Film 101: A compass

American Film Directors:

Oliver Stone – “Natural Born Killers”,  “JFK” and “Platoon”

Martin Scorsese – “Gangs of New York”,  “Taxi Driver”, “Goodfellas” and “The Departed”

William Friedkin – “The French Connection” and “The Exorcist” 
John Ford“The Searchers” and “The Lost Patrol” 
Sam Peckinpah“Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid” and “Straw Dogs”

Dennis Hopper- “Easy Rider” and "The Last Movie" 
Steven Spielberg“Schindler’s List” and “AI”

Francis Ford Coppola- “Apocalypse Now” and “The Godfather”

Ridley Scott- “Blade Runner” and “Alien”

Robert Altman- “The Long Goodbye" and  "McCabe & Mrs. Miller"

Mel Brooks- “Blazing Saddles” and "Space Balls"

Ethan and Joel Cohen –“Barton Fink” and “Raising Arizona” 
Orson Welles“Citizen Kane” and “Touch of Evil”

Clint Eastwood – “Unforgiven”

Foreign Film Directors:

Jean-Luc Godard – “Weekend” and “Contempt”
Fellini “8 ½”  and “Toby Dammit”

Michelangelo Antonioni- “The Passenger” and “Zabrinskie Point”

Stanley Kubrick- “A Clockwork Orange”, “Dr. Strangelove”, "The Shining" and “Full Metal Jacket”

Alfred Hitchcock – “The Birds’,  “Psycho” and “Vertigo”

Ingmar Bergman – “Persona” and “The Seventh Seal” 
Roman Polanski“The Tenant” and “Rosemary’s Baby”

Alejandro Jodorowsky – “The Holy Mountain” and “El Topo”

Francois Truffaut – “The 400 Blows” and “Shoot The Piano Player”

Michael Powell – “A Matter of Life and Death” and “Peeping Tom”

Sergio Leone –  “Once Upon A Time in the West” and “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly”

Akira Kurosawa – “Seven Samurai”

Luis Bunuel – “Un Chien Andalou”

Jean Cocteau – “Orpheus”

Guillermo del Toro – “Pan’s Labyrinth”


Peter Bradley Adams - Keep Us

recommended by our dear friend Brant :-)



Bout time somebody utilized humor and humility to freshen up the form.


The Christmas Pickle


Ya know, having divorced parents and step relations can take a lot outta ya specially durin the holidays. This is just to help you understand the fragile frame of being I was in on christmas day when all the biblical fun took place which was also my last stop on the world tour de family. Get to my pa's and everything goes well the first couple of hours. Got to be the only one opening gifts while everyone else stared on wantingly, which is just the way I like it. The christmas bong was floating around particular areas of the house — minors not allowed in these chat rooms. Settled into a plate of leftovers with my dad and step mom “Debbie” whose name is Lori but my brother calls all step folks “Debbie”.

“Debbie”, or I should say Lori, enjoys little candles on dressers that burn beneath a dish of scented oil which boils beneath a fantastic framed picture of a dragon burning a village of people beneath a castle on a star bright night — this set up is in the bedroom (chat room no minors) and we are still stuffing our fat faces in the living room watching Minority Report (a little masterpiece by the way) slowly sinking into that turkey-glazed land of sleep images, fading in and out waking to sip my JD. Suddenly, we all hear this annoying beeping, which of course is disturbing our meditative state of grace with Tom chasing his eyes down the hall on the TV — I think it to be the fire alarm because of the food we were heating. Explanation is that when my real mother would cook when we were growing up she would set the alarm off and sometimes her clothing, but that's another story. My dad is thinking it's on the TV (although he's staring at the TV in which there is no apparent object that would be making the noise unless he thought it was the TV itself, should've clarified).

My step mom in her baked glory thought it was just in her head — but decided that even if it is in her head it could be coming from the back hall where she is used to hearing audible noises— she goes back there and then the worst interruption of all came with a blood curdling scream, “The bedroom’s on fire!”. I'm quick to pause the movie, sip another drink of bourbon, wash down one more bite of gluttony, and spring into Fire Marshal Bill mode. My dad was way ahead of me. By the time I set the plate down he had the garden hose from outside in the master bedroom spraying the flames off the wall where the dragon picture was burning exactly where the painted flame of the dragon had been. I could point out why this is interesting, but I know that I don't have to. The entire friggin wall was going up in flames. Dad, the hero, put it out. Then, there was the annoying toxic black smoke that filled the house choking us all — of course the windows and doors were all opened — letting the neighbors enjoy the fragrance of our fuck up. It was cold in the house now just like my food. Hey, shit happens right? Just as we get the house cleared of smoke, shut the windows and begin the task of removing the black soot from all objects, including us, another brain splitting scream comes from the other side of the house exclaiming that the guest bathroom was flooding out into the bedrooms and hallway — the look on my dad's face by this time was so good I won't even describe it, cuz ya know already. Dashing with gazelle-like movement into the back of the house, we found ourselves in 6 inches of toilet water — in a completely different event all together. Now it was time to use every towel in the house, every bed sheet to be found, to soak up the soggy stench.

 Step brother “Debbie” had decided to spray his spidey web into the bowl, give it a flush, and then walk away for an hour or so — which is how long it had been running over. If flushing the toilet once, wastes 30 gallons of water, this was potentially a good year’s supply for our Eastern neighbors, soaked up in pretty beach towels, sheets and bad carpet (now worse). The only thing missing from the festivities was famine and death.

Ahhhh yes, to be less doubtful in the face of something that is seemingly too unusual to be possible...



Jack White "Love Interruption"

I want love
To roll me over slowly
stick a knife inside me,
and twist it all around.

I want love to
grab my fingers gently
slam them in a doorway
put my face into the ground.

I want love to
murder my own mother
and take her off to somewhere
like hell or up above.

I want love to
change my friends to enemies,
change my friends to enemies
and show me how it's all my fault.

I wont let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me 
Yeah I wont let love disrupt, corrupt, or interrupt me anymore.

I want love to
walk right up and bite me
grab a hold of me and fight me
leave me dying on the ground.

And I want love to
split my mouth wide open and
cover up my ears,
and never let me hear a sound.

I want love to,
forget that you offended me
or how you have defended me,
when everybody tore me down.

Yeah I want love to
change my friends to enemies,
change my friends to enemies
and show me how it's all my fault.

Yeah I wont let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me
I wont let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me
I wont let love disrupt, corrupt, or interrupt me anymore.


Christopher Hitchens on Free Speech

 This is a video of a speech Hitchens gave in Canada in November 2006.  Yes, we can all have disagreements with Hitchens.  You will hear him here actually giving support to Nazi David Irving and he pulls no punches when it comes to religion and especially Islam.  You may think you already know everything.  But this speech is one of the most brilliant and frightening things I have ever heard.  Please listen to what he is saying.  Listen all the way through at once and listen closely.  I think this is important stuff.



The Next Step

Kings Over Breath

Motherless men cling to a life raft helpless
drifting further and further out to sea
a lighthouse twinkles in the motherless men's eyes
but grows distant on the horizon
becoming a stargazers last bright bursting dot of the night
an aleph fading out from the motherless man's sight


that is the point of all points


that is the point

darkness folding over night

becoming one

fear and understanding unite



Handbook for Jurors

It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost as if in sorrowing. There is no sorrowing. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness.

"Everyone must leave something behind when he dies. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime."

I’m trying to express a concept according to which you can translate one thing into another.

Hoping that someday our cities would open up and let the green and the land and the wilderness in more, to remind people that we're allotted a little space on earth and that we survive in that wilderness that can take back what it has given, as easily as blowing its breath on us or sending the sea to tell us we are not so big. When we forget how close the wilderness is in the night, my grandpa said, some day it will come in and get us, for we will have forgotten how terrible and real it can be.

You see?

I’m trying to express a concept according to which you can translate one thing into another.

'Stuff your eyes with wonder,' 'live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories. Ask no guarantees, ask for no security, there never was such an animal. And if there were, it would be related to the great sloth which hangs upside down in a tree all day every day, sleeping its life away. To hell with that,' 'shake the tree and knock the great sloth down on his ass.'"

You see?

Working quietly behind the scenes you could pass by one of us on the street and not even notice. It is a silent revolution from inside out and ground up. We go undercover, not concerned who takes the credit, but simply that the work gets done. Many of us have normal jobs and seemingly normal lives, but behind the storefront is where the deeper work gets done. It is a silent revolution.

And the war began and ended in that instant.
Later, they could not say if they had really seen anything.

Perhaps the merest flourish of light and motion in the sky. Perhaps the bombs were there, and the jets, ten miles, five miles, one mile up, for the merest instant, like grain thrown over the heavens by a great sowing hand, and the bombs drifting with dreadful swiftness, yet sudden slowness, down upon the morning city they had left behind.

Once the bomb-release was yanked it was over.

Now, a full three seconds, all of the time in history, before the bombs struck, the enemy themselves were gone half around the visible world, like bullets in which a savage islander might not believe because they were invisible; yet the heart is suddenly shattered, the body falls in separate motions and the blood is astonished to be freed on the air; the brain squanders its few precious memories and, puzzled, dies.

Silent revolution.

This was not to be believed. It was merely a gesture.


"your ideas are terrifying and your hearts are faint. Your acts of pity and cruelty are absurd, committed with no calm, as if they were irresistible. Finally, you fear blood more and more. Blood and time."

There is one other thing to know……when you have expressed yourself to the fullest, then and only then will it dawn upon you that everything has already been expressed, not in words alone but in deed, and that all you need really do is say Amen!

It is a silent revolution.


Leonard Cohen “The Darkness”

I got the darkness baby…..

…. it was drinking from your cup,

I got the darkness

from your little ruby cup

I said ‘is this contagious?’

You said ‘just drink it up’

I’ve got no future baby

I know my days are few

I’ve got no future though

As I say I know my days are few

Is the present not that pleasant

Just a lot of things to do

I don’t like your sticky little bud

I don’t like alcohol

I don’t need your loving touch

That’s always been your call

Cause there’s nothing but the darkness

Makes any sense to me at all

I should have seen the darkness

It was right behind your eyes

All those pools so deep and heartless

I just had to take a dive

Ah yea but winning you was easy

Ah but the darkness was the price

Got no future (x3)

Yea I know the days are few

The present is not that pleasant

Just a lot of things to do



1966 William Burrough's interview extractions

I don't know about where fiction ordinarily directs itself, but I am quite deliberately addressing myself to the whole area of what we call dreams. Precisely what is a dream? A certain juxtaposition of word and image. I've recently done a lot of experiments with scrapbooks. I'll read in the newspaper something that reminds me of or has relation to something I've written. I'll cut out the picture or article and paste it in a scrapbook beside the words from my book. Or I'll be walking down the street and I'll suddenly see a scene from my book and I'll photograph it and put it in a scrapbook. I've found that when preparing a page, I'll almost invariably dream that night something relating to this juxtaposition of word and image. In other words, I've been interested in precisely how word and image get around on very, very complex association lines. I do a lot of exercises in what I call time travel, in taking coordinates, such as what I photographed on the train, what I was thinking about at the time, what I was reading and what I wrote; all of this to see how completely I can project myself back to that one point in time.

• Extracted from the 1966 interview by Conrad Knickerbocker in Paris Review; reprinted in Writers at Work, 3rd Series (New York, 1967).

INTERVIEWER: In Nova Express you indicate that silence is a desirable state.

BURROUGHS: The most desirable state. In one sense a special use of words and pictures can conduce silence. The scrapbooks and time travel are exercises to expand consciousness, to teach me to think in association blocks rather than words. I've recently spent a little time studying hieroglyph systems, both the Egyptian and the Mayan. A whole block of associations—boonf!—like that!
Words—at least the way we use them—can stand in the way of what I call nonbody experience. It's time we thought about leaving the body behind.

INTERVIEWER: Marshall McLuhan said that you believed heroin was needed to turn the human body into an environment that includes the universe. But from what you've told me, you're not at all interested in turning the body into an environment.

BURROUGHS: NO, junk narrows consciousness. The only benefit to me as a writer (aside from putting me into contact with the whole carny world) came to me after I went off it. What I want to do is to learn to see more of what's out there, to look outside, to achieve as far as possible a complete awareness of surroundings.

Beckett wants to go inward. First he was in a bottle and now he is in the mud. I am aimed in the other direction: outward.

INTERVIEWER: Have you been able to think for any length of time in images, with the inner voice silent?

BURROUGHS : I'm becoming more proficient at it, partly through my work with scrapbooks and translating the connections between words and images. Try this: Carefully memorize the meaning of a passage, then read it; you'll find you can actually read it without the words' making any sound whatever in the mind's ear.

Extraordinary experience, and one that will carry over into dreams. When you start thinking in images, without words, you're well on the way.

INTERVIEWER: Why is the wordless state so desirable?

BURROUGHS: I think it's the evolutionary trend. I think that words are an around-the-world, ox-cart way of doing things, awkward instruments, and they will be laid aside eventually, probably sooner than we think. This is something that will happen in the space age. Most serious writers refuse to make themselves available to the things that technology is doing. I've never been able to understand this sort of fear. Many of them are afraid of tape recorders and the idea of using any mechanical means for literary purposes seems to them some sort of a sacrilege. This is one objection to the cut-ups. There's been a lot of that, a sort of superstitious reverence for the word. My God, they say, you can't cut up these words. Why can't I? I find it much easier to get interest in the cut-ups from people who are not writers— doctors, lawyers, or engineers, any open-minded, fairly intelligent person—than from those who are.

INTERVIEWER: HOW did you become interested in the cut-up technique?

BURROUGHS: A friend, Brion Gysin, an American poet and painter, who has lived in Europe for thirty years, was, as far as I know, the first to create cut-ups. His cut-up poem, "Minutes to Go," was broadcast by the BBC and later published in a pamphlet. I was in Paris in the summer of 1960; this was after the publication there of Naked Lunch. I became interested in the possibilities of this technique, and I began experimenting myself. Of
course, when you think of it, "The Waste Land" was the first great cut-up collage, and Tristan Tzara had done a bit along the same lines. Dos Passos used the same idea in "The Camera Eye" sequences in U.S.A. I felt I had been working toward the same goal; thus it was a major revelation to me when I actually saw it being done.

INTERVIEWER: What do cut-ups offer the reader that conventional narrative doesn't?

BURROUGHS: Any narrative passage or any passage, say, of poetic images is subject to any number of variations, all of which may be interesting and valid in their own right. A page of Rimbaud cut up and rearranged will give you quite new images. Rimbaud images—real Rimbaud images—but new ones.

INTERVIEWER: YOU deplore the accumulation of images and at the same time you seem to be looking for new ones.

BURROUGHS: Yes, it's part of the paradox of anyone who is working with word and image, and after all, that is what a writer is still doing. Painter too. Cut-ups establish new connections between images, and one's range of vision consequently expands.

INTERVIEWER: Instead of going to the trouble of working with scissors and all those pieces of paper, couldn't you obtain the same effect by simply free-associating at the typewriter?

BURROUGHS: One's mind can't cover it that way. Now, for example, if I wanted to make a cut-up of this [picking up a copy of the Nation], there are many ways I could do it. I could read crosscolumn; I could say: "Today's men's nerves surround us. Each technological extension gone outside is electrical involves an act
of collective environment. The human nervous environment system itself can be reprogrammed with all its private and social values because it is content. He programs logically as readily as any radio net is swallowed by the new environment. The sensory order." You find it often makes quite as much sense as the original.

You learn to leave out words and to make connections. [Gesturing]

Suppose I should cut this down the middle here, and put this up here. Your mind simply could not manage it. It's like trying to keep so many chess moves in mind, you just couldn't do it. The mental mechanisms of repression and selection are also operating against you.

INTERVIEWER: YOU believe that an audience can be eventually trained to respond to cut-ups?

BURROUGHS: Of course, because cut-ups make explicit a psychosensory process that is going on all the time anyway. Somebody is reading a newspaper, and his eye follows the column in the proper Aristotelian manner, one idea and sentence at a time. But subliminally he is reading the columns on either side and is aware of the person sitting next to him. That's a cut-up. I was sitting in a lunchroom in New York having my doughnuts and
coffee. I was thinking that one does feel a little boxed in in New York, like living in a series of boxes. I looked out the window and there was a great big Yale truck. That's cut-up—a juxtaposition of what's happening outside and what you're thinking of. I make this a practice when I walk down the street. I'll say, When I got to here I saw that sign, I was thinking this, and when I return to the house I'll type these up. Some of this material I use and some I don't. I have literally thousands of pages of notes here, raw, and I keep a diary as well. In a sense it's traveling in
time.Most people don't see what's going on around them. That's my principal message to writers: For Godsake, keep your eyes open. Notice what's going on around you. I mean, I walk down the street with friends. I ask, "Did you see him, that person who just walked by?" No, they didn't notice him. I had a very pleasant time on the train coming out here. I haven't traveled on trains in years. I found there were no drawing rooms. I got a bedroom so
I could set up my typewriter and look out the window. I was taking photos, too. I also noticed all the signs and what I was thinking at the time, you see. And I got some extraordinary juxtapositions. For example, a friend of mine has a loft apartment in New York. He said, "Every time we go out of the house and come back, if we leave the bathroom door open, there's a rat in the house." I look out the window, there's Able Pest Control. 

INTERVIEWER: The one flaw in the cut-up argument seems to lie in the linguistic base on which we operate, the straight declarative sentence. It's going to take a great deal to change that.

BURROUGHS: Yes, it is unfortunately one of the great errors of Western thought, the whole either-or proposition. You remember Korzybski and his idea of non-Aristotelian logic. Either-or thinking just is not accurate thinking. That's not the way things occur, and I feel the Aristotelian construct is one of the great shackles of Western civilization. Cut-ups are a movement toward breaking this down. I should imagine it would be much easier to find acceptance of the cut-ups from, possibly, the Chinese, because you see already there are many ways that they can read any given ideograph. It's already cut up.

INTERVIEWER: What will happen to the straight plot in fiction?

BURROUGHS: Plot has always had the definite function of stage direction, of getting the characters from here to there, and that will continue, but the new techniques, such as cut-up, will involve much more of the total capacity of the observer. It enriches the whole aesthetic experience, extends it.

INTERVIEWER: Nova Express is a cut-up of many writers?

BURROUGHS: Joyce is in there. Shakespeare, Rimbaud, some writers that people haven't heard about, someone named Jack Stern. There's Kerouac. I don't know, when you start making these fold-ins and cut-ups you lose track. Genet, of course, is someone I admire very much. But what he's doing is classical French prose. He's not a verbal innovator. Also Kafka, Eliot, and one of my favorites is Joseph Conrad. My story "They Just Fade Away" is a fold-in (instead of cutting, you fold) from Lord Jim.  In fact, it's almost a retelling of the Lord Jim story. My Stein is the same Stein as in Lord Jim. Richard Hughes is another favorite of mine. And Graham Greene. For exercise, when I make a trip, such as from Tangier to Gibraltar, I will record this in three columns in a notebook I always take with me. One column will contain simply an account of the trip, what happened: I arrived at the air terminal, what was said by the clerks, what I overheard on the plane, what hotel I checked into. The next column presents my memories: that is, what I was thinking of at the time, the memories that were activated by my encounters.

And the third column, which I call my reading column, gives quotations from any book that I take with me. I have practically a whole novel alone on my trips to Gibraltar. Besides Graham Greene, I've used other books. I used The Wonderful Country by Tom Lea on one trip. Let's see... and Eliot's The Cocktail Party; In Hazard by Richard Hughes. For example, I'm reading The Wonderful Country and the hero is just crossing the frontier
into Mexico. Well, just at this point I come to the Spanish frontier, so I note that down in the margin. Or I'm on a boat or a train and I'm reading The Quiet American; I look around and see if there's a quiet American aboard. Sure enough, there's a quiet sort of young American with a crew cut, drinking a bottle of beer. It's extraordinary, if you really keep your eyes open. I was reading Raymond Chandler, and one of his characters was an albino gunman. My God, if there wasn't an albino in the room.

He wasn't a gunman.

Who else? Wait a minute, I'll just check my coordinate books to see if there's anyone I've forgotten—Conrad, Richard Hughes, science fiction, quite a bit of science fiction. Eric Frank Russell has written some very, very interesting books. Here's one, The Star Virus; I doubt if you've heard of it. He develops a concept here of what he calls Deadliners, who have this strange sort of seedy look. I read this when I was in Gibraltar, and I began to
find Deadliners all over the place. The story of a fish pond in it, and quite a flower garden. My father was always very interested in gardening.

INTERVIEWER: In view of all this, what will happen to fiction in the next twenty-five years?

BURROUGHS : In the first place, I think there's going to be more and more merging of art and science. Scientists are already studying the creative process, and I think the whole line between art and science will break down and that scientists, I hope, will become more creative and writers more scientific. And I see no reason why the artistic world can't absolutely merge with Madison Avenue. Pop art is a move in that direction. Why can't we have advertisements with beautiful words and beautiful images? Already some of the very beautiful color photography appears in whiskey ads, I notice. Science will also discover for us how association blocks actually form.

INTERVIEWER: DO you think this will destroy the magic?

BURROUGHS: Not at all. I would say it would enhance it.

INTERVIEWER: Have you done anything with computers?

BURROUGHS: I've not done anything, but I've seen some of the computer poetry. I can take one of those computer poems and then try to find correlatives of it—that is, pictures to go with it; it's quite possible.

INTERVIEWER: Does the fact that it comes from a machine diminish its value to you?

BURROUGHS: I think that any artistic product must stand or fall on what's there.

INTERVIEWER: Therefore, you're not upset by the fact that a chimpanzee can do an abstract painting?

BURROUGHS: If he does a good one, no. People say to me, "Oh, this is all very good, but you got it by cutting up." I say that has nothing to do with it, how I got it. What is any writing but a cut-up? Somebody has to program the machine; somebody has to do the cutting up. Remember that I first made selections. Out of hundreds of possible sentences that I might have used, I chose one.

Question: "Inspector Lee, how can one be sure that you are a nova officer and not an impostor?"


The RM then is an artifact designed to limit and stultify on a mass scale. In order to have this effect it must be widely implanted. This can readily be done with modern electronic equipment and techniques described in this treatis. The RM consists of commands which seem harmless and in fact unavoidable ... To be a body ...but which have the most horrific consequences.

Here are some sample RM screen effects ...

As the theatre darkens a bright light appears on the left side of the screen. The screen lights up.

To be nobody ... On screen shadow of ladder and soldier incinerated by the Hiroshima blast

To be everybody ... Street crowds, riots, panics

To be me ... A beautiful girl and a handsome young man point to selves

To be you ... They point to audience

Hideous hags and old men, lepers, drooling idiots point to themselves and to the audience as they intone ...

To be me

To be you

Command no 5 ... To be myself

Command no 6 ... To be others

On screen a narcotics officer is addressing an audience of school boys, spread out in front of him are syringes, kief pipes, samples of heroin, hashiesh, LSD.

Officer: “Five trips on a drug can be a pleasant and exciting experience...”

On screen young trippers ...”I’m really myself for the first time” Etc. Happy trips ...To be myself ...no 5 ...


Shot shows a man blowing his head off with a shotgun in his mouth...

Officer: “Like a 15 year old boy I knew until recently, you could well end up dying in your own spew ...” To be others no 6 ...

To be an animal ... A lone Wolf Scout ...

To be animals: He joins other wolf scouts playing, laughing, shouting

To be an animal ... Bestial and ugly human behaviour ...brawls, disgusting, eating and sex scenes

To be animals ... Cows, sheep and pigs driven to the slaughter house

To be a body

To be bodies

A beautiful body ... a copulating couple ... Cut back and forth and run on seven second loop for several minutes ... scramble at different speeds ... Audience must be made to realise that to be a body is to be bodies

...A body only exists to be other bodies.

To be a body ...Death scenes and recordings ... a scramble of last words

To be bodies ... Vista of cemeteries ...

To do it now ... Couple embracing hotter and hotter

To do it now ... A condemned cell ... Condemned man is same actor as lover ... He is led away by the guards screaming and struggling. Cut back and forth between sex scene and man led to execution. Couple in sex scene have an orgasm as the condemned man is hanged, electrocuted, gassed, garroted, shot in the head with a pistol

the electronic revolution william s. burroughs

To do it later ... The couple pull away ...One wants to go out and eat and go to a show or something...

They put on their hats To do it later ... Warder arrives at condemned cell to tell the prisoner he has a stay of execution

To do it now ... Grim faces in the Pentagon. Strategic is on the way ... Well THIS IS IT ... This sequence cut in with sex scenes and a condemned man led to execution, culminates in execution, orgasm, nuclear explosion ...The condemned lover is a horribly burned survivor

To do it later ... 1920 walk out sequence to “The Sunny Side of the Street” ...

A disappointed general turns from the phone to say the president has opened top level hot wire talks with Russia and China ... Condemned man gets another stay of  execution

To be an animal ... One lemming busily eating lichen ...

To be animals ... Hordes of lemmings swarming all over each other in mounting hysteria ...A pile of drowned lemmings in front of somebody’s nice little cottage on a Finnish lake where he is methodically going through sex positions with his girl friend. They wake up in a stink of dead lemmings

To be an animal ... Little boy put on a pot

To be animals ...The man has just been hanged. The doctor steps forward with a stethoscope

To stay down ... Body is carried out with the rope around neck ... Naked corpses on the autopsy table ... corpse buried in quick lime.

To stay up ...Erect phallus

To stay down ... White man burns off a Negro’s genitals with blow torch ...

Theatre darkens into the blow torch on the left side of the screen

To stay present

To stay absent

To stay present ... A boy masturbates in front of sex pictures ... Cut to face of white man who is burning off black genitals with blow torch

To stay absent ... Sex phantasies of the boy ... The black slumps dead with genitals burned off and intestines popping out

To stay present ... Boy watches strip tease, intent, fascinated ...A man stands on trap about to be hanged


Pearl Jam - Just Breathe (unofficial video)

Please listen to this.

Yes I understand that every life must end, aw huh,..
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, aw huh,..
I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love,..
Some folks just have one, others they got none, aw huh,..

Stay with me,..
Let’s just breathe.

Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, aw huh,..
Under everything, just another human being, aw huh,..
Yeh, I don’t wanna hurt, there’s so much in this world to make me bleed.

Stay with me,..
You’re all I see.

Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see,..
No one knows this more than me.
As I come clean.

I wonder everyday as I look upon your face, aw huh,..
Everything you gave and nothing you would take, aw huh,..
Nothing you would take,.. everything you gave.

Did I say that I need you?
Oh, Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see,..
No one know this more than me.
As I come clean.

Nothing you would take,.. everything you gave.
Hold me till I die,..
Meet you on the other side


Je Rame by Henri Michaux

probably around a 3rd into reading it I realized it's a lot more effective in what it translates if you speak it out loud, and you start automatically speak in emotional-synchrony w/ what it's about, which of course is a Hex. I also realized that this poet is so obsessive to where it becomes incantation, and 1 more thing I picked up reading this, he's For Real! haha. He's not doing this Hex as an artistic statement, he's actually trying to *effect* the Hex, and in his way it seems possible as it get more rapid it gets more stimulating and when he's "rowing against your Life", i can imagine hearing him actually *rowing*. Hope you enjoy it.. & read it out loud :D

I have cursed your forehead your belly your life
I have cursed the streets your steps plod through
The things your hands pick up
I have cursed the inside of your dreams

I have set a puddle in your eye so that you can't see anymore
An insect in your ear so that you can't hear anymore
A sponge in your brain so that you can't understand any more

I have frozen you in the soul of your body
Iced you in the depths of your life
The air you breathe suffocates you
The air you breathe has the air of a cellar
Is an air that has already been exhaled
Been puffed out by hyenas

The dung of this air is something no one can breathe
Your skin is damp all over
Your skin sweats out waters of great fear
Your armpits reek far and wide of the crypt

Animals stop dead as you pass
Dogs howl at night, their heads raised toward your house
You can't run away
You can't muster the strength of an ant to the tip of your feet

Your fatigue makes a lead stump in your body
Your fatigue is a long caravan
Your fatigue stretches out to the country of Nan
Your fatigue is inexpressible

Your mouth bites you
Your nails scratch you
No longer yours, your wife
No longer yours, your brother

The sole of his foot bitten by an angry snake
Someone has slobbered on your descendants
Someone has slobbered on the laugh of your little girl
Someone has walked slobbering by the face of your domain

The world moves away from you

I am rowing

I am rowing

I am rowing against your life

I am rowing

I split into countless rowers
To row more strongly against you

You fall into blurriness
You are out of breath
You get tired before the slightest effort

I row

I row

I row

You go off drunk, tied to the tail of a mule
Drunkenness like a huge umbrella that darkens the sky
And assembles the flies

Dizzy drunkenness of the semicircular canals
Unnoticed beginnings of hemiplegia

Drunkenness no longer leaves you
Lays you out to the left
Lays you out to the right
Lays you out on the stony ground of the path

I row

I row

I am rowing against your days

You enter the house of the suffering

I row

I row

On a black blindfold your actions are recorded
On the great white eye of a one-eyed horse your future is rolling