the roar of our engines promises us cover-we wear chokin pants & are slaves to appetite-we get stoned on joan crawford & form teeming colonies & die of masculine conversation ...Marcellus, wearing khaki when madness struck him, immediately filed suit against an illegitimate son be longing to someone else-josie said everybody at the trial came with a blowgun ...Tom Tom made Melodius ha him, then jumped from a window-we are all alike & place scorpions neatly in our insides-we take pills thru the ass we praise faggot missionaries & throw homosexuals into phenomenon gutters ...in the winter a blackface musician announces he is from Two Women-he spends his free time trying to peel the moon & he's here to collect his eight cent stamp-Marguerita the pusher, wheeling a cartful of Thursday up Damaen's Row yelling "cockles & muscles," kills him for getting in the way of her appetite ...the rewards are few on Chemical Isle-little girls hide perfume up their shrimps & there are no giants-the warmongers have stolen all our german measles & are giving them to the doctors to use as bribes-i stayed awake for three hours last nite with Pearl-she claimed to have walked by a rooming house i once lived in-we had nothing in common, me & Pearl-i shared her boredom & had nothing to give her-i was drunk & entertained myself ...we wish to make journeys & use everything except our feet & we meet tongue tied broken vulgar geeks with gorilla handshakes & drunken Hercules waits for us on our beds & we must salute him & he says that the new helicopters have arrived & "this is your geek" & "you will take your orders from him" yes the rewards are few here but there are oaths to take nor mental strokes-excpt for the self conscious insanity brought in by hunters with radios wear religious clothes, all goes well..... Angola being bombed this morning, i right now am happy with nausea-my head is suffocating-i am gazing into the big dipper with silver buttoned blouse in my nostrils-i'm glad Marguerita's a right-i do feel expensive