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(rough transcription
by Kate Liu)
It's
Easter Sunday, and like every year this time I come to you by the last
neighborhood, pirate radio.The signal
stretches on the land of the Zulu, Zulu nation, all the way to the land
of the Morak nation.For the next
two nights, let¡¦s steal the Babylon air waves and let on
them re-evaluate the immigration politics.The
trick is about you bringing the verbal intercourse, and I'll bring the
lice(?).So cock the hammer, sharpen
the spirce, throw stones.The cool
attack has begone.
¡§Is
this one of the Canadian lines?"
Fifty
thousand is the number of boys and girls, dogs and bitches.Fifty
zero zero zero thousand pupppies will be conceived on this beautiful Friday
night.Oh, that's definitely a lot
of stroking.Listen.Perhaps
you can hear the slapping of the dog¡¦s hip against the bitch's
but near in front of him.Or perhaps
you are just one of the mongrels going through your particular brand of
strokes.Or if you are considered
this as the pelvis is arched for the dumb strokes.Ten
thousand single bitches will breed these puppies, these bundles of joy,
as if the embryos get passed the hunger(?).This
not.This one is for the boys.The
DOG as dogs.If you are tired of
hauling a sock onto your prickle, I have an alternative form of birth control
that . . . already used.
¡§Take
your shirt off.¡¨ ¡§Now fuck off.You
are ill.¡¨
Then
call it the split-second, poor old technique.The
oldest contraceptive known to us . . . .The
method is simple; we are experimenting with it. . . . "You
are ready"¡§You think
so yeh?I'd better be fucking ready,
cause I left my fucking teeth in my head." As
the bitch has her legs locked around your shoulders as you are panting
that fifty-mile purr, she dig her paws into your bottom holes.Don't
come in man.Ignore the bitch, keep
stroking. ¡§Yo,
man, what¡¦s up.What's
for sale?¡¨ You
ask her whose pussy is it, she barks in ecstasy, your pussy, baby. You
ask her to spell your full name, she spells the middle name wrong. Concentrate
now, because you are coming up to your last funeral strokes. ¡§Are
you absolutely completely naked?¡¨ You
feel it starts at the bead of your balls as it work its way toward the
tip of your seven-inch tomb(?)..
. . But you know a sophisticated bitch never believes what a DOG says when
he is on his last stroke. It¡¦s
coming, coming.Ohhh.Coming.At
the last split second, you pull off your manhood and your legs contract
over and over your love your love comes in spurts dripping harmlessly over
the bitch¡¦s soft stomach.You
collapse on top of her.You see,
the potential fetus is now warm lubricant sliding against your stomach
creating a harmless wet spot. ..
. After a few seconds, she¡¦ll ask, did you come in me?Well,
you¡¦re sure .. . Wait a minute, you¡¦re not
sure?You sure you never come in
me.You pause. Concentrate hard now;
try to remember the last few strokes.: did a squirt escape?.
. . If
you have a tale to tell in this season of death and resurrection and rebirth,
I am in my ears. ************
Boys
and girls, the lion is loose tonight.If
you¡¦ve seen his Majesty, give him a call. If
you lost the song of your disenfranchised diasporic voice, give me a call.Maybe
I have it. ¡§Why
don¡¦t you give us back our air waves, Bitch?Nobody
wants to listen to you.¡¨ ¡§I
guess then you don¡¦t want love.What
on your mind.¡¨ "Don't
recognize my voice; can't see my face?Many
faces, isolation, isolated by a fragile infantile fantasy.Many
sleep with eyes open, coping with the pain that stays in the brain. Don't
recognize my voice; can't see my face?Rock
the light pace, feel the blood waves.Treading
motor, a tragic existence is a coexistence.Fight
with spiritual persistence. Don't
recognize my voice; can't see my face?A
kiss of dysfunctional illusion, fusion of silence plus night confusion,
sweet and sour delusion.Laws of
survival: resist the self-rival, self-righteous primal desire to see, to
feel, to buy, to find the bland center of identity.Reality.Reality?Two-dimensional
sensuality.To touch you is not to
know you. Don't
recognize
my voice; can't see my face?The
past is set for me destructive destiny.Self-fulfilling
prophecy.Oh, the tragedy.Another
ocean swallows the island, treading water, a tragic existence fight with
spiritual persistence. Don't
recognize my voice; can't see my face?A
kiss of mental intrusion,
************
Oh,
ya, shouts from the mother ship have just been heard..
. . Keep yourself on the prize and you¡¦ll live to see the
dawn. ¡§Is
this mother-fucker what you really want?¡¨ ¡§I
need someone I can trust¡¨ Yankee to Luke. Boxing
of George and his friend.
************
Tonight
we worship the golden calf.Eat the
sacred codes and speak in recognized tones. Tonight
the uncircumcised participate in the intercourse.A
music is for the youth, for they shall inherit the earth. Tonight
it¡¦s gonna be like the last night of the world.Propaganda
and mind bombs rule.Armageddon has
begun.
************
¡§Too
late, officer.You¡¦ve
brought many Zulu to the land of the Morak.We
are here to stay.¡¨
************
After
Luke gives the money back to Yankee. It¡¦s
time to again destroy our shits.Let¡¦s
start with ourselves.First, light
the pipe.Two, put it to your mouth.
Three, hewh, destroy. Johnny
disappears. Boys
and Girls, Dogs and Bitches. Tonight¡¦s self-destruction,
where . . .and feel like being
abused.I see what kind of cool
pain I can unleash. Feel
a little self-destructive, feel like being abused? Johnny
with Yankee So
what do you do when you feel this way?Put
the needle up your eyes, bubbles shoots up your fingernail(?) or hung yourself
by your testicles? ¡§I
get high.¡¨ ¡§.
. . That¡¦s not very self-destructive; that¡¦s
an escape.¡¨ Luke,
Johnny with Yankee. Maxine
destroying the mannequins. ¡§What
do you take to get high.¡¨ ¡§The
stuffs.Our free-base stuffs.You
know.Shits like that, Rude. ¡¨ ¡§What
I¡¦d like to do when I get high is to destroy shits. Kick
my kick and go down and kill somebody that¡¦s like me.What
about you?The last guy he likes
to touch the sky to feel self-destructive.What
about you?¡¨ ************
It¡¦s
Easter Sunday morning.The sun is
rising, the sun has risen.And the
mother ship is leaving.Our majesty
has forgiven us, and our senile sins are washed away.You
just heard the trumpets disguised as gunshots singing us home.So
all aboard on our mother ship for those who want a chance of rebirth. I¡¦m
sending out an SOS to the boys and girls that were taken from the mainland
brought to the land of Morak and . . .I¡¦m sending out an
SOS.If you want each of my voice,
give me a call.You know my number |