projects to fil the vacuum nature abhors and ejaculate into the Black Lagoon where impatient Piranha snap up the child not yet born nor-in view of certain well established facts -at all likely.)                                           Another bore carries around a suitcase full of trophies and medals,cubs and ribbons: “Now this I won for the Most Ingenious Sex Device Contest in Yokohama .(Hold him,he’s desperate.)The Emperor gave it to me himself and there were tears in his eyes,and the runners-up all castrated theirselves with harakiri knives.And I won this ribbon in a Degradation Contest at the Teheran meeting of Junkies Anonimous.”                                 “Shot up my wife’s M.S. and her down with a kidney stone  big as the Hope Diamond.So I give  her half of Vagamin and tell her : “You can’t expect too much relief. . . Shut up awready.I wanta enojy my medications.”                                                                                 “Stole an opium suppository out of my grandmother’s ass.”                                                   The hypochondriac lassoes the passer-by and administers a straitjacket and starts talking about his rotting septum: ” An awful purulent discharge is subject flow out. . . just wait till you see it.”                                                                                                                            He does a strip tease to operation scars, guiding the reclutant fingers of a victim. “Feel that suppurated swelling in my groin where I got the lymphogranulomas. . . And now I want you to palpate my internal haemorrhoids.”                                                                                     (The reference is to lymphogranuloma,”climatic

screams with joy? Who can hang a weak passive and catch his sperm in mouth like a vicious dog? Gentle reader, I fain would spare you this, but my pen hath its will like the Ancient Mariner. Oh Christ what a scene is this! Can tongue or pen accommodate these scandals? A beastly young hooligan has gouged out the eye of his confrere and fuck him in the brain. “This brain atrophy already, and dry as grandmother’s cunt.” He turns into Rock and Roll hoodlum. “I screw the old gash—like a crossword puzzle what relation to me is the outcome if it outcome? My father already or not yet? I can’t screw you, Jack, you is about to become my father, and better ’twere to cut your throat and screw my mother playing it straight than fuck my father or vice versa mutatis mutandis as the case may be, and cut my mother’s throat, that sainted gash, though it be the best way I know to stem her word horde and freeze her asset. I mean when a fellow be caught short in the switches and don’t know is he to offer up his ass to ‘great big daddy’ or commit a torso job on the old lady. Give me two cunts and a prick of steel and keep your dirty finger out of my sugar bum what you think I am a purple-assed reception already fugitive from Gibraltar? Male and female castrated he them. Who can’t distinguish between the sexes? I’ll cut your throat you white mother fucker. Come out in the open like my grandchild and meet thy unborn mother in dubious battle. Confusion hath fuck his masterpiece. I have cut the janitor’s throat quite by mistake of identity, he being such a horrible fuck like the old man. And in the coal bin all cocks are alike.”So leave us return to the stricken field. One youth

white yellow color like rancid jism and stringy you know.”An explorer in sun helmet has brought down a citizen with blow gun and curare dart. He administers artificial respiration with one foot. (Curare kills by paralyzing the lungs. It has no other toxic effect, is not, strictly speaking, a poison. If artificial respiration is admin­istered the subject will not die. Curare is eliminated with great rapidity by the kidneys.) “That was the year of the rindpest when everything died, even the hyenas. . . . So there I was completely out of K.Y. in the head­waters of the Baboonsasshole. When it came through by air drop my gratitude was indescribable. . . . As a matter of fact, and I have never told this before to a living soul—elusive blighters”—his voice echoes through a vast empty hotel lobby in 1890 style, red plush, rubber plants, gilt and statues—“I was the only white man ever initiated into the infamous Agouti Society, wit­nessed and participated in their unspeakable rites.”(The Agouti Society has turned out for a Chimu Fiesta. (The Chimu of ancient Peru were much given to sodomy and occasionally staged bloody battles with clubs, running up several hundred casualties in the course of an afternoon.) The youths, sneering and goos­ing each other with clubs, troop out to the field.

Now the battle begins.

Gentle reader, the ugliness of that spectacle buggers description. Who can be a cringing pissing coward, yet vicious as a purple-assed mandril, alternating these deplorable conditions like vaudeville skits? Who can shit on a fallen adversary who, dying, eats the shit and