"What on earth is wrong?" I wondered.
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There is a wounded animal in the courtyard. At first it looks like a dog then turns into a boy. Very slowly the boy stands up and walks toward the door that opens onto the courtyard. I can see now that ... the rooms around it are in ruins. I am standing in the doorway as he walks toward me, a strange sad fixed smile on his face ... Now I can see his face clearly, he has come a long way ... he has come a long way to die here ... When I open the shirt I see that there is a knife wound in the chest and the shirt is caked with blood ... Sad shrinking face. He died during the night. He died very unhappy.
I am alone but not what you call 'lonely' — Loneliness is a product of dual mammalian structure — 'Loneliness,' 'love,' 'friendship,' all of the rest of it — I am not two — I am one — But to maintain my state of oneness I need twoness in other life forms — Other must talk so that I can remain silent — If another becomes one then I am two — That makes two ones make two and I am no longer one — Plenty of room in space you say? — But I am not one in space I am one in time — Metal time — Radioactive time — So of course I tried to keep you all out of space — That is the end of time — And those who were allowed out sometimes for special services like creating a useful religious concept went always with a Venusian guard — All the 'mystics' and 'saints' — All except my old enemy Hassan I Sabbah who wised up the marks to space and sad they could be one and need no guard no other half no word -
Why not leave your tape with her tape and dispense with sexual contact? -- And then? -- Since no one is there to listen, why keep running the tape? -- Why not shut the whole machine off and go home? -- You can look any place -- No good -- No bueno -- Departed have left no address -- It's all done with tape recorders.
Look around you look at a control machine programmed to select the ugliest stupidest most vulgar and degraded sounds for recording and playback which provokes uglier stupider more vulgar and degraded sounds to be recorded and play back inexorable degradation look forward to dead end look forward to ugly vulgar playback tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow what are newspapers doing but selecting the ugliest sounds for playback by and large if its ugly its news [ ... ] this ugly vulgar bray put out for mass playback you want to spread hysteria record and play back the most stupid and hysterical reactions.
... Images -- millions of images -- That's what I eat -- Cyclotron shit -- Ever try kicking that habit with apomorphine? -- Now I got all the images of sex acts and torture ever took place anywhere and I can just blast it out and control you gooks right down to the molecule -- I got orgasms -- I got screams -- I got all the images any hick poet ever shit out -- My Power's coming -- My Power's coming -- My Power's coming -- ... And I got millions and millions and millions of images of Me, Me, Me, meee.
... There is only one thing a writer can write about: what is in front of his senses at the moment of writing ... I am a recording instrument ... I do not pretend to impose 'story' 'plot' 'continuity' ... Insofar as I succeed in Direct recording of certain areas of psychic process I may have a limited function ... I am not an entertainer...
... In the pass the muttering sickness leaped into our throats, coughing and spitting in the silver morning. frost on our bones ... brought the sickness from white time caves frozen in my throat to hatch in the warm steamlands spitting song of scarlet bursts in egg flesh ... came to a swamp fed by hot springs and mountain ice. and fell in flesh heaps. sick apes spitting blood laugh. sound bubbling in throats torn with the talk sickness. faces and bodies covered with pus foam. animal hair thru the purple sex-flesh. sick sound twisted thru body, underwater music bubbling in blood beds. human faces tentative flicker in and out of focus. We waded into the warm mud-water ... When we came out of the mud we had names.