NOR IS DEATH A REAL DEATH My radio-head was tuned in to the Velvet Underground as Darkness was chased away by dawn; it was a new morning....You have heard the heavy groups; now it's time for manic-depressive music. Courting me now, a moth through flame. Mario nodded disapprovingly to see me, as gonzo as Hitmn S. Hunter following the closure of the scalp and chest incisions. Never get descoobied during the hibernation of Pop. My own Pop had died of Old-timer's disease six years ago. Submerged in a silicone-oil (Silcool) bath which had been precooled to -17 degrees C. Morlock's life force, uneven as it was, lay in an emotional fiction that contradicted its cold, iconic surface, lowered at a rate of approximately one degree C. per hour to -17 degrees C. by gradual addition of dry ice to the artificial (fake?) calm. At 9:42 EST the Dewar was completely filled with nitrogen. Andy entered long term hibernation! Andy Morlock is not dead! He hibernates, a regal ice queen, in total serendipity! His new life-cycle has begun! Resurrection through bread and wine: These once again seared at a brain which had been stigmatized at birth with insanity: Is your insurance paid up? We can't admit you unless you have insurance. State Mental Hospital. Gyrations to mad disco. Butts being picked up off the floor. Lots of those beyond help, never again to see Freedom. Long-term isolation. Feels like it lasted a lifetime. IT MAY HAVE BEEN THE HILTON BUT THAT STILL DIDN'T MAKE IT THE HOTEL GONZO That night at the hotel how I envied Andy as the hot hand of sleep sucked me into dreams of Night, a woman with soul, a hypostasis which had Sophie's form--or Norea's....Kiss and tell, money talks....Fever. Dark in stormtrooper drag. Evening in velvet velour. Mourning dawns electric; electricity as my hands groped upon a dark uniform. A prostitute that wanted to arrest me. Lipstick the color of midnight. Flesh the color of the high noon sun. A lady cop by profession; a sadist who looked good in bondage pants. And her mouth was consuming dark lipstick. She was a vision of excellence as I felt my body in wonder, amazement: Transmutation had overtaken me, the change of Lead into a gold-haired girl. I had become my pursuer. I was in the hotel room, laying on the bed in the same clothes that the Dream Policelady had worn. I was the woman who had been chasing me, a Virgin being sacrificed to twilight: Daybreak and sunset; the difference between them is birth and death. I looked in a Mirror and saw myself as Man: My true body was sitting on a chair in the corner, totally nude, a tree rising from his flesh like the grotesque image I had seen in an old alchemical woodblock print. My eyes shifted to Lead. He rose when he saw that I was smiling at him. "I am you and you are me," he said, sitting down beside me with his arm around my shoulders. "And we are finally together...." "I've always wanted to have a sex-change operation so I could turn into a lesbian, but this is ridiculous." I said as I kissed him, biting his tongue as it penetrated my mouth. His caressing hands removed my clothes. I climbed the Tree of Knowledge; let him eat the Fruit of Wisdom. Loneliness is a crowded room. The Nova Express thundered by the hotel.... Insane alarm at 7:00 AM. I awoke from an erotic dream.... DARK DIMENSIONS OF FUNERAL DREAD The next morning 6th Avenue in front of St Sophia's Cathedral was teeming with spectators, photographers, and these last survivors of the human race who live in giant time-warp bubbles called BOBBLES which they only come out of to go to funerals, autopsies and airplane crashes. Talking about the automatic blues, I moved among them in my steeply-sided unreality, the walls of an invisible mental hospital like a city of dreams imprisoning me, vacillating with insane images of these ghoulish spectators selling cigarettes, ice cream, Cadillacs, blue jeans. All emblazoned with images of the flat-lined Pop Artist. Like the large doors of this time-portal opening up the interior of St Patrick's zoomed in on me from an alien dimension. Inside this organist is playing, not Velvet Underground, but fucking Mozart. I kid you not! People file in with unhappy expressions. All the young dudes with rainbow-dyed hair looking uncomfortable in black jacket, white tie, wings, too. Brazen whores with hair of gold. Leaden men, robots in magician's coat and hat. A couple of gnomes carrying machine guns and smoking gnome grown. REVENGE OF THE YELLOW SUBMARINE The dread Sign of the Cross! The ominous kneeling in submission! Father Anthony Villa Nova reciting a boiler-plate Divinity School sermon. You could almost see the welded seams. Jesus said: Blessed is the lion which the man eats, and the lion will become man; and cursed is the man which the lion eats, and the lion will become man. Jesus said: Blessed is he who stands at the beginning, for he shall know the end. Jesus said: I am the light that is above them all. I am the All. The All came from me and it subsumes me. Cleave a piece of wood, I am there; lift up a Philosopher's Stone and you will find the Transmutation of Communion. Jesus said: When you make the Two One, the inner as outer and the above as below, and the male and the female into a single One, then you shall know the Kingdom of Heaven. Jesus said: The right and the left, the upper and lower, good and evil, are brother and sister to one another. Therefore neither are the good good, nor are the evil evil, nor is life a real life nor death a real death. These are the words of the Gospel of Thomas.... In the beginning was the Androgyne; and the Androgyne was with Sophie and the Androgyne was Sophie. And the Darkness grasped it not. Suddenly Yoko Bono appears mysteriously out of a BOBBLE and ascends the pulpit like Dr. Strange in drag. Now that's a delicious Andy tweak of the faithful: Yoko, the last empress, high-priestess of Shinto, coming to parody the round-eyes superstition. Yoko recited in a low voice the lyrics of the old Beatles classic, the familiar Iffy questions. IF/THEN If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing their kool (sic) And blaming it on you, Paul, George and Richard If there was something that I might find Waiting...lies...hating...wise Nerve and sinew...after they are gone...nothing in you Hold on...too much greed All you need...Is love is the drug I need to score It's still the same old story, all of Andy's former glory is a pantomime. At the irreversible moment when involuntary meat-vehicle coma takes Andy to the Invisible Landscape then the delicate fabric of Friendship is disrupted, and Fatality tears us apart: Emotion drops down, expectations are low.... DEATH WILL TEAR US APART I must point out that the antidepressants I have been taking can be dangerous to an analog like me, but if you were a psychiatrist who had a patient with a habit of jumping out of church windows, what would you do? I leap from my pew, interrupting Iffy questions by hurling myself through leaded glass. And all the children are insane. The Spirit of Gravity baptized me in the Well of Eternity, and the evil are not evil, nor is death a real Death, I think as I fall like rain into the Golden Void of weightlessness, Elemental Man blown by Hawkwind, floating like an Iron Butterfly, then crashing in neo-mort pain like a Lead Zeppelin Hindenburg. That was the second time I jumped out of a Church window. It was the third time I jumped out of a window, but the stained glass like my expectations of love from the Virgin is low, so I have not done any serious damage. I hear sirens: The Thorazine Police are once again on the trail of the Savage Id. I race for hiding in the topless bar across the street, surveying the shattered stained glass I leave behind me, and when the Dreams are empty and gone hop the meat-wagon to the wake, where as a backdoor man I make a grand entrance. The men don't know what this lunatic science fiction author, reptilian monster, is doing in their midst, but the little girls want free submarines when they find that I am the guy with the prescription for pot: What is really at stake is the philosophy of Being in the Gnostic Trinity: The Father, the Mother, and the Androgyne. The Holy Spirit was Mother and Christ was himself Androgynous--was the only true Philosopher's Stone, I explain to Norea Rosencruetz, who I realize, unfortunately, is not hypersexaul like her sister. I will have to rely on my innate charm and my hot books. Norea Rosencruetz brushed off the last remaining shards of stained glass from my coat, myself admiring the way her muscles move in black. If you're looking for love in a looking glass world it's hard to find; and here I was looking for it in a Mirror. And the Mirror was alive. Norea laughed ruefully and said, "Can I have a hit off one of your legal reefers?" I deny her request as once you are caught giving out your legal reactor fuel they take away your license to smoke dope. She sulks until I agree to follow her into bed and play submarine in privacy. I walked with the Hypostasis of Wisdom at my side through a city of pellucid crystal, filmy transparency, clear glass; it contained steel erections. At last we were in her dream home, in the shadows of a church steeple. But in every dream home a heartache lurks, even if you love her until death sighs. Sunset over the Invisible Landscape was like black sliding down a canvas as the black crepe slid away from my dark lover and the Making of the Two into One began in a filioque fancy that beat Sophie, Plastic as she was. I said, "Gnosis was more consistent with modern feminism than Judaeo-Christian concepts of a Father, just as its attitudes toward Christian myth are consistent with psychological analysis which reduce the resurrection to symbol. Why did everybody laugh when I told them my dream?" "Oooooooo, I love it when you talk metaphysics." "I thank you, doctor, for getting me here--can I touch your magic bust?" A deeply male aggression lay just beneath the surface as she crawled on top of me in her negligee to begin kissing me: I was playing the passive role; I closed my eyes and fantasized that this was Virginia. But the coldness of the Virgin dissolved into fire. I want it; I want it: Baby driving me everywhich way. I lay on plush velvet listening to Roxy. She also had an extensive collection of Dick. VALIS. What a lovely dream it was. The Cosmicomic united with the Tragicosmic in the fiction which was Love. The world was like a simile. The Lizard King danced upon the summit of the Tree while she tasted Living Water, her countenance like the sun piercing the lace finery of the curtains. What was I doing, stoned and alone in the middle of the city, a Lizard-thing? Only Superego knew for sure--but the conclusion was next month. # End of file Press RIGHT ARROW (#6 key) of the numeric keypad to load the next file.