Book of Sketches (10 page)

 

I love the railroad
because it is laid out on the
land, & requires the
eyes of Indians — but
the Rail is Evil
“Brother have you seen
starlight on the rails?”
“Yes” — but,
the greatness of Wolfe
must have been in his
realization of the land —

 

The City fattens on
the blood of Towns,
then bursts. The
Atom Bomb, or its
satellite Power, will
destroy New York City
& all of Western Civilization
from Marxist-
Faustian Vladivostok
westward round the
globe to San Francisco.
Then the Millenium
of the Hip Fellaheen
begins, in all lands.
But Eden Heaven
awaits the Milleniums
of the Meek Fellaheen
for all time
The Mankind of Saints,
that shall come after
& finally.
The Men from Mars
are really the baldheaded
bespectacled
lobsters of American
business. — really &
seriously — their
beady eyes, in fat,
glint on the grave —
Rocky C.
A boxer with the
sadness of a saint
Faustian society had
good intentions

 

Messiah’s pants fell off
the chair —

Crazy California of my
Selma days — tracks
of old SP shining in hot
birdy-tweeting breezy afternoon,
De Jesus & Rodriguez
market of white stucco
with cars parked (2) in
driveway & sign (same
as above, over PAR-T-PAK
board) — I see a
whole bookshelf of wine
bottles, GALLO too — &
here in field, in matted
brown grass under an
avocado tree, I see

 

an empty Gallo Tokay
fifth & fillet of herring
can & beer cans showing
a royal feast of hoboes
in their California, &
bed-down grass of their
reclinations — In De
Jesus (Vegetable, Meats)
I see a woman selecting
a brace of Cokes — a
car parks — across road
is Ferry Morse Seed Co.,
all spectral iron hell
red last night with
browndeep clouds of
locomotive steam in
Faustian sky —
A little strange SP
handtruck (handcar)

 

(in Kansas Rock Island
boys say “Nothin to
worry about but a nigger
on a handcar” — pricks)
goes by, with 5 Mex
Indians, one Negro —
they point to rails for
foreman Mex who has
sledgehammer — a Jet
screams above, from
Moffett Field — upper,
paler B-29 groans —
— Seed
Co. is modern flat
plant, nobody in
sight, the machine
silent in the red sun, —
At night not a
human in sight,
just cars smooth in the
hiway, the rails gleaming,
cruel & cold to the touch,
slightly sticky with
steel death, — lights of
airport pokers, distant
roar of Jets in wind
tunnels, far off joints
slamming, planes carrying
Edison’s light across the
stars & freights of
Machine Humanbeings —
& the block lights in
the night that give
panic or peace
according to the
switch points as
manipulated — too
much iron, too much

 

built in windows that
hide controlled vibrating
horror (Rocky Mt. Mills)
is a field of fruit trees,
iron & barbwire fenced
from precious Company —
little white cottages of
the railroad earth, with
end of day papa car
parked, little fruit
trees — haze of
sun — I’m sitting
by silver painted SP

 

Telephone box & eq’pt —
wearing workshoes, asbestos
gloves now black,
soiled timetable, thick
socks, ankle strap from
swollen ankle missing

 

The intensity of D. H.
Lawrence was not carnal

 

A woman’s cunt is
the soft avenue to her
womanhood, the godhead
of human generations,
the yearning point
of man — I believe
the celibacy in the
teachings of Christ were
Paulist & Jewish-Castration
-Circumcision cult
in origin — for if His
Kingdom is not of this
World, & the Soul is to
be Saved, it makes that
difference inside a
woman’s legs when her
permission is given —

 

Jesus did not say,
but I believe in a
woman’s permission

 

Retirement annuities
that grow out of group
life insurance & hospital
plans & sick benefits, sponsored
by the modern big
company, are only an
attempt to cut out turn-
over of employees —
imagine devoting yr. entire

 

twidget to the Machine’s
twadget) is called
protection
— protection
against their being left
to drift free outside the M.
(M. for machine).
Big Business in Late
America prides itself on
growing figures, just as
a spokesman for the
Golden Age, “the American
Explosion,” points with
pride at the 3 inches
added height average of
American kids.
If not the highest,
then it’s the “fourth
highest” etc.

 

The faces & demeanors of
successful young American
businessmen: - a guarded
sense of one’s own
gentlemanness — the
face taut & ready to
smile the hand-shake
smile — a terrible
concern in the expression
that the subject wont
reciprocate the same
escalator tension from
empty gesture to empty
gesture — these gestures
are the ritual of Late
High Civilization — the
American workingmen
have adopted a surl
in superficial opposition —
but the Executive

 

The gray drab Indian
village near Actopan, no
Coca Cola, no Orange Crush,
just dysentery-ridden
water, & lizards on the
old walls — Jesus has
made it hard on us.

 

But a maiden wears
a smile, & a little
hidden ribbon of meaning,
& at the brook the
waters ripple in the
shade of shepherd
trees — the flies are
insistent, but so is the
soul in its thoughts &
loves, O Man, Poor Man
— Thirsts developed in us by
the Machine are insatiable

 

That paused look of a
man pissing —

 

“Silly Faust — & the
mystery of history”

 

J: Arent you dired?
C: It’s a nightgown —

 

The Fellaheen women
let the men run things
— in the driveway of
the country store on
Sunday afternoon, they
wait in the car & smile
while the men goof with
beer cans — These are
Mexicans, Indians, of the
California countryside —
Western Civilization women
would say “Are you
coming
John?”

 

The horrible bitches have
no regard for man
anyway, just their
itchy old twats & what’s
come out of it — It
would never occur to
American women &
American Old Woman
Society that a 80
year old man’s life
is more valuable than
an infant’s life because
it has acquired its
value — They think
in terms of “My Child”
with an almost-mystical
sense of the Future
as abstract as everything
else Faustian —

 

A jet plane is an
abstraction because it
serves absolutely no
purpose to body or
soul — just flies —
All their other abstractions
— Communism,
Freedom, etc. — are
abstractions within the
Abstract Structure of the Machine —
Machines can’t
run without a theoretical
basis.
The theoretical of
Nature is still & will
always be “unknown”
because it is not
theoretical, it
is
—

 

desert contemplating the
earth & the clouds &
the insects & suddenly
the poor Fellaheen
simplicity-souls there
with me — I want to
be among them in the
night, soft lights across
the sand road, distant
dogs of the Fellaheen Moon

 

— the maguey rows —
the holy marijuana to
enliven my Vision when
needed — the sweet
wine — to soften my
cark & belly when needed
— the tender cunt of
my Indian Love — my
Fellaheen Wife — &
holy sleep among the Patriarchs

 

My sister is dead to God
now, because she puts
marriage to a tyrannical
but simple-hearted
man before her knowledges
of God & the soul that
she learned once from
her father, brother (&
mother perhaps) & Church —
She & I knelt in
damp pews of poor Good
Friday —
I am working for the
railroad to keep my
stomach in food &
drink but I want to
throw myself on the
ground & die for God
if it wasnt so awful

 

TO DIE & leave the joys
of food & drink & cunt,
& grieving relatives.
To learn the life
of sainthood is harder
than 8 years of
Medical or Law School
— I will come to it
gradually, to celibacy
& some fasting (by celibacy
I mean of course simplicity
of living, for instance no
gum chewing & such
trivial habits that attach
to me still from the
Machine of Anti Christ)
— come gradually to growing
my own food, to Patriarchy
& Silence in the Earth
& Ecstasy of Alyosha