Complete texts:
ACT ONE: CANTO 46 Just when did
SCENE ONE, TRACK 1 (06:42): "Just when did the anthropomorphising"
SCENE TWO: TRACK 2 (03:27) "At your friendly Siddhis Service station"
ACT TWO: CANTO 47 Ah what word-shape
SCENE ONE: TRACK 3 (09:57) "Ah what word-shape"
ACT THREE: CANTO 48 Andro in the dungeon
SCENE ONE: TRACK 4 (04:18) "Andro in the dungeon of hard science"
SCENE TWO: TRACK 5 (00:23) "What have you to say for yourself now?"
SCENE THREE: TRACK 6 (03:07) "She says nothing."
SCENE FOUR: TRACK 7 (06:05) "The gills of the mods find ex-greedingly signed"
ACT FOUR: CANTO 49 The puny liberal
SCENE ONE: TRACK 8 (05:18) "The puny liberal pulings"
SCENE TWO: TRACK 9 (05:29) "'But of course'," says Richard"
SCENE THREE: TRACK 10 (04:27) "'Poppy-prick!'" says Bathbone"
SCENE FOUR: TRACK 11 (08:01) "'How wonderful,'" Spiral lilts"
ACT FIVE: CANTO 50 You've been chosen
SCENE ONE: TRACK 12 (10:17) "I am the voice"
ACT SIX: CANTO 51 Streams of data
ACT ONE: CANTO 46 Just when did
SCENE ONE, TRACK 1 (06:42): "Just when did the anthropomorphising"
Just when did the anthropomorphising
empiricizing sexist shrinkage of the European mind
shoot to hell the fusion between the reality of higher beings
and the reality of "natural processes"?
Not that this mind didn't balloon, career, and carom
in that god-man pope-church humanist-scientist factory-hi-tech
exponential rush to nuclear superiority
and the fossil-fueled American Dream
reified now on a global scale with
widespread species extinction!
And then the masks and masculine musk,
gender divisions most pilots dentists generals
and universals are male.
Does womb-envy stir? Does a being stir?
Outside my woods
a motorcycle winds through enraged gears.
I make it a MECHANICAL HORNET MANTRA—
after all, everything that lives is holy—
Another throttle blips me gently.
Air rushes into my gleaming chrome skull,
through my nostril filter,
flows into the carburetor of cause and effect,
pours down the mirror-finish intakes of my lungs
into the cylinders of my concentration.
where pistons of being begin the booming mantra,
flashes of insight ignite the fuel of dharma,
EXPANDING GASES OF CONSCIOUSNESS
EXHAUST ANALYSIS AS THEY MERGE
WITH THE MONOXIDE OF THE WORLD!
ANDRO EMERGES AWAKENING FROM THE MURMURS
OF THE VOID!
[CHORUS ONE]
Yeah I'm the Evil Knevil of meditation
I'm the she-devil of the west
I'm the enemy of imitation
yeah my way is not the worst!
SCENE TWO: TRACK 2 (03:27) "At your friendly Siddhis Service station"
At your friendly Siddhis Service station
a sleek new Mahayana-ha pulls in for refueling.
ANDRO swings lightly off the saddle and heads for the ashram.
She may be male and she may be female.
In truth she's ANDRO-GENIE!
And she speaks for herself:
Sitting and singing I Andro swing as the gone apostle
taught by seekers of pleasurable discord.
Let me dip sex rolls in the tea of
steep inclines up the path of awareness.
Let me frolic in the confusion of the lock-up and fuck-up
of language in the service of conflicting facts.
Set me up as no wonder woman unless as a snapper
of charmed lariats of words, who flaunts not breasts
but brotherhood, who fondles no penis but sisterhood,
who preaches no editorials and who edits all preachers.
[CHORUS TWO]
Yeah I'm the Evil Knevil of meditation
I'm the she-devil of the west
I'm the enemy of imitation
yeah my way is not the worst!
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ACT TWO: CANTO 47 Ah what word-shape
SCENE ONE: TRACK 3 (09:57) "Ah what word-shape"
Ah what word-shape to drive on:
Yeatsy smells of Ezra's vortex, with hops and malt of Olson
chug-a-lugging one perception flowing instantly into another,
Ted Berrigan over my shoulder, "Trust your mind, trust your mind!"
Who would not travel on THIS interstate?
But let's listen to Andro:
I lean easy on the muscular curves of concentration
and wind out hard on the polished scriptural straights.
I'm a sight-seer marvelling at the country I'm in.
Up ahead samsonite gorillas crack overpass pillars,
dumping crateloads of chickens whose Catholic cackles
echo down canyons of protestant Cadillacs.
"Did you see that...?" the atheist trucker 10/4's
as the CB's crackle over the jostling Episcopalian Speed Queens
and the lurching evangelist do-it-yourself furniture.
Now I duck unravelling Yiddish retreads,
hits a steep agnostic off-ramp full-throttle
and soar over a row of 24 Buddhist used-car lots,
singing all the while
[CHORUS THREE]
Yeah I'm the Evil Knevil of meditation
I'm the she-devil of the west
I'm the enemy of imitation
yeah my way is not the worst!
But there is a villain—Razzle.
Master of the real, a hard-head,
the monistic
western empiricist
militarist supreme,
clutching in his stylus-studded fist
a hot Pentagon shopping list.
Andro racing amok on the Plains of Free Association
doesn't know that one of Sir Razzle's smart MIRV's
has homed in on Andro's hot exhaust of words
polluting the Mahayana-ha (did I say she was perfect?),
her plume of distractions, her oxides of bent badinage,
flakes of particulate fluttering down everywhere,
even as far as the rosy valleys of the Pure Land.
SIR RAZZLE clucks a jowel-full of joy as the scammer
of his cruiser registers Andro amok on the inner-state,
a long way from Awakening and a few miles west of Reverie.
Jamming his foot down hard on the particle accelerator
Razzle peels out into the passing lane, saying
"Gotcha now goddam hippie bastud,"
smirking to his loyal sidekick Fone
who glares up from the girlie mag
to punch on-board systems analysis steady-ready-state-of-the-union
digital deflector omnibus ARM functions antennae all erect!
Squat over the wheel thin-lipped big-eared
cheek-bulging glossy-helmeted
RAZZLE hits Mach 4.9 closing fast on Andro
whose somewhat oddly assorted
thoughts we pick off the scammer
and present unexpurgated:
Dim hangs the harpy and haggard
from her forlorn and fitful scabbard,
thick weaves the mist of old samsara
when self ripped the hem of the sutra...
Razzle yells "Listen to that goddam liberal bullshit!":
Instantly six lazer-guided-mussles mush
from the speeding unit, leaving six gleaming trails of mucous
that settle as slime on the inner-state, throwing traffic
into scads of skids and fits of fender-benders, literally streaking
to the bemused Andro, whose song is cut off in mid-flow
from the impact of the solid-state molluscs
as the e-prom and fully-booted shells
of the utterly accurate bi-valves
arrest the errant Mahayana-ha.
With unerring calibration the Free Association Retrieval, Tactical,
opens its titanium maw to scoop up the terrified Andro,
while back at Missing Control Razzle does a fandango,
gleefully clapping his potentiometers
as he executes Phase Two,
wherein Andro finds herself languishing in the dudgeon
of Sir Richard Adamant, hard scientist.
[CHORUS FOUR]
Yeah I'm the Evil Knevil of meditation
I'm the she-devil of the west
I'm the enemy of imitation
yeah my way is not the BEST!
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ACT THREE: CANTO 48 Andro in the dungeon
SCENE ONE: TRACK 4 (04:18) "Andro in the dungeon of hard science"
Andro in the dungeon of hard science
watches whitewash bleed off the walls;
deep in the castle whose cornerstone Sam Johnson kicked
on a caffeine high after a session at the chocolate house museum
where he oiled the ticking wax works of deism.
[STACCATO PERCUSSIVE]
She can hear the hum of huge transformers in the electronic kitchen
where tureens of steaming plasma baste a juicy force-field
feeding a crackling grid
that sizzles to a crisp errant wisps of occulted
Zen lightning-bugs, missionary Mesquitos, or druidian dragonflies.
She can see the observation port where the gleaming iris
of Sir Richard Adamant's right eye sticks and sucks.
Above her panels, tubes, cords, and wires hum and whir.
Around her, needles, adhesives, cups, probes, and curettes paw the air.
Beneath her, sensors with acute grand mal tick in their lust for input.
Everywhere light-emitting diodes and liquid crystal displays
flash null read-outs of perfectly calibrated readiness.
SCENE TWO: TRACK 5 (00:23) "What have you to say for yourself now?"
"What have you to say for yourself now?" Adamant's voice booms.
SCENE THREE: TRACK 6 (03:07) "She says nothing."
She says nothing. "All right, then!" he warbles. Instantly
she is engulfed, probed, tapped, monitored, scanned,
irradiated, treated, tested, sampled.
Her thoughts appear in luminous color and digital sound on the main monitors
which are the whole front wall of the adjacent ampitheater full of banquet guests
and technicians sipping coffee and chemical cream.
The side walls are screens that display a barrage of Andro's
pressures, levels, reflexes, reactions, hormone levels, enzyme movements, rates of flow, circulatory, digestive, reproductive, cerebro-spinal,
pineal synaptic charges, discharges, metabolisms, catabolisms.
The screen fills with swirls of color
and criss-crossing lines as assistants tune, twirl, and toggle,
and now with swirling shapes
as the speech synthesizers activate:
SCENE FOUR: TRACK 7 (06:05) "The gills of the mods find ex-greedingly signed"
"The gills of the mods find ex-greedingly signed,
dealed, and re-slivered in the collective parsimony
of your data fits and starts that grind a pale puree
of my ambient being, a puddle of weak pudding,
soft slop, insipid sop to your hard science gone all
totalitarian Cromwellian Orwellian with the shot sun
of your Enlightenment franchise staining the mist
of my addled mind shining bleakly with bain-rows."
CHORUS FIVE
Yeah I'm the Evil Knevil of meditation
I'm the she-devil of the west
I'm the enemy of imitation
yeah my way is not the worst!
Collective humphs, harumps, a-ha's, ho-ho's, hmmm's and ho-hums
aerosol the hall while Andro's thoughts continue to display:
"Let the millstone of your empiricist measures
crack the grain of my Tibetan frenzy.
Grind fresh grants from my treasures
to shore up the stain of your measly collectivist
malignancy, malodoriferous majesty.
Close down the wicked cadence that bleeds
toward hi-tech catastrophe......
"Enough of this rant!" shouts Razzle as the screens go blank.
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ACT FOUR: CANTO 49 The puny liberal
SCENE ONE: TRACK 8 (05:18) "The puny liberal pulings"
The puny liberal pulings of platoons of paltry poltroons,
says Agnes Spiral, thrusting the canape-tainted
non-proliferation petition
from her vinyl manicure as Sir Richard in his Washingcow town-house
idly polishes a silver sardine spear cast from melted-down grails,
while Razzle torches an ICBM-shaped cigar that mushrooms
a bilious billow triggering Muzak from the smoke-alarm
Richard has modified and ready to market
want to surprise your tobacco-loving guests how they'll all chuckle!
"Power and the strategic use of power to protect our interests,
that's what this game is all about," says Razzle, with a thin film
of Kuala lingering on his large stained lips.
"That's why we need fellows like you to give us the latest technology,
and engineers to apply it
so our freedom fighters can put it to good use!"
SCENE TWO: TRACK 9 (05:29) "'But of course'," says Richard"
"But of course," says Richard, lapping a tad of Drambuie
with the penile tip of his alert darting tongue,
"the scientist does only science and makes no reference
to social or cultural values" (this with an index-finger
touch to his rimless glasses— he wouldn't dream of soft contacts!)
Agnes wings a winsome grin to Adamant:
"What a wide range of wicked weapons we have nowadays!
So good to have our supermarkets loaded with liquid deterrent.
Every home laundry a potential reactor. First thing you know
even our psychic powers will help to strengthen defense."
SCENE THREE: TRACK 10 (04:27) "'Poppy-prick!'" says Bathbone"
"Poppy-prick!" says Bathbone, as he picks praline particles
from the place-mat woven by relocated peasants run-over
by debt roll-over. "We need to take all the psychics, gurus, cult-leaders,
priests, Jews, poets, protestors, pot-smokers, and put `em
to doing a good day's work, earn a ruble, sweat of their brows,
workfare not medicare, gulag Jane Fonda, I say!"
"Funny you should mention it, but I'm working in that area
right now," says Adamant, with a grant-getting gleam in his eye
and a micro-second flick of his tongue Agnes' way:
"We have a demonstration coming up at the Procurement Banquet
that will conclusively demonstrate the strategic importance
of the so-called transcendental meditation in a pilot program
which simultaneously has the added virtue of putting
an idle dreamer to productive work."
SCENE FOUR:TRACK 11 (08:01) "'How wonderful,'" Spiral lilts"
"How wonderful," Spiral lilts, her eyes doing a butterfly
as she nips a mite of cream sherry while her dangling high-heel
ticks Adamant's responsive oxford.
"Come on, Dick," growls Razzle, what the hell possible good
in all that possle of crap?"
"So happens I have a tape along that gives you
a highly digestible lecture on the subject," says the hard scientist,
reaching to flip open the mahogany cabinet while one leg
stretches to playfully engage the ample calf of the delighted Agnes.
"Remember that volunteer you and Fone got for me, ah, Andro, something,
yes, Andro Genie is her name? Well we've played this tape
for her a few dozen times— a very promising subject, she is."
"Oh yass— well roll it!"
Sir Richard's voice, muted by filters,
mellowed by condensers,
made vibrant by an aural exciter,
piquant by digital delay,
rolls across the table to where Agnes writhes imperceptibly.
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ACT FIVE: CANTO 50 You've been chosen
SCENE ONE: TRACK 12 (10:17) "I am the voice"
"You've been chosen, Comrade Andro, to volunteer
for this important research project,
a very well-funded project,
(I am the voice to give voice
that will be of great benefit to society.
Consider how your reputation as one who meditates
(to the dropping off of voices,
rather than as one who exercises simple wholesome virtues
(those urgent or fluent who speak, sing, scream, squeak;
like genetic engineering or space-based weapons research
will be redeemed when, should the outcome of this experiment
(who compete for my pathetic spot of consciousness,
result in further funding, you agree to patch in to the ELF network
(my dot bouncing along their blown-up words,
that enables our submarines to communicate anywhere in the world!
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's begin, Andro, with a good look
(my flickering bulb of concentration lighting their features.
at what happens when you meditate. Notice around you,
(To hear one is to neglect the others.
in addition to some familiar diagnostic equipment,
(I hear now the one that pretends to describe them,
the modified ballistocardiograph with the two metal plates,
one under your seat, the other over your head;
(its own motives mixed with mine as I hear this,
notice too the capacitive probe apparatus,
the tuned-circuit panel, the single-channel recorder,
the three mutually perpendicular accelerometers,
(my others panting to get a cry in edgewise.
the electroencephalogram electrode, and the C-shaped electromagnet,
with 30 cm. gap pole spacing, activated at 3.75 Hz by a voltage-offset
sine-wave power source.
Now, as you sit in meditation
on our specialized cushion, Andro—
(Yet I am the voice to give voice
you will forgive me for not using the word "transcendental," won't you—
(to the closing down of voices,
your heart-aorta system produces an oscillation
of about 7 Hz in your skeleton, including your skull.
(to give lip service to the cause of no voice.
Now your skull accelerates your brain up and down,
producing acoustical plane waves reverberating through your brain
(Bouncing in the net of this contradiction
at KHz frequencies. These waves are focused by your skull
onto your cerebral ventricles, thus activating and driving
(I lose sight of the tightrope: does the tension
standing waves within the third and lateral ventricles
(make me no-voice? Tongue got my cat-walk?
which in the audio and supersonic ranges stimulate
(sing it with feline, trumpet my stacked lower deck
the sensory cortex mechanically. This stimulus, or "current"
(declaim, orate, expound, expatiate, elaborate, qualify, expostulate,
travels in a closed loop around each hemisphere,
(exhort, intone, expand, deliver, preach, speechify,
the hemispheres in turn producing pulsating magnetic fields
(as I do every waking no moment,
of opposing polarities which radiate from your head
(each a baggage claim on my words
interacting with the electric and magnetic fields
(bound over, signed, sealed, immediate delivery.
already in the environment which in turn interact with your fields.
(Still I am the voice to give voice
Actually your head, ANDRO, is both a transmitting and receiving antenna!
(to the one voice rising silent
YOUR BODY IS A BAG OF ELASTIC SKIN SUPPORTED BY AN ELASTIC ARMATURE!
(from syllables that unfold into my light
YOUR SPINAL COLUMN IS A SPRING YOUR HEART BOUNCES UP AND DOWN!
(body and into my open hands.
YOUR CORTEX IS A WATER-BASED PIEZOELECTRIC GEL
(My voice is the child's in the alley,
THAT CONDUCTS VIBRATIONS WELL!!!
(the chime in the wind.
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ACT SIX: CANTO 51 Streams of data
SCENE ONE: TRACK 13 (05:13)
Streams of data fatten into fan-fold stacks.
Technicians chatter, or beam to Sir Richard's patter,
while dot-matrices natter. Pixels pepper monitors full of graphs
while professors plot journals full of articles
and Kremagon observers scheme vital appropriations.
Andro decides what to do. She closes her eyes
(data Sir Richard duly notes),
slows her respiration rate
(data Sir Richard drily notes),
breathes one liter less of air per minute
(data Sir Richard dully notes),
reduces oxygen consumption from 251 to 211 cubic centimeters per minute
(data Sir Richard dutifully notes),
reduces carbon dioxide elimination from 219 to 187 cubic centimeters per minute
(data Sir Richard professionally notes),
generates alpha waves with increasing intensity
(data Sir Richard perfunctorily notes),
which increase in amplitude and regularity,
(data Sir Richard meticulously notes),
reduces her heart rate by 4 beats per minute
(data Sir Richard scrupulously notes),
increases her skin resistance by 140,000 ohms
(data Sir Richard precisely notes),
maintains low arterial blood pressure
(data Sir Richard confidently notes),
reduces her secretion of norepinephrine by 3.6 ml. per 34.8 cc. per hour
(data Sir Richard congenially notes),
induces a slight metabolic acidosis
(data Sir Richard engagingly notes),
reduces her lactate level precipitously, 1026 mgs. per 100 cc. per hour
(data Sir Richard interestedly notes),
increases her forearm bloodflow by 41 per cent
(data Sir Richard fascinatedly notes),
induces her body to vibrate slightly, at 30.8 Hertz
(data Sir Richard surprisedly notes),
raises her body temperature to 180 degrees F.
(data Sir Richard astonishedly notes),
emits high-frequency sounds at 30 KHz that shatter glass tubes and instruments
(data Sir Richard incredulously notes),
radiates intense heat at 1800 K that melts hoses and wires
(data Sir Richard traumatically notes),
generates acoustical shock waves at Mach 4.5 that implode all CRT's
(data Sir Richard hysterically notes),
Andro disappears as the syllables "PHAT" and "SVAHA" fill the ampitheater
(data Sir Richard glazedly notes)
SIZZLE!!! as in a comic book, or POOF!!! as a cloud of white ash
settles on the stainless steel table with its restraining straps all askew.
She's gone! Crossed Over! Translated! Raptured!
My jinn is done gone! Zapped Hasidic zaddik!
Translated to Gehenna or Jahannam to incinerate
or wafted to the rivers and the houris of Janna?
Maybe nembutsu'd to Amida cruising the Pure Land?
Or puñña'd to a glowing lotus pond
where good Jinn jump Karma to jive the jiva with Jesus?
Don't know. But listen to what echoes
above the Wreck of the Empirical:
[PATTERNING OF SOUNDS "PHAT" AND "SVAHA" WITH SOUNDS OF EXPLOSIONS AND HISSING]
[EXTREME SOLO BREAK TO FULL THROTTLE ENDING WITH FINAL CHORUS]
She's gone! Crossed Over! Translated! Raptured! She's gone!
FINIS
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