The yage letters

"I met some old time American residents who said the country was in a hell of a shape.
'They hate the sight of a foreigner down here. You know why? It's all this Point four and good nabor crap and financial aid. If you give these people anything they think "oh so he needs me." And the more you give the bastards the nastier they get.'
I heard this line from old timers all over S.A. It does not occur to them that something more basic is involved here than the activities of Point four. Like the U.S. Pegler fans say. 'The trouble is Unions: They would still say it spitting blood from radiation sickness. Or in process of turning into crustaceans."



"In front of the post office were Conservative posters. One of them read: Farmers the army is fighting for your welfare. Crime degrades a man and he can't live with himself. Work elevates him towards God. Cooperate with the police and the military. They only need your information."



The ringing sound in all the senses
of everything that has ever been Created
all the combinations recurring over and
over again as before -

Every possible Combination of Being - all
the old ones: - all the old Hindu.
Sabahadabadie-pluralic universes
ringing in Grandiloquent
Bearded Juxtaposition
with all their minarets and moonlit
towers enlaced with iron
or porcelain embroidery,
all have existed -
and the Sages with
white hair who sat crosslegged on
a female couch -
hearkening to whatever music came
from out the wood or street,
whatever bird that whistled in the marketplace
whatever note the clock struck to say
Time -
whatever drug, or aire, they breathed
to make them think so deep
or hear so simply what
had passed
like a car passing in the 1960 street
beside the Governmental Palace
in Peru, this Lima,
in the year I write -

A Buddha as of old, with the sirens of
whatever machinery making ringing noises in
the street.
And streetlight reflected in the RR station
front facade window in a
dinky port in Backwash
of the murky forgotten
fabulous whatever
Civilization of
Eternity:
with the RR station clock ring midnight,
as of now,
and waiting for the 6th,
to write a word,
and end on the last chime - remember
this one twelve was struck
before
and never again; both.
and I turn back from the balcony where I stood
looking at the Cross (afraid)
and stars
thinking of the BONG of midnight -
Sages of Asia, or the white beards in Persia,
Scribbling on the margins of their scrolls
in delicate ink
remembering with tears the ancient clockbells of their
cities
and the cities that had been - and
Affirm with laughing eyes -
the world is as we see it,
male and female, passing
as it passes through the years,
as has before and will, perhaps
with all its countless pearls
And all the bloody noses of Eternity -
and all the old mistakes
including
this old consciousness, which has seen
itself before - (thus the locust-whistle
of antiquity's nightwatch in my eardrum)
I'm scribbling
nothings,
page upon page of profoundest
nothing,
as scribed the Ancient Hebe, when
he wrote Adonoi or One -
all to amuse or make money or deceive -

O BELL TIME, RING THY
MIDNIGHT FOR THE BILLIONTH
SOUNDY TIME, I HEAR AGAIN!




"LISTEN TO MY LAST WORDS ANY WORLD. LISTEN ALL YOU BOARDS SYNDICATES AND GOVERNMENTS OF THE EARTH. AND YOU POWER POWERS BEHIND WHAT FILTH DEALS CONSUMMATED IN WHAT LAVATORY TO TAKE WHAT IS NOT YOURS. TO SELL THE GROUND FROM UNBORN FEET. LISTEN. WHAT I HAVE TO SAY IS FOR ALL MEN EVERYWHERE. I REPEAT FOR ALL NO ONE IS EXCLUDED. FREE TO ALL WHO PAY. FREE TO ALL WHO PAIN PAY.

WHAT SCARED YOU ALL INTO TIME? WHAT SCARED YOU ALL INTO YOUR BODIES? INTO SHIT FOREVER? DO YOU WANT TO STAY THERE FOREVER? THEN LISTEN TO THE LAST WORDS OF HASSAN SABBAH. LISTEN LOOK OR SHIT FOREVER. LISTEN LOOK OR SHIT FOREVER. WHAT SCARED YOU INTO TIME? INTO BODY? INTO SHIT? I WILL TELL YOU. THE WORD. THE-THEE WORD. IN THEE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD. SCARED YOU ALL INTO SHIT FOREVER. COME OUT FOREVER. COME OUT OF THE TIME WORD THE FOREVER. COME OUT OF THE BODY WORD THEE FOREVER. COME OUT OF THE SHIT WORD THE FOREVER. ALL OUT OF TIME AND INTO SPACE. FOREVER. THERE IS NO THING TO FEAR. THERE IS NO THING IN SPACE. THAT IS ALL ALL ALL HASSAN SABBAH. THERE IS NO WORD TO FEAR. THERE IS NO WORD. THAT IS ALL ALL ALL HASSAN SABBAH. IF YOU I CANCEL ALL YOUR WORDS FOREVER. AND THE WORDS OF HASSAN SABBAH I AS ALSO CANCEL ACROSS ALL YOUR SKIES SEE THE SILENT WRITING OF BRION GYSIN HASSAN SABBAH. THE WRITING OF SPACE. THE WRITING OF SILENCE.

LOOK LOOK LOOK

AMIGOS MUCHACHOS A TRAVES DE TODOS SUS CIELOS YEA LA ESCRITURA SILENCIOSA DE BRION GYSIN HASSAN SABBAH. LA ESCRITURA DE SILENCIO LA ESCRITURA DE ESPACIO. ESO ES TODO TODO TODO HASSAN SABBAH.

VEA VEA VEA

PS. NO ONE IN HIS SENSE WOULD TRUST THE UNIVERSE. SWEPT WITH CON THE MILLIONS STOOD UNDER THE SIGNS. WHO EVER PAID OFF A MARK A GOOK AN APE A HUMAN ANIMAL? NO BODY EXCEPT HASSAN SABBAH"