LAST LAUGH CLXII
Kelly the physical therapist the past decade remarks on mv
of carriage, lately got worse about it, bothering me to use my
and see an MD in order to begin this process of acquiring this
stuff, special anti-inflamatory. I dislike going out to do
strangers for anything, disrupts my routine, meditations. I had
would run upon a chiropractor friend somewhere sometime, but
should find a
large batch of acid meantime again, in my purposes, longevity.
be a less effort, get up a chunk of money and seek the right
younger generation, and maybe I know where to go at Port Aransas, but it is
still an effort. I did tell Kelly I needed the acid and he snorted.
I lost a lot of patience, and too Kelly is an old acid head.
Kelly - who has the most credibility within the Olives - and I the
least - monetarily in today's world within the Olives I am the
took SSI, thanks Richard - so what they all know Bill does not
lie - why
ever should he, after all - Bill is but a tad mad or suspect -
and told Lyla to find an MD for Bill, I guess is how it went. He
mean simply a chiropractor, yet Lyla called up this local office
me an appointment. Thus, nothing else for it, I had to go down
and see an
Aransas Pass chiropractor, Dr. Gregg Godfrey. Two Gs in Gregg,
This is a young transplanted yankee, wife is an airline hostess
Dr. Godfrey has been in his practice and in this locale only six
The first day he had me exrayed and my exrays alarmed me. My
crooked so one leg hangs longer and my neck slants the wrong way
my spine is out of whack. He asked what trauma had my neck
said I was not altogether sure but maybe this fight (re.
EMERYVILLE) "aout ten years ago." Being that about that point, pullups got
then two more years the neck took cramps and lost flexibility to
I have always wondered. I learned how to work with it - 30 neck
morning, no more, no less, keeps pain away. Dr. Godfrey said it
little older than ten years ago and as I thought about it
overnight I saw
indeed that fight was longer than that ago, was impressed.
deduction - torn knee of jeans - I had slipped off the curb,
Bu got the right hand on my corner of jaw, and the one that split
lobe, and I could not well remember this particular fight. I
did not feel like continuing the affair, but philosophically had
to so got
on top of him. Dr. Godfrey said I am in the top ten percent of
patients he gets, but that, unlike many of these, who are
can be fixed somewhat, because of my musculature. The
musculature can hold
it together when he gets it back together. For this, he has a
plan. Saying my working out has saved me, I could pass for
forty-five, I said.
Dr. Godfrey says my progress is surprisingly rapid. Mebbe so.
waited a journey to recovery, whether Bu could have done all that
licks, set my neck bone curving backward instead of forward. But
chiropractic is a little too logical for the more regular MDs. It
is vision of
brain commanding spine commanding body, commanding health,
sanity. But before I go to him I take four aspirin and do my workout, so am
got progress, so why speak of it to him yet. I am getting to
somewhat, and his philosophy uses no drugs and the first session
he requested I put off my working out, for a week. I did then, one week.
Bob Parlocha does the all night jazz show for NPR of Chicago,
the Corpus Christi NPR is now using. Couple weeks somewhere back
dozing in a middle of a night he ran a Kerouac excerpt, a thing
jazz shows do sometimes. Bob Parlocha is a talker, in some
brought up Lord Buckley, a funny man popular in Kerouac's time.
Parlocha said something about we cannot get good satire anymore
"reality is too bizarre." I awoke fully. He said since around
reality is too bizarre for satire. YMy man! That date I called
NPR to get a mailing address for this fine fellow and next day
three Guinness Stouts or three Negra Modelos and did him an
In DORIS #20, Cindy (my favorite living writer) pitches for EMERGANCY #4, MONSTERS, by this Ammi. Cindy's printing a passage off
first page got me interested. I ordered EMERGANCY #4 for me and
When it came on in I had to get out of the middle of ANNA
read it twice.
Cindy had said: This zine is half novel, and the kind that makes
happy about literature, our people, documentation. Also it made
"great, she wrote the novel, now I don't have to" like she beat
me to it
somehow even though our stories are completely different. This is
Get it. Ammi, P0 Box 72023 NO, La 70172. $2.
After my second read I call it a novel. It is 64 pages but Ammi
gets her experience into one novel. I have not read anything for
years that is this strong and complete. No, I am not done with
KARENINA before Xmas,which is slow for me now.
Cindy, Ammi, Leigh Vega, are much in common, while talented
Distinctly individual they live the "punk" lifestyle. They and
are moving around, in no respect for authority. Female, they are
and sleeping with their people in situations that are frequently
threatening. In a vision of love and humor and courage they survive.
The Corpus Christi Caller Times surprised me by printing the above,
early December. And turn of 2003 has the Korean matter and U.S.
barking setting the U.S. public a tad apprehensive of the
need that oil because we use it but are we really the least
popular nation on Earth? Where is our God?
My kid and her mother got on in here for Xmas by bus. Lyla and
Bonnie paid it. Lyla's children all managed Xmas here this time but
was the sole grandchild of the three grandchildren. Cynthia,
chainsaw sculptor genius crafts lady who survived brain surgery a
years back and ran me out of there with the local police re. LL,
sanest I have known her. I brought her a sixer of quality beer
and we were proud of our product. Isn't it great, I said. We're
couple of maladjusted people but we have this fine young lady.
agreed. It is nice watching Madrea and her mom smoke their pot
Kelly provided the pot luckily, as they would not bring any on
the bus in
psychotic times. There is plenty room in this house to do all
Just go through my room upstairs out onto deck over car port.
good three decades back B.E. had taken to smoking pot with us,
even get freaky but deny marijuana had any effect on him, and
emphesemia got him badly, he quit any pot, would partake of
only when a cigarette smoking guest visited, it was assumed much
worsening mental and physical condition was alcohol, and I, and
are categorised alcoholic too.
The government crack thing hit and the media lumped all illicit
B.E. forbade any pot smoking in his house or else he could said
all I have ever worked for."
We smoke upon the deck in order to not disturb Lyla unnecessarily,
and also we drank our brew. Madrea does not care for beer but
have a bit of wine sometimes, holds it well too. The hippies in
of A. lost. But not my kid and her mom and me. Yay, LSD forever.
At this time the bus stop in Aransas Pass is this nearby
store. When I took them there for their departure Cynthia had
been tanking on beer pretty good for the long boring ride. She is a lager
but run out of lager she downed a couple of my Guinnesses before
them to this bus stop. They had a lot of luggage and I was
the luggage and Cynthia went into the store to pee. The Muslim
clerk detected alcohol, said she was too drunk to ride the bus, and he
officials, or something like this which Cynthia came out and
Madrea then me, they were telling me this. Bullshit, I said,
luggage ready to truck over the the bus, the bus pulling in now.
the luggage to bus and themselves boarded without further idiot
Two days later they called telling me how there had been a change
on the highway that threw off the schedule considerable. They
in, calling me, but they were home.
Sasquatch may be as "intelligent" as we are. Naturally I have
somewhat followed this. That there is at least one species of human
The Dear Reader should recollect Mike Olive's amazing retorts to
in LAST LAUGH, for example the U.S. A-bombing of Japan facts, for
the headless chicken who walked and congregated among the other
Couple days before Mike returned to Boulder this time, where he
as scientific scholar/mountain climber, he left his pulp fiction
look in on a Discovery Channel program I was watching, on
Sasquatch. A valid
program this time, no sensationalism, showing the two Sasquatch
1967 classic, now one from 1997. The critter is long armed but
bipedal. Mike had come on in and sat down because he overheard
scientists/specialists with their hi-tech. In contrast with
Sasquatch, the program flashed some gorillas bouncing in their
Mike Olive: These Big Feet just never look like apes.
Bill: Goddamnit, Mike. Sasquatch is bipedal! It is human!
|Oil's the thing
Most U.S. citizens wish to have
All politicians speak of the coming
assault on Iraq as having to do with
Are we ripe for some leader who
does not have this disconnect?
Chimpanzies are bipedal.
They are not!
Chimpanzies can stand up and walk around pretty good. That is
Mike! My god! What is your stock in this? Chimpanzies are not
bipedal! Goddamn! What's wrong with you! Please be quiet! I am
listen to this!
And ho hum, another one of a kind dialogue between Mike and Bill.
brother is a crazy man. Here is this guy who wili be so helpful,
to do anything physical, if with reckless judgement, enthusiastically,
inspired. A popular fellow indeed. Saying he is an experienced
had worked in a glass ware factory or some damn thing, he packed
B.E.'s old .22 repeater rifle, never used, Xmas gift from the
Cynthia and Madrea. So what his weird war with any wider cosmic
Yeh, before this evening he went on back to his pulp fiction, he
strange stuff, such that he could fake dermal ridges. As in
of these footprints - besides fakes, the fakes do not count -
many and go for miles nobody has time to keep following.
So very interesting to me, these dermal ridges, of a biped's
not of human as we know human nor ape as we know ape, and my
to repeat two stories of his he had forgotten I have heard, one
he met on some trip somewhere in this country, and this sherpa
says he has
seen what are called Yeti footprints but he himself has seen no
Mike's other story is some friend expert who says there is
nothing about Big
Foot in any of the Indian legends. Goddamnit, Mike, I have
this! Hell, other sherpas have seen Yetis! And I don't care!
Mike, Sasquatch is an Indian name! All these programs refer to
Indian legend but you never watch these programs! Your friend is a fool
are a fool for believeing him! Mike Olive headed onward about
some scientist in California taking a shit and seeing this Big Foot and how
Mike Olive who has spent so much time in these mountains never
Big Foot. Goddamnit, Mike, don't take it so personally! If I
was a Big
Foot I sure as hell would not want to be seen by any homosapiens,
who want to shoot one to bring it in! Hell, these critters are
can smell very good! Bill, said scholarly Mike, you are one of
these peopie from the other side of the argument, who say the Big Feet
only come out
at night. Ah, shit, Mike! What's wrong with you! God!
The 1997 video is taken by picnickers some hundreds of yards from
figure loping smoothly along, yet seemingly hunched over, till it
bit taller on reaching trees and getting from sight. Later, a
is had to cover the same path, and he is not smooth. I cannot
guess, why in
all this technology the Sasquatch runner is not brought in close,
I cannot remember was it a year ago or two years ago, Bix had had
rough draft of SERGEANT FELIX and returned it and I having lost
the SERGEANT FELIX manuscript did this new draft. I sent it to Jackson
TexasGang.Com, and he put it online. I forget how I lost the
draft of SERGEANT FELIX, and there was a sequel, THE RETURN OF
FELIX, but I think I had sent carbons to my first ex, Charmaine
poetess. She is the lady with me on the cover of the 1978
2000 copies of TEXAS GANG, and she took to prosac and quit
for a decade or so. My latest take on SERGEANT FELIX got longer,
took on a twist of THE RETURN OF SERGEANT FELIX, its ending, our scuffle
when he had
stolen a tarp of mine, and other digression too went into this
night I looked at this latest of the story, I could not remember
written anything so messy. Looped, too much alcohol at my
Brownrat den in
Port Aransas. Only have drunk letters to old friends, or women I
upon, been so looped, I am a circular writer but SERGEANT FELIX
unclear. Back in Port Aransas when I did it, I had lent it to an
friend, a journalist, and when he returned it, he said he had not
for it very much, too disorganised for him. But he is a
had never been able to get into TALES FROM THE TEXAS GANG, which
and, when two decades later he heard some TG on tape he was
dug it, and consequently I disregarded his critique of SERGEANT
got around to looking at SERGEANT FELIX last night to see what my
was maybe critical of. Whoo, what a mess.
Oh well, thought I. I went on to reading in these later parts of
ANNA KARENINA, which has become slow for me. Dozing, listening
Parlocha's jazz selections, I began to decide to do another draft
of SERGEANT FELIX inside this present LL, so what such length and etc.
thought I in sleepy realm, why not follow up the clearer SF with
pages of WILD BILL IN BERKELEY IN THE SIXTIES, in order to show
wrote better in later sixties than looped at Port Aransas in the
nineties - the sixties excerpt would be not edited, real. Sure,
as last LL
I had appreciation about the New York stuff where I had taken a
the Berkeley insane true love, (ah, disturbed, this young woman
disturbed) I would toss in this street fight and stuff in NY.
And, no. This is not what LAST LAUGH is about. LAST LAUGH is
ongoing essay of today. Old work has to take care on its own.
Nephew Geoffrey is interested in his family's old histories, I
lend him my surviving cdpy of WILD BILL IN BERKELEY IN THE
SIXTIES. I had
another copy of it but Bix's puppy chewed it up in the seventies
It is Charmaine's favorite of my stuff, she had my sole copy
before sending it back to me in the nineties, before she got on prosac and
correspondence. Ahh, histories.
What other American writer has all this. Legend in my own time.
insane romantic, a no bullshit street fighter. And, U.S.
lobotomized. Disconnect. Kind of like nobody asking pro-lifers
don't these innocent aborted fetuses simply head on to Heaven?
Hey, Dear Reader! Cindy Ovenrack, Leigh Vega, Ammi Keller,
prose talent, all have it! But look here, unchanged, from
in New York! LAST LAUGH today, in as this chapter is too slow
and we are
talking about Bill. Give me another Negra Modelo. When I run
disturbed Wanda. Poor girl, damn, I cannot do everything. I
she is like in her later fifties. Word in 1980 was she weighed
Five feet five but big bones, I dunno. Hell, I wanted to breed.
would have had to get a job. And cross all her black family for
Shit. Such is life. Then came Cudilus, the black beauty,
by nature, maybe she is reading TexasGang.com because I have been
of her. But more I dream now of the last one, the Schizoid
is reading TexasGang.com is it. They quit menstruation and I am
youngest man on Earth, perhaps. It is not my fault.
For a day or two Lenny and I had harmony. Soon though he was
irritable with me and giving me daily sermons and showing poor
for things I did or believed, same as in the old days. He had to
be older and keeping a sort of noise advantage around the small
apartment. He could get very dramatic giving his sermons. The sermons
were the like a drunken Irish priest might lay out for his wayward
teenage nephew. Lenny was Catholic, but he didn't like the
Ricans. He didn't like the Negroes either. He did not mind if I
did, he didn't mind when years ago I brought a Negro friend over
for supper one evening. I wouldn't call him a true racist. Many
sorts of people he did not like, he used names like
"the spics," every other male was faggot or queen, actual women
simply bitches. He was not unhappy, it was his sport to sneer and
snicker, and not arriving at any other edge with me he kept the
noise edge. He let me have one sermon in the morning and sometimes
one for the evening, days I wasn't working. The sermons didn't
bother me, I went about doing my things, typing or lifting his
barbell, or eating something, and there he would sit or pace and rap
the American sort of thing, if you leave out homosexuality, and
his flair for drama he was good, better than L.B.J., whom he
was the best president we ever had. There Was a Christmas eve a
years ago we were looking at a priest on TV go through a stylish
oration of the occasion, I wasn't that impressed and after it was
done Lenny stood and gave it to me all over again, even touching
nose in the fashion of that priest for emphasis.
I got no better about Wanda. I was writing her friend Leslie
constantly trying to find out about her. I got a job in a zipper
factory to get bus money, wondering to leave New York. Lenny
me wonderful meals while I worked, whether he was hungry or not,
whether we got along or not, usually we did not particularly, he
preferred it that way. Fuck Wanda, he said. That's what I want
do, I said. He never respected my romances. I had the idea of
getting set up with a job and place, Wanda had told me before
last quarrel she would probably come to New York if I did such,
she did need to travel, but I was very restless and bored lifting
boxes in the zipper factory at minimum wage, had no trade, was
used to working, always had trouble regulating myself to eight
schedules, saw nothing good coming from what I was doing except to
get a little bus money together because I never did like to hitch
hike. I had worked about two days, I had the address of Wanda's
sister and it was on a Friday evening I got the number and called
L.A. address, only got hold of her sleepy brother-in-law, who
Wanda was out. Lenny came in and didn't seem to mind the long
distance call. I had not heard from Mike Mann and went outto take a
subway to the Village. A couple of blocks from the apartment I
two Negroes leaning on a mail box, wearing the do-rags they used
flatten their hair in those days. I had thought they might give
trouble, which in a bad mood I wanted. I had on tight jeans and
they thought I was too prissy. I might have been. The larger
something, I had crossed the street at the corner before I was
I looked back, he said whatever he said again. I saw a cop close
gestured to the cop, walked back to them. You walk like a sissie,
said the big spade. Maybe you'd liketo go some place with me so
can see who's a sissie, said Bill Olive, or to that effect. He
amiably agreed. We walked down to a darker area. The amiable
was interested why I was so willing to get it on, asked me if I
judo or something. Naa, said I. Just a little of this and that,
little wrestling, a little boxing, just this and that. The other
one suggested we go have a beer and forget it. I just want to
see what this cat gets, said the big friendly fellow. Rather friendly
myself, I told the smaller one to stay out of it, just let it be
between me and his friend. We turned down the dark end of the
and too soon for me who am fair at avoiding police he wanted to
begin it. I agreed, put my glasses on top of a parked car, told
other one not to bother my glasses now. I was ready, asked him if
he was. Yeah, I'm ready, he said, and I stepped and just pulled a
left hook going across his mouth because he was saying wait,
my watch, my watch, let me take off my watch. He ran and handed
watch to his partner. We got ready again. He had some reach on
and I leaped around it with the same left hook and scored. He
get set and went down with about the second left hook. He came
back up and I drove him onto the parked car beating his body, he
started to gouge, but he didn't really want to bring it into
I had hold his throat, turned him loose with a push, following and
feinted the left hook and slammed a right in his ribs probably a
harder blow than I've ever hit anyone, knocked him stumbling to
knees by a left and right to his head, had felt from the clinch
there was no starch left in him but he was just tough, and locking
his head and ripping maybe three along his eyebrows I was already
tired of hitting him1 and turned him loose. A woman from an upstairs
window was hollering about the police.
Some people in the light of a newstand on the corner were too curious and the guy's
partner was yelling at them, they're just playing, go on! I didn't quit, I didn't quit, insisted the big friendly fellow. Well, I quit, I said,
of fighting. My hands and arms were tired, I could feel, from
nervous and unused to the work of lifting zipper boxes all day. I
needs a cigarette, that's what I needs, he said, face somewhat
messed up, swollen eyes, mouth, and his friend lit him a cigarette
and he put his arm around me for support and we walked back to
we had met, declaring it was nothing racial. He's pretty good
his hands alright, they agreed. You beat me in a challenge, he
acknowledged, and I never carry grudges. He was worn but still
and jolly, said he was high as a kite. Oh, you've been drinking,
then you're not at your best, I said, and abruptly went into too
much monologue on myself, and how I was worried about my Negro
girlfriend in Watts, and I regret this, said things down on the people
in Watts for starting all that trouble, knowing no better then,
I could see this did not settle well with the two. We agreed to
have a beer sometime, I thought I might be running into them, but
told them I had to move on, had to go catch someone in the
and jabbering about myself I went on. I went to the subway,
I was not so excited over the fight as times before I have been.
face was scratched but the guy never got in more than a glancing
lick, maybe on pills.
I asked around for Mike Mann in the Village and after going to
several places where he hung I found him in a little coffee house
where a girl sang amature jazz. And Bill Olive walks through the
door, Mike said sitting to himself at a table. Hello, Mike,
We went to another quieter coffee house to talk. I bought us
some twentifive cent coffee. Mike was on his way. The last
I heard about Mike, from my Texas friend Danny who once met him
knew people who know him, was that after a big shot of meth he no
longer speaks. He is supposedly all rhythm now, can play guitar
and all the time swings his body to the rhythm, but has quit
talking. Methodrine jams up your body rhythm so that you will be forced
to move and it seems the mind is broken first. But who knows,
maybe someday he will put it back together and say something. People
have lost chunks of their brain - done alright. Intelligence
to be in the body cells anyway. This last time I Saw Mike he was
more silly than I had seen him, here I had not seen him for three
years and he would not cease talking to me in a British accent.
sat at this large table where a group of young Village
bohemians, much the company female, had nothing better to do than
discuss what is the meaning of love. I spoke to Mike beside me that I
coulds say more on the matter than any of these people could and he said, yes, you probably could. He was not stoned at
the time. He always had believed in me. For all my egocentricity. I
see you still lift weights, Bill Olive, he said. Yeah, and I
still win street fights, I just had a fight on the way up here,
but except for that part I'm less sure of myself than I ever have been.
Well, it's about time. Well, I don't know, I just need to get
settled some where. You wouldn't know where I could find an
apartment, would you? No, I'm out of a place to stay myself. This disappointed
his guitar genius, and it was a genius, with a little work, talent
was all there, I had expected he would be number one in the
by then. He told me he had hung up the guitar. Three years ago
claimed to be number three in the Village, and none of the older
in Central Islip could dispute it. His last word to me, via
was tell Bill Olive I am homosexual now. At first that was a
shock, but my answer, which Danny never got up to deliver, was,
Mike Mann Bill Olive is an Indian fighter now. Here we sat and I
could not get him off the British accent. I told him about my new
true love and my idea of getting established so I could get her up
there and let her meet the right people to sing jazz. I had
Mike could be some help to me on it. But he no longer even had a
guitar. Not long, couple of months later, Linda Connely from
went up to New York briefly, came back, told me in Texas he was
playing again, but was using a lot of methodrine. The next thing I
was he does not talk, not even in a British accent. He's all
I also got around to ordering the two other zines Cindy recommends
in DORIS #20. URBAN WILD, about folks growing food in city
and MINE, a series of women telling their abortion experiences.
is, not casual, but emotional.
Lately there is all this of the abortion politics again. I hate
politics. I am an anarchist.
But I say, in the present nation, the Republican idiots tend to
angrier and nastier and more political, some how, than are the
idiots. Being that politics bore the anarchist, the Republican
columnists are frequently too boring to read. George Will is always
boring to read, nothing but political, so no credibility. Molly
now, a Democrat, but she gets tough on anyone, Clinton or any of
idiots, and she is no idiot, has humor, is a nice person. George
is her opposite, used to have his lunch money taken away from
In bizarro times, the abortion thing is another disconnect. Where
Congress got up and pled allegiance under God, the abortion
Christianity, is out-of-touch.
Christianity: The innocent child goes to Heaven.
Hell, Dear Reader, I would not care to get born unwanted and maybe
not get enough food and become criminal and cruel and go to Hell.
Goddamn, I wouldn't even want my old mom to give up her career
not get me enough food, high protein. I better never be here not
enough high protein. In my own case.
redroachpress a yahoo.com
THE DIE P.O. Box 764, College Park, MD 20740
U.L.A. member Joe Smith of Red Roach Press has intrigued me with a
review of Authur Koestler's THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE, published
Smith keeps searching for the bottom of our situation and in his
edition of THE DIE, that costs but $1, he reviews books from
Eric Kahler, Paul Goodman, Noam Chomsky, Fernand Braudel, Marc
Koestler is saying homosapien is innately insane. To use brave
Joe Smith's quoting from Koestler's book: -
The neurophysiological eyidence indicates...a dissonance between
the reactions of the neocortex (the part of the brain we inherit
from lower mammels which functions on an animalistic level in
humans) and the limbic system (the late-developing part of the
brain that is the apparatus for intelligent behavior in humans),
Instead of functioning as integral parts in hierarchic order,
they lead to a kind of agonised coexistence. To revert to an
earlier metaphor: the rider has never gained complete control
of the horse and exerts its whims in the most objectionable ways.
Without my getting official permission from brave Joe Smith to be
quoting Smith himself, it should be enough for now that he tells
Koestler's advocating drugs to aid our species, not "some kind
wide-acid-drop," but, more like "prosac."
...the psychopharmacologist cannot add to the faculties of the
brain, but he can, at best, eliminate obstructions and blockages,
which impede their proper use. He cannot aggrandize us - but he
can; within limits, normalize us...
The Dear Reader ought to read Smith's review, if not Authur Koestler's
THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE. I should find Koestler's book
as Smith's review of it keeps taking hold on my thought. I can
the subject up to the sanest people I know, Kelly Olive, Steve
and they smile, and nod....
In my own case, I have known my brain is oddly structured. I
enjoy seeing it examined. Knowing not the chicken nor egg comes
but that we are.
I am thought crazy, because my personality is not repressed. I am
unconflicted, not schizoid. The out of touch civilization had me
wondering were I human, but I got past that one. Psychedelics
For a male in patriarchy to not be able to get money is inducive
to psychosis. How, for example, white guys tottering in the U.S.
not sympathize with black guys. Most of my own madness was
I am realising. The horror, to get out of bed and go do dumb
wages, is terrific, but to have no schizoprenia, where one cannot
twist one's self, minus mayhem, is inducive to psychosis, etc.
Those who rape or molest can be shot so they may soon have
Otherwise nobody needs any law from man. Law from man only keeps
coming clean. Nobody needs this shit.
What we have right now where Congress went marching to pledge allegiance
under God is small Hell. Martin Luther King Jr. in one
speech said the United States is the largest purveyor of violence
Earth. The U.S. celebrating his birthday in 2003 pretended he
anything like this. A few days ago, Mandela said something
did not myself get his exact words, but understand him, this
went from prison to president in his country. Meanwhile in the
gangs of idiots, Democrats, Republicans, pretended Mandela is
the Europeans know what Mandela said.
When the astronauts died this time it was a break for the shaken
citizenry . They wept and spoke of their heroes.
In a calmer frame I went on and read SERGEANT FELIX again the
night and concluded it is not such a mess. Two or three
to be smoother.
Our states of mind and memories cannot be still. Nothing is
yes nothing. We do need report writers. See ULA list. Humans
minimum some clutch at reality. Ah, nothing only be still. Dig
I am so slowly heading to complete ANNA KARENINA. Suddenly it
be more interesting for me in my state. But I encountered DOWN
RIVER by Charles Bowden, copyright 2002, Simon and Schuster. Am
book. Maybe Charles Bowden is my favorite living writer. Dear
to a library or Amazon.com or someway get this now. It is about
and the U.S. and illicit drugs, that brace our economies but are
somewhere crazier than coked out W.'s Mideast grabbing.
Notice that guy's loose skin of his throat. He may be doing this
working out, this running of miles his media says he is doing. But
substances to hold him up. He is younger than I am. Of course
I am a
mutant but this guy looks like shit.
Something wonderful about Bowden's DOWN BY THE RIVER is his
of "doublespeak," "denial," "schizoprenia," what word can we
official lurch to mangle reality in the minds of peasants,
It was one thing for Rome or Great Britian to extend, but today
empire must control the globe, and yet, tne United States of A.
have militarily the manpower. Nukes can't do it, nukes would
sicken the globe.
I watch Washington Journal in C-SPAN nearly every morning. There
in the U.S. a sensational, creative ignorance. Dear Reader, do
any Vietnam vet who got spat on? Here is chicken bone myth.
says he got spat on is likely seperated from self. Sad John
is imprisoned for hippies protesting the Vietnam War, but truth
citizens were still wanting their country to win when the Viet
Hippie~protests had nothing to do with the U.S. getting beat in
Underground Literary A11iance
The U.L.A. News #4
OR, INTERNAL MATTERS
We're still going through growing pains....
MEMBERSHIP. I'm often asked, "How does one become a ULA member?"
By being an undergrounder/zeenster or becoming one. By helping us
whatever way, whether aiding our petitions or protests, talking
to people, or simply writing positive letters to us or about us.
joining our cause and taking our side.
INVESTMENTS. As artists we each make decisions about how we spend
money and our time. Think of your choices as like picking a stock
buy. One looks for fundamentals, a good trackrecord, talent in the
organization, and the likelihood that stock will go places. How
does the ULA fit those requirements?
Remember that the ULA offers, if it achieves nationwide prominence
(which is in reach), the prospect for that most valued of
artistic freedom; the ability to create art and to have that art
matter and have it make an impact on society.
Is the ULA a good choice on which to spend your time or even your
money? Or are there better opportunities open for artistic renown,
We've created a platform for writers and other creative people.
Weld like more ULAers to make use of that platform.
THE ULA PLAY. Tom Hendricks compared my "CHristmas party" zeen
to a stage play, and asked if I've written any. Yes, I have--a
called the ULA, which is being performed to the nation. There are
roles yet to be filled; personalities wanted who are willing to
into the spotlight. (We also have room for stagehands who prefer
remain behind the scenes.)
NEW MEMBER CANDIDATES. Joining the ULA is a privilege. Contrary to
popular belief, we don't a11ow in just anybody. It's hoped those who
join have a strong commitment to our cause, and are steeped in ULA
history and philosophy. Five names are under current
Suggestions for others are welcome.
STATUS. One's role in the ULA is defined and has always been
by the amount of work and investment one puts into it. The ULA is
open organization. One joins by working for it. Once in, anyone
a large extent define their position within it, within the
of the "play." Our needs are many; we need writers, organizers,
marketers, spokespersons; more noisemakers and more ULA
One has to believe in our D-I-Y ideas. The work comes in
word--in every possible outlet--about those ideas. (The IDEA of
creating an independent literature; a renewed culture.) In many
the ULA, for the ambitious person, remains there for the taking.
days of cajoling people should be over. We're seeking
When our movement achieves national prominence, those at the
will gain most credit, which is only right.
PROMOTIONS. Several ULAers are being bumped-up in status. This is
as a reward but also as incentive. They're being given roles.
they'll define those roles, building on them, impressing their
creativity upon them in ways that benefit our underground
time we'll promote other ULA supporting members in similar
-Tom Hendricks: Associate Director for Cultural Affairs.
campaigns to renew all the arts; engaging the culture-at-large.
-Chris Zappone: New York City Bureau Chief. Our point man with
and media in that city, disseminating the ULA name.
-Yul Tolbert: Art Editor. Working with the SLUSH PILE editor;
the work of other artists; designing flyers for SLUSH PILE and
-Will Ratblood: Ombudsman. Disarming ULA enemies; strengthening
with potential allies. This isn't a new position, but it's hoped
bring more focus to it.
LITERARY GUERRILLAS. Zeensters represent the cultural Resistance
country at a time when true culture is disappearing. I find it
interesting that the Resistance in France during World War II was
centered around newspapers that were like our current zeens.
Julian Jackson: "However modest its appearance, a newspaper
future: numbering a sheet 'one' suggested that others would
The term 'newspaper' is too grandiose for the first artisanal
The first issue of Liberte was three pages long; there were only
copies of the first number of Liberation-Nord."
Distribution was primitive, the papers left on trains and in post
offices. Networks were built between these dissenters. A movement
This is exactly what is happening in zeendom. At the forefront of
this activity, the vanguard of zeen activism, is the ULA.
NEEDED: NOT HOBBYISTS, BUT FANATICS. We're creating not a religious
movement, nor a political movement, but a cultural movement. It
happen without a lot of effort. What's the payoff? Making history
part of it.
OUR STRATEGY is to spread our message through every possible
outlet. We're radicals. We aim not for slight modifications in
quo, nor for marginal success in a safe niche, nor to be co-opted
brought into the acceptable crowd. We plan to turn culture on its
our goal is complete renewal. It's an ambitious program. We
small payoffs, no pats on the head, no achievement of modest but
meaningless gains, and make no apologies for this. We seek not to
the door slightly for ourselves but to tear the door off its
let the air of the outside world into the closed monasteries,
salons, and dusty museums of the aristocrats who control the
of culture in this nation. The strength of our message of artistic
independence is irresistible and will ensure our success.
King Wenclas, Editor
Philadelphia, Pa. 19101
Here in Richmond, Va., Kinkos with my old favorite friend Sascha who I haven't really gotten to spend time with in 8 years. He's on tour doing workshops about mental illness - getting punky/anarchist communities to talk more openly about what goes on with us and what we need to do to be more supportive. He's been locked up a few times and let down by a lot of people. But check this out: he knows Leigh Vega. Says all her stories are 100% true. And that she quit grad school and went back to Russia to work at a home for street kids.
It's 6 a.m. and we've been here since midnight and I'm about to drop from tiredness. Got some of a comic written but it's hard to work with this terrible music and bright lights.
I'm on my way up to Philadelphia to meet this pen pal who is a photo-journalist to see if I want to travel with him some day. He's going to Palestine in April. I've gotten some kind of travel bug. I'm going to Guatamala for a couple weeks with my friend Mollie in the end of February. Kind of nervous.
Have you ever seen these comics by Fly? They're really good - especially the one just out "Total Disaster" P.O.Box 1318 Cooper Stn NYC 10276. www.bway.net/fly. Stuff about being in NY & the craziness of the forced patriotism & all. If you haven't ordered the other things I reviewed in #20, I wouldn't bother. I don't think you'd like them as much.
Leigh Vega is alive! Well, I hope so. If her story is true, it
beats fiction. DOWN BY THE RIVER is not fiction. Hope Cindy is
These days I am fearful of going anywhere south of the river,
without my personal armed gang. I have strange eyes and other
men react to me. Re. LL.
It has been a long LL CLXII write. Typewriter busted but I
one. Trying to think and I heard off television this of firstly
olden Bagdad with 800 cruise missiles in a 48 hrs. I questioned
numbers. This morning I see a Molly Ivens column and she quotes
Fuck the news and it is too early for jazz. Hey, I dig this
GARBAGE. Madrea sent this tape. What a female talented crazy
Is not King Wenclas a great man. Brings up the French underground
of the war. Yes. ULA forever. We are warriors.