Nova Express

by William S. Burroughs

  The Crab Nebula observed by the Chinese in 1054 AD is the result of a supernova or exploding star—­Situated approximately three thousand light years from the earth—(Like three thousand years in hot claws at the window—You got it?—)—Before they blow up a star they have a spot picked out as many light years away as ­possible—Then they start draining all the fuel and charge to the new pitch and siphon themselves there right after and on their way rejoicing—You notice we don’t have as much time as people had say a hundred years ago?—Take your clothes to the laundry write a letter pick up your mail at American Express and the day is gone—They are short-timing us as many light years as they can take for the getaway—It seems that there were survivors on The Crab Pitch who are not in all respects reasonable men—And The Nova Law moving in fast—So they start the same old lark sucking all the charge and air and color to a new location and then?—Sput—You notice something is sucking all the flavor out of food the pleasure out of sex the color out of everything in sight?—Precisely creating the low pressure area that leads to nova—So they move cross the wounded galaxies always a few light years ahead of the Nova Heat—That is they did—The earth was our set—And they walked right into the antibiotic handcuffs—It will readily be seen that having created one nova they must make other or answer for the first—I mean three thousand years in hot claws at the window like a giant crab in slag heaps of smouldering metal—Also the more novas the less time between they are running out of pitches—So they bribe the natives with a promise of transportation and immortality—

  “Yeah, man, flesh and junk and charge stacked up bank vaults full of it—Three thousand years of flesh—So we leave the bloody apes behind and on our way rejoicing right?—It’s the only way to live—”

  And the smart operators fall for it every fucking time—Talk about marks—One of our best undercover operators is known as The Rube—He perfected The Reverse Con—Comes on honest and straight and the smart operators all think they are conning him—How could they think otherwise until he slips on the antibiotic handcuffs—

  “There’s a wise guy born every minute,” he says. “Closing time gentlemen—The stenographer will take your depositions—”

  “So why did I try to blow up the planet?—Pea under the shell—Now you see it now you don’t—Sky shift to cover the last pitch—Take it all out with us and hit the road—I am made of metal and that metal is ­radioactive—Radioactivity can be absorbed up to a point but radium clock hands tick away—Time to move on—Only one turnstile—Heavy planet—Travel with Minraud technicians to handle the switchboard and Venusians to make flesh and keep the show on the road—Then The Blazing Photo and we travel on—Word is flesh and word is two that is the human body is compacted of two organisms and where you have two you have word and word is flesh and when they started tampering with the word that was it and the blockade was broken and The Nova Heat moved in—The Venusians sang first naturally they were in the most immediate danger—They live underwater in the body with an air line—And that air line is the word—Then the technicians spilled and who can blame them after the conditions I assigned to keep them ­technicians—Like three thousand years in hot claws—So I am alone as always—You understand nova is where I am born in such pain no one else survives in one piece—Born again and again cross the wounded galaxies—I am alone but not what you call ‘lonely’—Loneliness is a product of dual mammalian structure—‘Loneliness,’ ‘love,’ ‘friendship,’ all 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 makes 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 said they could be one and need no guard no other half no word—

  “And now I have something to say to all you angle boys of the cosmos who thought you had an in with The Big Operator—‘Suckers! Cunts! Marks!—I hate you all—And I never intended to cut you in or pay you off with anything but horse shit—And you can thank The Rube if you don’t go up with the apes—Is that clear enough or shall I make it even clearer? You are the ­suckers cunts marks I invented to explode this dead whistle stop and go up with it—’”

  A BAD MOVE

  Could give no other information than wind walking in a rubbish heap to the sky—Solid shadow turned off the white film of noon heat—Exploded deep in the alley tortured metal Oz—Look anywhere, Dead hand—­Phosphorescent bones—Cold Spring afterbirth of that hospital—Twinges of amputation—Bread knife in the heart paid taxi boys—If I knew I’d be glad to look ­anyplace—No good myself—Clom Fliday—Diseased wind identity fading out—Smoke is all—We intersect in the dark mutinous door—Hairless skull—Flesh smeared—Five times of dust we made it all—consumed by slow metal fires—Smell of gasoline envelops last electrician—I woke up with dark information from the dead—Board Room Reports waiting for ­Madrid—­Arrested motion con su medicina—Soft mendicant “William” in the dark street—He stood there 1910 straw words ­falling—Dead lights and water—Either way is a bad move—Better than that?—Gone away can tell you—No good No bueno—White flash mangled silver eyes—Flesh flakes in the sky—Explosive twinges of amputation—­Mendicant the crooked crosses and barren the dark street—No more—No más—Their last end—Wounded galaxies tap on the pane—Hustling myself—Clom Fliday—And one fine tell you—No good—No bueno—

  Be cheerful sir our revels touch the sky—The white film made of Mr. Martin—Rotting phosphorescent bones carried a gasoline dream—Hand falling—White flash mangled “Mr. Bradly Mr. ­Martin”—Thing Police, Board Room Death Smell, time has come for the dark street—No more—No más wounded galaxies—I told him you on aid—Died out down stale streets through convolutions of our ever living poet—On this green land the dollar twisted to light a last cigarette—Last words answer you—

  Long time between suns behind—Empty hunger cross the wounded sky—Cold your brain slowly fading—I said by our ever living poet dead—Last words answer your summons—May not refuse vision in setting forth the diary—Mr. Martin Mr. Corso Mr. Beiles Mr. Burroughs now ended—These our actors, William—The razor inside, sir—Jerk the handle—That hospital melted into air—Advance and inherit the insubstantial dead—Flakes fall that were his shadow—

  Metal chess determined gasoline fires and smoke in motionless air—Smudge two speeds—DSL walks “here” beside me on extension lead from hairless skull—Flesh-smeared recorder consumed by slow metal fires—Dog-proof room important for our “oxygen” lines—Group respective recorder layout—“Throw the gasoline on them” determined the life form we invaded: insect screams—I woke up with “marked for invasion” recording set to run for as long as phantom “cruelties” are playing back while waiting to pick up Ed­uardo’s “corrupt” speed and volume variation ­Madrid—Tape recorder banks tumescent flesh—Our mikes planning speaker stood there in 1910 straw word—Either way is a bad move to The Biologic ­Stairway—The whole thing tells you—No good—No bueno outright or partially—The next state walking in a rubbish heap to Form A—Form A directs sound channels heat—White flash mangled down to a form of music—Life Form A as follows was alien focus—Broken pipes refuse ­“oxygen”—Form A parasitic wind identity fading out—“Word falling—Photo falling” flesh-smeared counter orders—determined by last Electrician—Alien mucus cough language learned to keep all Board Room Reports waiting sound formations—Alien mucus tumescent code train on Madrid—Convert in “dirty pictures 8”—simple repetition—Whole could be used as model for a bad move—Better than sh
outs: “No good—No bueno”—

  “Recorders fix nature of absolute need:: occupy—‘Here’—Any cruel­ties answer him—Either unchanged or reverse—Clang—Sorry—Planet trailing somewhere along here—Sequential choice—Flesh plots con su ­medicina—The next state according to—Stop—Look—Form A directs sound channels—Well what now?—Final switch if you want to—Dead on Life Form B by cutting off machine if you want to—Blood form determined by the switch—Same need—Same step—Not survive in any ‘emotion’—Intervention?—It’s no use I tell you—Familiar will be the end product?—­Reciprocate complete wires? You fucking can’t—Could we become part of the array?—In The American Cemetery—Hard to distinguish maps came in at the verbal level—This he went to Madrid?—And so si learn? The accused was beyond altered arrival—So?—So mucus machine runs by feeding in over The American—Hear it?—Paralleled the bell—Hours late—They all went away—You’ve thought it out?—A whole replaced history of life burial tapes being blank?—Could this ‘you’ ‘them’ ‘whatever’ learn? Accused was beyond altered formations—No good—Machine runs by feeding in ‘useless’—Blood spilled over Grey Veil—Parallel spurt—How many looking at dirty pictures—? Before London Space Stage tenuous face maybe—Change—Definite—The disorder gets you model for behavior—Screams?—Laughter?”—Voice fading into advocate:

  “Clearly the whole defense must be experiments with two tape recorder mutations.”

  Again at the window that never was mine—­Reflected word scrawled by some boy—Greatest of all waiting lapses—Five years—The ticket exploded in the air—For I dont know—I do not know human dreams—Never was mine—Waiting lapse—Caught in the door—­Explosive fragrance—Love between light and shadow—The few who lived cross the wounded galaxies—Love?—Five years I grew muttering in the ice—Dead sun reached flesh with its wandering dream—Buried tracks, Mr. Bradly, so complete was the lie—Course—­Naturally—Circumstances now ­Spanish—Hermetic you ­understand—Locked in her heart of ooze—A great undersea blight—Atlantis along the wind in green neon—The ooze is only colorless question drifted down—Obvious one at that—Its goal?—That’s more difficult to tap on the pane—One aspect of virus—An obvious one again—­Muttering in the dogs for ­generalizations—The lice we intersect—Poison of dead sun anywhere else—What was it the old crab man said about the lice?—Parasites on “Mr. Martin”—My ice my perfect ice that never circumstances—Now Spanish cautiously my eyes—And I became the form of a young man standing—My pulse in unison—Never did I know resting place—Wind hand caught in the door—cling—­Chocada—to tap on the pane—

  Chocada—Again—Muttering in the dogs—Five years—Poison of dead sun with her—With whom?—I dunno—See account on the crooked crosses—And your name?—Berg?—Berg?—Bradly?—“Mr. Martin si” Disaster Snow—Crack—Sahhk—Numb—Just a fluke came in with the tide and The Swedish River of Gothenburg—

  THE DEATH DWARF IN THE STREET

  Biologic Agent K9 called for his check and picked up supersonic imitation blats of The Death Dwarfs—“L’addition—Ladittion—­Laddittion—Garcon—­Garcon—Garcon”—American tourist accent to the Nth power—He ordered another coffee and monitored the café—A whole table of them imitating word forms and spitting back at supersonic speed—Several patrons rolled on the floor in switch fits—These noxious dwarfs can spit out a whole newspaper in ten seconds imitating your words after you and sliding in suggestion insults—That is the entry gimmick of The Death Dwarfs: supersonic imitation and playback so you think it is your own voice—(do you own a voice?) they invade The Right Centers which are The Speech Centers and they are in the right—in the right—in thee write—“RIGHT”—“I’m in the right—in the right—You know I’m in the right so long as you hear me say inside your right centers ‘I am in the right’”—While Sex Dwarfs tenderize erogenous holes—So The Venusian Gook Rot flashed round the world—

  Agent K9 was with The Biologic Police assigned to bring the Dwarf Plague under control by disconnecting the dwarfs from Central Control Station: The Insect Brain Of Minraud enclosed in a crystal cylinder from which run the cold wires to an array of calculating machines feeding instructions to The Death Dwarf In The Street—The brain is surrounded by Crab Guards charged from The Thermodynamic Pain And Energy Bank—Crab Guards can not be attacked directly since they are directly charged by attack—K9 had been in combat with The Crab Guards and he knew what can happen if they get their claws on your nerve centers—

  K9 left the café and surveying the street scene he could not but feel that someone had goofed—The Death Dwarfs had in many cases been separated from the human host but they were still charged from Central Control and yacked through the streets imitating words and gestures of everyone in sight—While Sex Dwarfs squirmed out of any cover with a perfunctory, “Hello there,” in anyone who stood still for it, dissolved erogenous holes immediately attacked by The Talk Dwarfs so that in a few seconds the unfortunate traveler was torn to pieces which the dwarfs snatch from each other’s mouth with shrill silver screams—In fact the noxious behavior of this life form harried the citizens beyond endurance and everyone carried elaborate home-made contrivances for screening out the Talk Dwarfs and a special plastic cover to resist erogenous acids of the Sex Dwarfs—

  Without hesitation K9 gave the order: “Release Silence Virus—Blanket area”—So The Silence Sickness flashed round the world at speed of light—As a result many citizens who had been composed entirely of word went ape straight away and screamed through the streets attacking the passers-by who in many cases went ape in turn as The Silence Sickness hit—To combat these conditions, described as “intolerable,” political leaders projected stern noble image from control towers and some could occupy and hold up the ape forms for a few days or weeks—Invariably the leader was drained by the gravity of unregenerate apes, torn in pieces by his relapsing constituents, or went ape himself on TV—So the Survivors as they call themselves lived in continual dread of resistant dwarfs always more frantic from host hunger—Knowing that at any minute the man next to you in the street might go Mandril and leap for your throat with virginal canines—K9 shrugged and put in a call for Technicians—“The error in enemy strategy is now obvious—It is machine strategy and the machine can be redirected—Have written connection in The Soft Typewriter the machine can only repeat your instructions since it can not create anything—The operation is very technical—Look at a photomontage—It makes a statement in flexible picture language—Let us call the statement made by a given photomontage X—We can use X words X colors X odors X images and so forth to define the various aspects of X—Now we feed X into the calculating machine and X scans out related colors, juxtapositions, affect-charged images and so forth we can attenuate or concentrate X by taking out or adding elements and feeding back into the machine factors we wish to concentrate—A Technician learns to think and write in association blocks which can then be manipulated according to the laws of association and ­juxtaposition—The basic law of association and conditioning is known to college students even in America: Any object, feeling, odor, word, image in juxtaposition with any other object feeling, odor, word or image will be associated with it—Our technicians learn to read newspapers and magazines for juxtaposition statements rather than alleged content—We express these statements in Juxtaposition Formulae—The Formulae of course control populations of the world—Yes it is fairly easy to predict what people will think see feel and hear a thousand years from now if you write the Juxtaposition Formulae to be used in that period—But the technical details you understand and the machines—all of which contain basic flaws and must be continually overhauled, checked, altered whole blocks of computing machines purged and disconnected from one minute to the next—fast our mind waves and long counts—And let me take this opportunity of replying to the criticisms of my creeping opponents—It is not true that I took part in or instigated experiments defining pain and plea
sure thresholds—I used abstract reports of the experiments to evolve the formulae of pain and pleasure association that control this planet—I assume no more responsibility than a physicist working from material presented to an immobilized brain—I have constructed a physics of the human nervous system or more accurately the human nervous system defines the physics I have constructed—Of course I can construct another system working on quite different principals—Pain is a quantitative factor—So is pleasure—I had material from purge trials and concentration camps and reports from Nagasaki and Hiroshima defining the limits of courage—Our most precise data came from Lexington Ky. where the drug addicts of America are processed—The pain of heroin withdrawal in the addict lends itself perfectly to testing under control ­conditions—Pain is quantitative to degree of addiction and stage of withdrawal and is quantitatively relieved by cell-blanketing agents—With pain and pleasure limits defined and the juxtaposition formulae set up it is fairly easy to predict what people will think in a thousand years or as long as the formulae remain in operation—I can substitute other formulae if I am permitted to do so—No one has given much thought to building a qualitative ­mathematics—My formulae saw to that—Now here is a calculating machine—Of course it can process qualitative data—Color for example—I feed into the machine a blue photo passes to the Blue Section and a hundred or a thousand blue photos rustle out while the machine plays blues in a blue smell of ozone blue words of all the poets flow out on ticker tape—Or feed in a thousand novels and scan out the last pages—That is quality is it not? Endingness?”