Pissarro's Entrance To The Village of Voisins
... to take the bus
wavering like a maelstrom

healing the manikins' homeward
warblings, marked by the madness of themselves
looking like look-alikes only

& lost in the launching
the little boy up front picking
his nose for my amusement

while th'mother Mankind mumbles upon
permissiveness The Government's
showing heretics nowadays,

       those dolls
of destiny's, cobbled a clown
of Time's: I look upon my watch & wonder

It is, for all practical purposes, Tomorrow!!!

amongst presentiments of chrome--No,
it isn't: th'fact is that it's past midnight
(so your watch is right, the world is right,
it is tomorrow, it is today) and scorched

by suffering's flames--I've lost my job
as Th'World's reporter (for get-
ting my two independent sources from one
schizo Truth, th'One, the Only, acknowledged
in its shit

--so average (it out): it couldn't even
stand out in a crowd of one--I am
the only person alive who knows
why they cannot bring an end to The War

(I have it all worked out
& documented in these two papers: "Commanding Officer
to Headquarters: Do not attack Stop" and, "Headquarters to
Commanding Officer: Do not Stop" but my editor
told me, "Do you think you're telling me something new?!)

All wars are misunderstandings," (and no editor worth his
has ever heard anything new) "What will it solve
to realize it? We've known this since the start!" So

amongst the familiar's fine nothings, I
some poor god-dogged devil, I am looking for
a man of Reason enough to understand the basics
(from the beginning), and of Position enough
to do something about it... while traversing
cities with the looks of coffins (only a rash of
bungalows, really) waving at scattered cows browsing
on the blue--patience's portion

        --the radio announcer:
"... the body of Joseph P. Gaylord was found
this morning--Police tell us that if
Mister Gaylord does not claim it within 24 hours

it shall be thrown to the dogs..." now the ecological
surface of those tired old seats uncomfortably turn
to brown hearing the deadly old decay of words

Th'People trampling over them down or
passing them over, or draping over them the mean-
ness of Meaning--Sin at its symmetry,

                   Evil freed at last
from having to do battle every step of the way
(with itself) to attain its harmony,

filling with immortal muds th'croaking calm of its
victory, peeling under th'acids of th'ages'
arguments, autistic wheels turning & turning, carrying

th'dead weight of knowledge, deadly over the
living shoulders like constellations one must
always remember never to forget you're staring

right at'em! Are you blind, man! Are you blind!?
Of course it's all fragments of fragments of frag-

ments--It is only in Th'Mind that Summer is
a Oneness! But the Summer gives us nothing but

fragments of fragments! among the imagined groves
springs Hope eternal & then some thirsty motherfucker
sops it up, is why I'm heading back home on this
bus, the radio announcer:

                "... every official
this station has contacted assures us that the plutonium
accidentally dropped on the city was of the ordinary non-
toxic variety, and

        no one has anything to fear at all"
this morning, this fine, fine morning sporting predicaments
like pyramids when you can really go crazy just

thinking about it, there must have been (on Th'Mind
of our driver) a matter of acceleration: a foot (too far)

stept on the gas & then we were traveling dimensions
after dimensions, eternities after eternities, travelling

faster than anything had ever traveled before or since
in life or death (yet with a deliberateness
to our acceleration), an ability to consider things

--as we go along this unending life
     ... things slow & elegant
& beautifully made, allowing us enough time

to formulate all sorts of crazy scenarios (outside, or
bringing them outside from somewhere in-
side us--That is the nature of misery much as made,

regret's dyeing rate, silence's invisible
processions, change's always-late lectures,

prophecy wintering at its spring, dusked a dream,
th'Calm at its cloudiest, struggle's tawdry

trembling in its cold, all-snuggling tide
dimmed to th'worse... some of these dimensions through which
the bus is travelling, sometimes & not so at other times,

depending on political, socio-economic climates
(if it rains or not) & answers as well (can you believe it)

& possibilities where none of them apply--All sorts of
responses at that accelerated pace
up until the very instant of The Accident.

Then the crucial awakening to what's happening
--not by design but sheer accident, I, th'sailor

Eternity plying th'mushroom universe
remember somebody praying, O look into The Book of

Destiny, God, write us a better Fate! and it was
the atheist amongst us!

      ... I rather hazily remember
the brain hitting something I was after: that Dashboard

overbrimming with Moods, Dreams & Chances, Ideals, Pre-
judices, Schemes--To hazy, all too hazy! now, too
lazy am I to even get back on that bus (for suddenly

there it was: We were at the beginning of our journey
& all full of bad feelings, regrets & chromium

premonitions about everything--No one really wanted to
get on the bus, not really: But, what choice did we have?

Renoir's Lady Sewing
lounging in our launch: The locust trees were bearing
fruits of bastards on certain dates, overhead

th'crackling laughters of Death, even Th'Sunlight
overlit but busted in its brightness, in each gatherer's
gawk (for we found ourselves--all--looking through
the windows of awe

  at doves dressed up like carnivorous doves,
at moonlight clanging like out of a metal moon, at

charging cherubs like damned martyrs all astir

about us, fighting in titanic battle the Will's self-
reconciliations--against Th'Dark's dank beads, against

Love's local hurdles, Extent's cathedral, th'crickets'
exact ticks through th'thickets that can

can, Tomorrow's rising footfalls, Today's
pleading past, Motive's pleading marlins

like raindrops, Grief's perfumed performances
--th'madcap fowl!

          ... Neglect's null
generations, Morality's humble labyrinth,
Greatness' greasy divergence, Study's internal
knitting, th'pitiless wan fawns of Fame, fighting

Lust's honest thighs, th'Nowhere's waxing waters,
Wit's unflinching pitchfork, Wait's unmerciful

(twisting), fighting against Tragedy's introverted
ungainly eagles that clutch at Beginning's babies,

Knowledge's gnawing gnats, Idea's unthinking
ecstasy, Potential's phlegmatic legs--the bowels
made Verse

         --fighting each word's fanciful
flushed marshes, drowning in Meaning's actual
lakes, against th'jaguars of our Treachery, the dogs

of Discipline, the mangling of Shame, Sigh's biting
frostbite, Realization's unpredictable offsprings, fighting

against th'Sun-loving stones of Th'Timeless, the
subconscious cabinets of Continuation, Politic's

prodigious slumping stands, against th'boundless designs
of our limits, against Determination's badly-
taught daughters turned bad, against the wet of

Security & th'tenement leopards' feline flames
fighting--with only clenched chrysanthemums
& rhododendrons' smashing sash! fighting

against th'Bane's exalted lilacs
with Mercy's exhausted sage

         --There all around us
outside th'windows of th'bus between
the ins & outs of it)... too lazy to
even open my eyes, of (in)sufficient(ly) [quite]

crazy--, behind women's lengths & depths, and
th'bald CAPut weaving & weaving, in & out of the end-

lessly, endlessly heaving & heaving (so they
won't disconnect th'life-sustaining Grand & Glorious

Apparatus--that Plan which folds up like a map, if
you know how to fold it properly & don't rip it apart)

otherwise it's right back where you start (at
the bus stop, all sorts of strange paperbacks
barking at the subconscious)

        Machinery making its
music of life & melodies of meanness to which dance
Th'Baby-Makers, blind, thinking (the
odors they smell about them is a kind of Sight),

meaning, standing eternal watch so carefully, so
cautiously, filled with solicitude over you-
r welfare it stands (that foot-tapping side-winder

that sterilely sinks its tubes down your
less-than-perfect), holding its breath, and
trying to make you hold yours
so it can claim: OK, HE'S DEAD! (un-plug him!) And

plug him (the contradiction of life & death), trembling
I try to peer into its Soul, the program, but who can read
with blood-shot eyes all the way into the currents
through the nerves under the circuitry
of a man's designs?

      ... All I knew was that
there had been a strange unwillingness about Today

& then th'leaping gods of laughter quoted me some
obscure statute of theirs under which
no one can be allowed to die ('pass over' is what they
actually called it) as long as there's a need for you

(no matter how silly or irrelevant, I might add): you've
still to do some (unspecified) action, perhaps

disastrous--My God! what can that be! (I think
I must be going mad)... Back to the bus

stop, misgivings & misgivings, one foot on the ground
another on the first step of the stairs of the bus,

What can it be? Have I forgotten something?

th'Past like so many precious fragrances, dalliance
beading its chances--Did I leave anything behind?

I keep thinking (while they prop me up in bed by
the numberless nets of wires &

smiles, and those puzzling looks of people
who set your brain to work (what do they mean
by surrounding you with the shadows' sheepdogs?

what are they after? lips lying dead amidst
th'living Truth--Do you know them? cloaked
in Selfness like nuns of that order! Are you supposed to
know them, or are you supposed to actually pretend
you do not?... bows, smiles & gestures of concern, of

    they even put on a phonograph (on which
my voice is already recorded--it gives them all the answers
(from me) they're after, already, so I won't have to
bother myself with confusing details): No need for you
to think--Just enjoy it, roll along, that's

th'beauty of it!... (actually) so wonderful &
so wonderful, all, the machines making their musics

of purpose for th'petty corpses strewn along the highway,
each individually catered (to) inside the overcrowded
freezers of the supermarket World! and then

it almost seems as if Th'Reason for continuing The War
was all the room around me (it was making) available
& going to waste for lack of fresh corpses!) --I shudder

to discover there was a thief at my right, and wondered if
there could be another one at my left... But, thank God:
I was not The World's Savior!

         ... thank God, I was amongst
the passengers going to be saved (through The Tough Luck of
somebody else--no skin off my nose)

             ... there, to my left,
there was only some poor deaf fellow lying there
dying or dead (who had apparently refused to acknowledge a
policeman's order to halt in the middle of jogging), the

green, green opening up of eyes... wildly startled at
all the people passing & passing (the nerve gasses) around
--the merrily chatting nurses & other lasses all

quite beside themselves inside the trenches of
themselves suddenly waking up to their self-

concerns (first-degree burns) not quite bad-enough to
stuff them down their urns--Carcasses stacked
like tea cups! yet Wisdom leading the instincts

... "Learn the therapy of being

(taught HOW, now) brown cow, fat's being easily fried
somewhere amongst th'backward yards--I can smell it

from the stink--Th'obese little children are stealing tidbits
of The Light... Am I finally home? Or, is this

only some re-constructed old house that has collapsed
billions & billions of times? The suckling Until!

Is this my stop, buddy? Bus-driver, is this my hometown?
Is this where I live? Or, where I'm suppose to--under
th'darkly shouting parents, O mean-

while there's the howl of a distant siren--It chases off
th'flies that are arguing, straddling the prolong, who
were not even invited to this picnic World of

Man the product (of his fabricated laws) also...

a camera, I think, suggests itself suddenly & there
's a flash! ... perhaps a clue of everlastingness, all
smiles aside: let's get on with the picnic

before there's a crash & some black-robed policeman
steps forth from the voids of the three-
dimensional existence (that's always heaving in three
different directions at the same time, same place

next year, dear friend! into the two-dimensional
picture-world (of cool, calm squares) words
still toggling between th'sounds they make

of silences & th'meanings that turn & turn like tops
endlessly spinning between th'first tries (at
straightening out Th'Signs, Th'Sights,
Th'Symbols O

     this World! this sad, sad
world, oh) happy, happy day! forward the spectrums!

through the authority of Order stalking the
chickens (is't?) for their pots? Or am I being thrown off
track by the radio announcer: "Join THIS or THAT

Party" some nut standing still rawly (yuck all over his face)
yet rawly upon his hallowed shell he delivers upon us
bird-brained with precision (enviable) The Charges against
The Opposition:

  "Ethics's the science of persuading us
to behave ourselves!" [Applause, applause.]

"Morality is the science of shaming us into
behaving ourselves!" [Applause, heavier applause.]

"Politics's th'science of coercing us into behaving
ourselves!" [Applause, insanely wild applause.]

The moderator shouts out above the racket: "The man's
a genius-Kill him! Kill him! before he gets away!" [How more
dangerous can things get?] This might be more serious than

I think: Death never happens to you (everybody
else dies, but--to you--it never happens): "How many people
have you ever met who can say with a straight face that
it's happened to them?" (Yes, but those were liars,

surely!) [Who can say?] "How's the deaf guy coming along?
Is he all right?" All right! Sir, he is a hell
of a lot better than 'all right' ... he is history!

(Dead?) Hey, you don't seem half-as-crazy as they say
you are, my friend... [Don't go spreading it--if
you don't want to have trouble getting out of this place.]

"Now, back to our program..." The voice... "Religion is
the science of scaring us into behaving ourselves..."
[No applause at all!].

God is omnipresent because otherwise
only a few people at a time would be religious, and the
priests & preachers & other religious parasites
would starve!" [Announcer:

              "--For some unspecified reason
beyond our control..." the radio went dead--Extremely unusual

case: Once those mechanical things start talking that's
ever the case.] People said it was A Sign from God! "How are you

today?" Quite well, doctor. When can I go home? (It
always depends on whether he can make a couple'a'bucks off
some other stiff): "Please look at this painting." What's it

called? "Washington crossing the Rubicon to trap Chiang Kai-
shek at Richmond and thus end The Potato Famine." And?

"Tell us if you think there's anything wrong with this painting?"
Nothing. I have one just like it in my head... "Tell us
The Right Answer and you will be allowed to go home.

We'll even throw in a couple of bucks for the bus ticket
..." The Right Answer!?                   

            ... That's easy: Chiang Kai-shek
was Washington's closest ally--He'd never cross him!

Can I go home now? "Why don't you listen to th'radio
instead, for a few more years. Put on the National Geographic
Special..." [

             "... My monkey can turn ON the T.V.
and be absolutely fascinated by what's going on--We think

it begins to cross th'threshold (into the human species) at
that point when the creature under study actually
begins to check th'TV Guide before turning ON the T.V."]

Who best knows the nature of Man? "You're asking me

for The Right Answer?.. Any! I say. Can a mere mortal
judge God? Can th'least man judge his superior?

Ask me & I'll have to say: I am God, I am the Superior Man
you're seeking, you low-lapping laughingstock, you
Lack's cut-away!" We flatter ourselves with the thought

that it's our scientists, philosophers, doctors of the body
or th'mind, or those laughed-at politicos we respect so much

because they speak back to us our own words (and so we
elevate them up to All-Wise (and Cretins, depending on

several things) or the theologians who insist we are divine
& sacred (that even God only exists to guide us

for a few coins at a time) ... But it's the damned
advertisers who really know us best (of all), who know where
we stand, where we're coming from, where we've been, where
we're headed, what we would like to be, what we cannot escape
being. [ "At that point we can (relatively, safely) assume
such an animal is human--If it turns OFF the T.V. (for
any reason whatsoever) we define that as self-evident genius.
" ] ... CENSORED,

        I am now in th'midsts of a much complicated
(broken) back (politically stated), sedated, settled

comfortably into a mistress' mattress--The Mother Mankind
therapy, but, Prince, you won't learn a thing about the sad
affairs of state, or the sad state of affairs

This Way or That Way, or riding the bus up & down, back & forth
--only retracing all your steps, maybe, steps so deadly

already & all too quickly past all explanation, this
was The Accident's (only) real blessing: It got me off the bus

(who can live just trying to get there) --I'm home now,
& meanwhile trying to strike my own odd sort of blow
against our Real Masters [th'advertisers] (that's

how I want to spend the autumn of my while, gathering up
the falling invitations-to-subscribe cards
designed to little our lives

                  --I write: "This is not
A BOMB THREAT" in boldface, on the first line (so
they're forced to continue reading it), and then, "This
card fell from a magazine I was reading--Just thought I'd

return it," in the place for the name & address &
telephone number of the victim of such pranks: "No need for

thanks." [Unsigned.] Not only does it encourage such companies
to hire more secretaries to keep up with their return-
ing cards, but it gives The Postal Service more
life--The latest holders of Th'Light [The Advertisers], this
is a direct strike against The Advertisers, our
Masters, the New Masters of The Latest Truth, whose
product is always perfect, whose judgment is always right:

Hey, take a look at this gadget! And although I had
never even heard of it before, I just knew (instantly,

instinctively) that their product was my favorite

forever & ever & ever and that I just had to have it,
no matter what, no matter what the price... they were

interviewing somebody who was certain, "the West
invented Communism as a means of keeping The East (from competing
effectively), keeping them in Th'Dark Ages, killing
all signs of Th'Human Spirit within their frontiers, and
thus eliminate The East from Th'Race for Progress..." while

I breathlessly awaited the next commercial (straight
from the Mouth of God by way of His True Representatives
on Earth): "And now a word from our sponsors..."