hanging in the air like an earth-bound ghost. Diseuse: (canned heat tenor). “Find the weakest baboon.”
Frontier saloon: Fag Baboon dressed in little girl blue dress sings in resigned voice to tune of Alice Blue Gown: “I’m the weakest baboon of them all.”
A freight train separates the Prof, from the juveniles. . . . When the train passes they have fat stomachs and responsible jobs.. . .
Students: “We want Lottie!”
Pro f: “That was in another country, gentlemen. . . .
As I was saying before I was so rudely irrupted by one of
my multiple personalities … troublesome little beasts . ..
consider the Ancient Mariner without curare, lasso, bulbocapnine or straitjacket, albeit able to capture and hold a live audience. . . . What is his hurmp gimmick?
He he he he . . . He does not, like so-called artists at
this time, stop just anyhodij thereby inflicting unsent
for boredom and working random hardship. . . . He
stops those who cannot choose but hear owing to already existing relation between The Mariner (however ancient) and the uh Wedding Guest.. . .
“What the Mariner actually says is not important. . . .
He may be rambling, irrelevant, even crude and rampant senile. But something happens to the Wedding Guest like happens in psychoanalysis when it happens
if it happens. If I may be permitted a slight digression
. . . an anlyst of my acquaintance does all the talking patients listen patiently or not. . . . He reminiscences . . . tells dirty jokes (old ones) achieves counterpoints of idiocy undreamed of by The County Clerk. He is illustrating at some length that nothing can ever be

Prof: “And now, gentlemen, where was I? Oh yes,
Ma Lottie . . . She wake shivering in the gentle pink
dawn, pink as the candles on a little girl’s birthday cake,
pink as spun sugar, pink as a sea-shell, pink as a cock
pulsing in a red fucking light. . . . Ma Lottie . . . hurumph . . . if this prolixity be not cut short will succumb to the infirmities of age and join her daughter in formaldehyde.
“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Coleridge the poet . . . I should like to c^ll your attention to the symbolism of the Ancient Mariner him self.”
Students: “H im self the man says.”
“Thereby call attention to his own unappetizing person.”
“That wasn’t a nice thing to do, Teach.”
A hundred juvenile delinquents . . . switch blades clicking like teeth move at him.
Pr o f: “Oh Landsakes!” He tries desperately to disguise himself as an old woman with high black shoes and umbrella. . . . “If it wasn’t for my lumbago can’t
rightly bend over I’d turn them offering my Sugar Bum
the way baboons do it. . . . If a weaker baboon be attacked by a stronger baboon the weaker baboon will either (a) present his hrump fanny I believe is the
word, gentlemen, heh heh for passive intercourse or ( b ) if he is a different type baboon more extrovert and well-adjusted, lead an attack on an even weaker baboon
if he can find one.”
Dilapidated Diseuse in 1920 clothes like she sleep in
them ever since undulates across dreary neonlighted
Chicago street . . . dead weight of the Dear Dead Days

across the river. A Nigra hangs from a cotton wood
in front of The Old Court House . . . whimpering
women catch his sperm in vaginal teeth. . . . ( Husband
looks at the little changeling with narrow eyes the color of a faded grey flannel shirt. . . . ‘Doc, I suspect it to be a Nigra.’
The Doctor shrugs: ‘It’s the Old Army Game, son.
Pea under the shell . . . Now you see it now you don’t. . . .’)
“And Doc Parker in the back room in his drugstore
shooting horse heroin three grains a jolt—‘Tonic,’ he
mutters. ‘It’s always Spring.’
“ ‘Hands’ Benson Town Pervert has took up a querencia in the school privy ( Querencia is bullfight term. . . .
The bull will find a spot in the ring he likes and stay
there and the bullfighter has to go in and meet the bull
on his bull terms or coax him out—one or the other).
Sheriff A.Q. ‘Flat’ Larsen say ‘Some way we gotta lure
him outa that querencia.’ . . . And Old Ma Lottie sleep
ten years with a dead daughter and home cured too,
wakes shivering in the East Texas dawn . . . vultures
out over the black swamp water and cypress stumps. . . .
“And now gentlemen—I trust there are no transvestites present— he he—and you are all gentlemen bv act
of Congress it being only remain to establish you male
humans, positively no Transitionals in either direction
will be allowed in this decent hall. Gentlemen, present
short arms. Now you have all been briefed on the importance of keeping your weapons well lubricated and
ready for any action flank or rear guard.”
Students: “Hear! Hear!” They wearily unbutton their
flies. One of them brandishes a huge erection.

CAMPUS OF INTERZONE UNIVERSITY

Donkeys, camels,llamas, rickshaws, carts of merchandise pushed by straining boys, eyes protruding like strangled tongues-throbbing red with animal hate. Herds of sheep and goats and long-horned cattle pass between the students and the lecture platform. The students sit aorund on rusty park benches, limestone blocks, outhouse seats, packing crates, oil drums, stumps, dusty leather jackets hassacks, moudly gym mats. They wear levis-jellabas. . . hose and doublet-drink corn from mason jars, coffee from tin cans, smoke gage ( marijuana) in cigarettes made of wrapping paper and lottery tickets. . . shoot junk with a safety pin and dropper, study racing forms, comic books, Mayan codices. . . The professor arrives on a bicycle carrying a string of bull heads. He mounts the platform holding his back ( crane swings a bellowing cow over his head ). Prof : ” Fucked by the Sultan’s Army last night. I have dislocate the back in the service of my resident queen. . . Can’t evict that old gash. Need a licensed brain electrician disconnect her synapsis by synapsis and a surgical bailiff put her guts out on the sidewalk. When Ma move in on a boy bag and buggage he play Hell dispossess that Gold Star Boarder. . .” He looks at the bull heads humming tunes from the 1920s. “The nostalgia fit is on me boys and will out willy silly. . .boys walk down the carny Midway eating pink spun sugar. . . goose each other at the peep show. . . jack off in the Ferris Wheel throw sperm at the moon rising red and smoky over the foundries

Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest
Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum.
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum.

Mr. Hyslop, bored and resigned: “Oh Gawd! He’s at
it again.” He waves the Jolly Roger listlessly.
A.J., surrounded and fighting against overwhelming
odds, throws back his head and makes with the hogcall. Immediately a thousand rutting Eskimos pour in
grunting and squealing, faces tumescent, eyes hot and
red, lips purple, fall on the American women.
(Eskimos have a rutting season when the tribes
meet in short Summer to disport themselves in orgies.
Their faces swell and lips turn purple.)
A House Dick with cigar two feet long sticks his
head in through the wall: “Have you got a menagerie
in here?”
Hassan wrings his hands: “A shambles! A filthy
shambles! By Allah I never see anything so downright
nasty!”
He whirls on A.J. who is sitting on a sea chest, parrot
on shoulder, patch over one eye, drinking T u rn from
a tankard. He scans the horizon with a huge brass
telescope.
Hassan: “You cheap Factualist bitch! Go and never
darken my rumpus room again!

when the junky copes. A moment of stillness and wonder. Even the Commuter buzzes clogged lines of cholesterol for contact.
Hassan shrieks out: “This is your doing, A.J.! You
poopa my party!”
A.J. looks at him, face remote as limestone: “Uppa
your ass, you liquefying gook.”
A horde of lust-mad American women rush in.
Dripping cunts, from farm and dude ranch, factory,
brothel, country club, penthouse and suburb, motel
and yacht and cocktail bar, strip off riding clothes, ski
togs, evening dresses, levis, tea gowns, print dresses,
slacks, bathing suits and kimonos. They scream and
yipe and howl, leap on the guests like bitch dogs in
heat with rabies. They claw at the hanged boys shrieking: “You fairy! You bastard! Fuck me! Fuck me!
Fuck me!” The guests flee screaming, dodge among
the hanged boys, overturn iron lungs.
A.J.: “Call out my Sweitzers, God damn it! Guard
me from these she-foxes!”
Mr. Hyslop, A. J.’s secretary, looks up from his comic
book: “The Sweitzers liquefy already.”
(Liquefaction involves protein cleavage and reduction to liquid which is absorbed into someone else’s
protoplasmic being. Hassan, a notorious liquefactionist,
is probably the beneficiary in this case.)
A.J.: “Gold-bricking cocksuckers! Where’s a man
without his Sweitzers? Our backs are to the wall, gentlemen. Our very cocks at stake. Stand by to resist
boarders, Mr. Hyslop, and issue short arms to the men.”
A.J. whips out a cutlass and begins decapitating the
American Girls. He sings lustily:

“But where is the statuary?” He talks out of one side
of his face, the other is twisted by the Torture of a
Million Mirrors. He masturbates wildly. The Queen
Bee continues the conversation, notices nothing.
Couches, chairs, the whole floor begins to vibrate,
shaking the guests to blurred grey ghosts shrieking in cock-bound agony.
Two boys jacking off under railroad bridge. The
train shakes through their bodies, ejaculate them, fades
with distant whistle. Frogs croak. The boys wash
semen off lean brown stomachs.
Train compartment: two sick young junkies on their
way to Lexington tear their pants down in convulsions
of lust. One of them soaps his cock and works it up the
other’s ass with a corkscrew motion. “Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeesus!” Both ejaculate at once standing up. They move away from each other and pull up their pants.
“Old croaker in Marshall writes for tincture and sweet oil.”
“The piles of an aged mother shriek out raw and
bleeding for the Black Shit. . . . Doc, suppose it was
your mother, rimmed by resident leaches, squirming
around so nasty. . . . De-active that pelvis, mom, you disgust me already”
“Let’s stop over and make him for an RX.”
The train tears on’through the smoky, neon-lighted June night.
Pictures of men and women, boys and girls, animals,
fish, birds, the copulating rhythm of the universe flows
through the room, a great blue tide of life. Vibrating,
soundless hum of deep forest—sudden quiet of cities

gimmicked to stretch, the other the real McCoy. But
that Latah get up in feud state and put on his Santa
Claus suit and make with the switcheroo. Come the
dawning. The citizen put one rope on and the Latah,
going along the way Latahs will, put on the other.
When the traps are down the citizen hang for real
and the Latah stand with the camy-rubber stretch
rope. Well, the Latah imitate every twitch and spasm.
Come three times.
“Smart young Latah keep his eye on the ball. I got
him working in one of my plants as an expeditor.”
Aztec priests strip blue feather robe from the Naked
Youth. They bend him back over a limestone altar, fit
a crystal skull over his head, securing the two hemispheres back and front with crystal screws. A waterfall pour over the skull snapping the boy’s neck. He
ejaculate in a rainbow against the rising sun.
Sharp protein odor of semen fills the air. The guests
run hands over twitching boys, suck their cocks, hang
on their backs like vampires.
Naked lifeguards carry in iron-lungs full of paralyzed
youths.
Blind boys grope out of huge pies, deteriorated
schizophrenics pop from a rubber cunt, boys with
horrible skin diseases rise from a black pond (sluggish
fish nibble yellow turds on the surface).
A man with white tie and dress shirt, naked from
the waist down except for black garters, talks to the
Queen Bee in elegant tones. (Queen Bees are old
women who surround themselves with fairies to form
a “swarm.” It is a sinister Mexican practice.)

grotesque can-can to the tune of She started a Heat Wave.” Let it be! And no holes are barred!!!” Couples attached to the baroque harnesses with artificial wings copulate in the air,screaming like magpies. Aerialist ejaculate each other in space with one sure touch. Equilibrist suck each other off deftly, balanced on perilous poles and chairs tilted over the void. A warm wind brings the smell of rivers and jungle from misty depths. Boys by the hundred plummet throught the roof.,quivering and kicking at the end of the ropes. The boys hang at different levels, some near the celling and others a few inches of the floor. Exquisite Balinese and Malays, Mexican Indians with fierce innocent faces and bright red gums.Negroes (teeth,fingers, toe nails and pubic hair gilded), Japanese boys smooth and white as China, Titan-haired Venetians lads, Americans with blond or black curls falling across the forehead( the guest tenderly shove it back), sulky blond Polacks with animal brown eyes ,Arab and Spanish street boys, Austrian boys pink and delicate with a faint shadow of blond pubic hair, sneering German youths with bright blue eyes scream “Heil Hitler!” as the trap falls under them. Sollubis shit and whimper. Mr Rich-and-Vulgar chews his Havana lewd and nasty, sprawled on a Florida beach surrounded by simpering blond catamites: ” This citizen have a Latah he import from Indo-China.He figure to hand the Latah and send a Xmas TV short to his friends. So he fix up two ropes-one

ballet of pursuit in amonster vase of transparent alabaster.The Satyr catches the boy from in front and whirls him around. They move in fish jerks.The boy releases a silver stream of bubbles from his mouth. White sperm ejaculates into the green water and floats lazily around the twisting bodies. Negro gently lifts exquisite Chinese Boy into a hammock. He pushes the boy’s legs up over his head and straddles the hammock. He slides his cock up the boy’s slender tight ass.He rocks the hammock gently back and forth. The boy screams, a weird high wall of unendurable delight. A Javanese dancer in ornate teak swivel chair, set in a socket of limestone buttocks, pulls an American boy-red hair, bright green eyes-down onto his cock with ritual motions. The boy sits impalated facing the dancer who propels himself in circular gyrations, lending fluid substance to the chair.” Weeeeeeeeee!” scream the boy as his sperm spurt up over the dancer’s lean brown chest. One gob hit the corner of the dancer’s mouth.The boy push it in with his fingers and laugh: ” Man, tha’s what i called suction!” Two Arab women with bestial faces have pulled the shorts off a little blond French boy.They are scewing him with red rubber cocks.The boy snarls ,bites, kicks, collapses in tears as his cock rises and ejaculates. Hassan’s face swells , tumescent with blood. His lips turn purple.He strip off his suit of banknotes and throw it into an open vault that closed soundless. “Freedom Hall here, folks!” he screams in his phoney Texas accent. Ten-gallon hat and cowboy boots still on, he dances the Liquefactionist Jig,ending with a