shuffle cut
“Pack your ermines, Mary” — (Female impersonators pack in shabby dressing room — riot noises in the distance — Scene opens into other dressing rooms and transient hotels — switch to office of the Carny Manager — riot noises moving closer — police whistles, machine guns, slamming shop shutters — cut-ups of riot news-reels) —
“What’s this reality con?”— (Vista of tombstones and lavatories — hospitals, flophouses, asylums — grey dishwater smell of institution cooking — whine of dying people — “Lord, Lord, i don’t even feel like a human” — “So we drove down to St. Petersburg and Mother didn’t like it at all” — The riot noises swell to a vast adolescent muttering— boys armed with switchblades and bicycle chains — A cobblestone shatters the window of the carny office — As the outside air rushes in the carny manager coughs and sputters — “And the law is moving in fast” — (Nova police stand before a switchboard that lights up as their agents make arrest and question suspects — “I’m not taking the rap for those board bastards — i’m going to rat on everybody” — The lights extend, closing round the board —
“The marks are out there pawing the ground”— (riot shots of all times and places) —
“What’s this Green Deal?” — (Green vegetable junkies suck oxygen of the earth) —
“You trying to short-time someone, Jack?” — (subliminal slow motion on the screen — venereal disease films at 35 frames per second) —
“Take that heavy metal business to Walgreen’s”— (heavy metal junkies on the nod in a blue mist of vaporized bank notes)—
“What’s this orgasm death?” — (Ejaculating bodies hang from gallows goosed by giggling green street boys — Condemned prisoners twist in cyanide fumes under civil leer of the witness — Middle-aged cardiac dies on the young model who pushes the corpse away in disgust — “Horrible old character got physical and died in me”) —
“Who cooked up these ovens?” — flash prisoners in the ovens — lattice of white-hot metal closing round them — phosphorescent smoldering shag heaps of Minraud —
heat cutting off the sources of animal life — Crabs sidle from cone-shaped nests — “Zero eaten by crab”) —
“What’s this ‘White Smoke’”? — (Sick addicts in precinct cells give off the colorless no-smell of death — A white smoke spreads over the blighted earth) —
“Boys we been subliminated” — (Newspapers, magazines, muttering voices on TV and radio — “birth and death and the human condition — always been that way and always will — Besides you can’t do anything — Don’t stick your neck out — Don’t get ulcers”) —
“Call in the Old Doctor” — (The doctor on stage — He sucks all the newsreels of riot and hate faces into him — Riot pictures freeze to stills as he brings his hands down — Klunk) —
“Now some wise characters think they can call the Old Doctor twice” — (Newsreels and riot noises shut off — Cold blue silence of interstellar space closes round the board table — A guard reaches for his vibrating camera gun — “Won’t do you a bit of good — had every weapon in the galaxy pulled on me one time or another” — Flash Ovens — Flash Orgasm Sting — White Smoke drifts away and leaves the doctor still standing there — board books spread out on the table like a pack of tarot cards — The doctor folds the cards together — The board disappears in a silver flash) — “He quiets you” —
And so we turn over the board books written in symbols of a time that meanwhile i had forgotten — Like this: $ — American scent of memory pictures — sexual frustration — Scandinavia outhouse skin put it on — % — criminal street boy of dying peoples — easily corrupted and shoved humiliations — Away from me, these association locks — Pictures shatter a window in stupid pressure group relying on rectum — Board members, look out — Technical brains melted the law — Control machine is disconnected by nova police — Look at the bread line — Their boy entered the ‘20s in drag from collaborators — Liars spread slow-motion flashes — Board book symbols refer to association locks — information files of human nights there — collaborators with any people anywhere on dead nitrous flesh — Traitors to all souls everywhere travel there — As word dust falls cross newsprint of the earth, voices won’t do a bit of good — The Old Doctor cleaving a heavy frustration and humiliation account — Hurry up please — The board is near right now relying on money, fading voices — Control machine is disconnected— Word fell out of here through the glass and metal streets — God of Panic pipes blue notes through dying peoples — The law is dust — The wired structure of reality went up in slow-motion flashes —
Invisible intervention of a time forgotten — slow water dripping on a garage — voices in other dressing rooms — “Turn around — Bend over” — poisonous cloud of other flesh — Scandinavia outhouse skin on the co-pilot — Sat helpless while the invading force guided humiliations —
“You see, son, we were the only riders — Mutual erections fading through dusty air of gymnasiums — Folding cocks disappear on dead nitrous flesh — Point of these exercises is to maintain the local line — Sinking ship trying source of frustration to buy ersatz summons” —
Yes, you have a doorway — Ali blew the smoke and waved his hands — “Abracadabra” — distant events in green neon — you the smoke — The man laughed — Ali, muttering in the dog rotation — old mirror bent over a chair — controlled drum music on the crumpled form — Many names murmur cloth that fell in a heap — Flute went out shutting the door — luminous grey flakes falling — Galaxies pulled green troops in the streets — Impressions suddenly collapse to a heap — (Motions with his hand) —Guards fold now — Dodging from side to side over spots of weakness opened a great rent — Now Ali doubled back from above punch cards — There was nothing but a smear of grey substance barring his way to the towers — Film set goes up in red nitrous smoke — Remember show price? Know who I am? Yes talking to you board members . . I don’t talk often and I don’t talk long . . You smell Hiroshima? You know who I am now? Señor Deadline has come to call . . Did you think you could call me and not pay you welching board bastards? Set your Geiger counters forward an hour. Captain Clark welcomes you aboard . . last rights . . Mr Deadline is here to call. .
(The concept of Deadliners I owe to a story that appeared in New World Science Fiction. . Nova Publications . . 7 Grape St. High Holborn London Vol 49 June . . “The Star Virus” by J. Barryington Bayley . . Deadliners in this story are space travelers across light-years who have lost all human contacts and fears. They play a form of nuclear poker. Calling in this game can explode the players and the premises . .)
“Why you might have taken half the planet with you,” exclaims an inexperienced Deadliner . .
“The whole of it, mate.”
“You touched a pack of cards — You see, son, voices muttering in the dog rotation: Pain and pleasure — orgasm death — flesh’ — desolate underbrush of old Westerns — battered phonograph sex scenes — courage to pass without doing things — If you’ll just stay near right now — be shifted harsh at the Ovens — Mutual erections fading, kid — Have to square it with him — We were all junkies and dead train whistles the local line — Look down along a brass bed — Many names murmur of human nights there — i am dying cross newspapers of the earth — Stranger lips bring down death — breathless flute through Ali’s body — fading my name — newsreels of riot frozen to stills — whiffs of evening breeze” —
“Call the Old Doctor twice? — cleaving a summons — Marks closed your account — Hurry up, please — There is only the silence of water smiles dimmer at the edges — I don’t see anybody here — You made a wide U turn back to camera gun — Vaudeville voices won’t do you a bit of good — green troops in the area — The White Smoke drifts away” —
“But i got the area trade — Impressions of Present Time” —
Makes a folding motion with his hands — Guards fold together and disappear — People gone — Well f
ade out in other flesh armed with switchblades and bicycle chains — Pictures shatter a window in the office — Spattered light on naked rectum — Young faces melted the law in dead nitrous streets — Errand boys closing round the board —
“What’s this green boy entered the ‘20s in drag from sinking ship?” —
“You trying sources of slow-motion flashes on the screen?” —
“Boneless mummy was death in the last Walgreen’s — We don’t want it” —
“We been subliminated in doorway” —
Errand boy from last parasite muttering beside you — great wind voices on those tracks — remitted muttering: “Not think the Doctor on stage” and “Who am i to say more?” —
Empty all the hate faces sucked into fear — crumpled cloth bodies — open shirt flapping — some wise characters — All right, doctor — Vapor trails writing the sky — Newsreels shut off — Magazines screaming on the parasite — The radio muttering — “The Doctor on stage” —
All the hate faces sucked into release without more ado what? — bodies and water everywhere — The Oven rousers gave off a stench of rotten lips departed — Move in fast — Interrogate substance of the other — Boneless mummy moved with the speed of “want it?” Empty flesh of KY and rectal mucus last gate from human form — They twisted through open shirt flapping against each other — Hands goosed the ass — Penis spurted again — the gate from burning sex skin — Empty faces sucked in other apparatus —
great wind voices beside you — the Doctor on stage — “Out of here, female impersonators” — orgasm of memory pictures — people gone —
“All right, doctor, before newsreels shut off indications enough — i told you i would come back beside him — He could move now — healed scars — courage to pass without doing pictures” —
“i’m going now — We were all junkies — Now some wise characters think guards and weapons of the enemy were all right — Suddenly shut off with camera gun and static — We see all the Garden of Delights in a flash like a pack of cards — He felt a little pleasure — sex scenes of all times” —
“Old Doctor twice? Cleaving a heavy erogenous message reflected in your account—Hurry up, please — empty flesh dimmer at the edges — God of Panic piping blue notes touched a pack of cards — Through the glass we see all the pictures — invisible orgasm death skin on the co-pilot — Battered phonograph talks humiliations — Poisonous cloud near right now” —
“Fading, kid — Voices in other dressing with the St. Louis suburb — The local line bends over rectum of broken nights —? Fading my name through dying air” —
in that game?
The Fluoroscopic Kid says: “Now look, son, when you move in on a new pitch don’t be one of these Eager Beavers jump right into a dime — That’s how you got caught here in the Cycle of Action — Now learn to sit back and watch — Don’t talk don’t play just watch — fifty a hundred thousand years if necessary until you know all the rules and combos penalties and angles — When you can see all the cards then move in and take it all — Learn to watch and you will see all the cards — Look through the human body the house passes out at the door — What do you see? — It is composed of thin transparent sheets on which is written the action from birth to death — Written on “the soft typewriter” before birth — a cold deck built in — The house know every card you will be dealt and how you will play all your cards — And if some wise guy does get a glimmer and maybe plays an unwritten card:
“Green Tony — Izzy the Push — Sammy the Butcher — Hey Rube!!! Show this character the Ovens — This is a wise guy” —
You want to sit in on that game? ? — Now look some more — The body is two halves stuck together like a mold — That is, it consists of two organisms — See “the Other Half” invisible— (to eyes that haven’t learned to watch) — Like a Siamese twin ten thousand years in show business engaged by a silver cord to all erogenous zones — lives along the divide line — is an amphibious two-sexed actor half-man half-woman — double-gated either sex can breathe air or the underwater medium up your mother’s snatch — “the Other Half” is “You” next time around — born when you die — that is when “the Other Half” kills you and takes over — (Take a talking picture of you. Now stop the projector and sound track frame by frame: stop . . go go go . . stop . . go go . . Stop. When the sound track stops it stops. When the projector stops a still picture is on screen. This would be your last picture the last thing you saw. Your sound track consists of your body sounds and sub-vocal speech. Sub-vocal speech is the word organism the “Other Half.” spliced in with your body sounds. You are convinced by association that your body sounds will stop if sub-vocal speech stops and so it happens. Death is the final separation of the sound and image tracks. However, once you have broken the chains of association linking sub-vocal speech with body sounds shutting off sub-vocal speech need not entail shutting off body sounds and consequent physical death.)
Now let’s play some poker — Why not take over both halves of a body so you don’t need any mooching “Other Half” — Why not rewrite the message on “the soft typewriter”? — Why not take the board books and rewrite all message? — Why not take over the human body right down the middle line? — Under distant fingers move in and take it all — All right, watch what is covering the two halves with so-called human body — Flesh sheets on which is written: “The spines rubbed and merged” — Written before on “the Soft Typewriter” — transparent quivering substance the body is two halves stuck together around him — a shadowy figure melting to sperm — a silver cord of tendril fingers rubbing erogenous zones along the divide line — contractions in the tumescent sponge pulse future organism — shoot out body dies falling into water — Play some poker — Why not take over underwater sleep? — You don’t need any “Other Half” — Why not take the middle line? You see it is composed from birth to death — A cold deck under his gills dealt the softening spine — In that game? — Now look again — He sank into other flesh mold — Siamese twin substance in spine lives along the shocks of electric cocaine pleasure — The Other Half will be born inside feeling both halves of the body —
Now look son, when you move in a new angle — These Eager Beavers jump right into a dime — That way Birth & Death cycle action — You want out? Con cop — It’s an old vaudeville act — Just walk in and throw the tin on the board —
Learn to sit back and watch — Just take both parts — Watch what you walk into — So called human body? Long ride on the White Sheets — Slide in cool and casual — I’ll play your cards — You want to sit in on the local line? — Look down look down along that line before you travel there — If there the body is two halves stuck together form you can score for —
Why I’m here — To play some poker — Why not flash the marks soft typewriter? Why not call? — When you call write all message — Why not take over ticket? You want out? — Con cop — It’s an old vaudeville act — Just walk in and throw the tin on the Board — Cover Sammy and the boys — Take the board books and rewrite the cold deck — Any board member want to play some straight five card stud? I didn’t think so — Now cut up the board books, son — Minutes to go —
The Subliminal Kid is a charter defector from the nova mob —
“Just a technical sergeant is all — Just Time — Just Time — Just Time —” So he moved in with the Rewrite Department and set up his headquarters to put out the Rewrite Bulletins on subliminal level — It’s all done with tape recorders. Go out and buy three fine machines on credit and put your name down for an in-television unit. Find a boy with blue eyes and gentle precise fingers . . (He was a ham radio operator at twelve at the age of eight he released weather balloons which he fabricated from plastic suit covers . .) The boy will wire your machines for you. You need a switchboard so you can control the machines: Tape Recorder 1 playback five seconds Tape Recorder 2 and 3 record and so forth. Take an everyday situation you are arguing with your boy friend or girl
friend remembering what was said last time and thinking of things to say next time the whole stupid argument going going round and round like the music in your head until it bores you just silly to hear it but you are aggrieved and playing back self-pity and you just can’t shut up. Take your arguments and complaints and put them on T.R.I and call that machine Tom or Dick or Harry you name it it’s yours. On T.R.2 put all the things he or she said to you or might say. Now make the two machines talk: T.R.I playback five seconds T.R.2 record. T.R.2 playback three seconds T.R.I record. Run it through fifteen minutes half an hour now switch intervals. Run the interval switch you used on T.R.I back on T.R.2. — (You will find that the intervals are as important as the so-called context) — listen to the two machines mixing it around and around. Now for T.R.3 — (Who is the third that walks beside you?) — With T.R.3 you can introduce the factor of “irrelevant response” so put just any old thing on T.R.3 a sad old tune a sad old joke a piece of the street TV radio and cut T.R.3 into the argument T.R.I: “I waited up for you last night till two o’clock” . . T.R.3: “And now if you will excuse me . . The soccer scores are coming in from the capitol. . One must pretend an interest.”
Get it out of your head and into the machines. Stop talking stop arguing. Let the machines talk and argue. A tape recorder is an externalized section of the human nervous system. You can find out more about the nervous system and gain more control over your reaction by using a tape recorder than you could find out sitting twenty years in the lotus posture. Whatever your problem is just throw it into the machines and let them chew it around a while. There is of course the initial problem: programming tape recorders is an expensive deal any way you wire it.
The spliced-tape experiment to which I have already referred can be performed by anyone equipped with two tape recorders connected by extension lead so he can record directly from one machine to the other. Since the experiment may give rise to a marked erotic reaction it is more interesting to select as your partner for this experiment some one with whom you are on intimate terms. We have two subjects designated as S and W. Now take a text any text. S records the text on Tape Recorder 1. W records the same text on Tape Recorder 2. Now play back T.R.I three seconds recording on T.R.2. Play back T.R.2 three seconds recording on T.R.I and so forth alternating the two recorded voices. This is the simplest form of the spliced-tape experiment. The same results can be obtained by splicing two street recordings made separately by S and W. In order to obtain any degree of precision the tapes must be cut with a scissors and spliced together with tape. This is a laborious process that can be appreciably expedited if you have access to a cutting room and use film tape which is larger and much easier to handle. You can carry the experiment further by taking a talking film of S and a talking film of W and splicing sound and image track alternating 24 times per second.
The Ticket That Exploded Page 14
