The Ticket That Exploded (Burroughs, William S.) (19 page)

The sound track conjures up the image track — Word came before image — Shut off the sound track on your TV set and put in your own sound track words music what you will — Now play back your sound track and you will see the images sharp and clear — I recorded sound tracks of TV and film programs — mixing in suggestions from Rewrite to microphones and radio cruise cars — So i press a button and record all sounds and voices of the city — So i press a button to feed back these sounds with cut-ins a few seconds later, you are still watching a TV program or listening to the juke box — A few seconds later you are hearing the same words from my broadcast with cut-ins from Rewrite — Of course i cut in bulletins from Rewrite with all popular songs using music as punctuation — (Singing came before talking)—I folded the bulletins in with newspapers, magazines and novels — I put them out mixed with street sounds and talk wind and rain and lapping water and birdcalls — Well — Word evokes image— & % $ $ “N:? — Singing came before talking — Shut the whole machine off — Rub out the word — There is no one there to hear it — Nothing here now but the
recordings may not refuse vision in setting forth — the story of one absent today — Fade-out overtakes Mr Bradly Mr Martin — Five times thy strong tape caught in the door — no shelter in the dogs of unfamiliar dust — the cold
adiós
without a shadow — These our actors bid you a long good night —

“The Subliminal Kid charters your attention please — i am Inspector J. Lee of The Nova Police — Just a technical sergeant moved a nova criminal to Rewrite Operations — And i am sure that it’s all done with recorders — Remember that these techniques for the next thousand years manipulated by nova criminals — Absent control simple: Always create as many insoluble counterorders and alternative conflicts recordings to the explosion of a planet — Recording devices fix the nature of absolute associations, established total weapons — manipulated on a global scale feeds: Go home — Conflicts are deliberately created — No address the Nova Mob — Sammy the Butcher, the sound track conjures up the Brown Artist to paint yellow plains of Minraud — Jacky Blue Note, shut off the sound track on your Hamburger Mary — the subliminal words music what you will — Now in all my experience as a police officer never seen such total fear of indicated alterations on any planet — The same words straighten out this mess — Cut in bulletins from Rewrite — Nothing here now but unworkable course — Mr Bradly
Mr Martin, Audience Chamber with the threat of no shelter in the dogs — Is that clear enough or shall i make it even clearer?” —

“For i have known exactly what i intend to do” —

“Isn’t time is there left? — Go home — A boy shut off the sound track on you in the door — words, music what you will — Now the final ape of history sees the images sharp and clear on your ticket that exploded — end of voices — So i press a button beside you and the dreamer gone — So why ask questions and why intersect on empty speech? — Why not leave this dream contact? Shut the machine off — nothing here now but the door — juke box bulletins from Rewrite singing in newspapers and magazines of the earth:

“Word falling — Photo falling — Defectors from the Nova Mob — Just time — Just time — Just time” —

Electric storms of violence sweep broadcast still in progress “Word falling — Photo falling” —

“Gongs of violence show alternative answers to any question — Artists take over the entire answer battery of automatic junk state — i extended this to other flesh — Counterorders issued — Dictate force of riot police at the operation — Death Dwarfs on orbit of Saturn galaxy — The interviewers shift in speed-up movie — Now since i could attack position over instrument i had the answers for a thousand years — Didn’t have to be there answering questions of absent tenants — The Rewrite Doctor on stage — shatters a window in image without word — All i had to do was press slow-motion flashes and newsreels shut off — All right, Doctor, stop asking questions — Indications enough answer without being there — Shut the
whole machine off July, 1962, Present Time — Big money bulletins feed back Scandinavia outhouse parasite — A song goes through the city with suggestion pictures feeling along — And this broadcast was still in progress — The human body is an image on screen talking — You made questions and put the answers on a face — Good bye old interview — Mack The Knife, i can work for anybody — Juke box or radio speak of new dreams for old — Moanin’ low my sweet bulletins and feed them back all the time to put all the things you are on subliminal level — Alternative answers to any question can play the game as well as you — Entire answer battery on automatic hopes to be there — i could control it from my blue heaven — Somebody stole my girl — Thing was automatic — Seemed to whisper Louise, Mary, all the things you used to do — Should old acquaintance go home? Why should anybody be there from Florida up to the old North Pole? — Ahead — Ahead — Ahead — they chanted and retired to Tin Pan Alley — Record either end — Beat your mother to Spanish moss — automatic future for the next thousand years — war recordings at the time but Old Bill, returned a technical sergeant — Witnesses from a distance observed the image track streak across the sky and crash with associations — established this art along the Tang dynasty — So we turn over board books on subliminal level — sexual frustration lark — ‘So i am giving out skin — Put it on’ — easily ten alternative answers to any association locks — And all i had to do was shatter a window in stupid board members — Errand boy closing their screens — the whole operation from collaborators and liars — Won’t be much left — i dictated the necessary
orders on the air — with human nights — Voices came through channels — just any people anywhere on dead nitrous flesh are done — i discovered that i could anticipate the humiliation account” —

“Hurry up — Counter” —

“So i recorded the dialogue and boy from last stupid pressure group with appropriate background music — Control machine is disconnected compliments of Pavlov — board books are written in symbols as the so-called ‘real thing’ — American from last interview performed sharp discharge from method — So why ask questions and why answers $ ? — Why not leave your tape humiliations and Scandinavia outhouse contacts? — You can look any place — no pressure group relying on rectum — no address— Technical brains melted the law — The sound track conjures up the image police — Shut off the sound track — Their boy entered the ‘20s in word and music — Spread slow-motion flashes and you see the image sharp and clear — So i press the button blocks board instructions cross newspapers of the earth — Collaborators with word with flesh, traitors to all souls everywhere, i cut in bulletins from Rewrite with heavy punctuation — The board is relying on fading voices — Shut the whole machine off — Rub out the board — Is near right now to hear it — Mr Bradly Mr Martin five times guided poisonous cloud of parasites — These our actors bid you peaceful opaqueness in this monument of tiredness” — The Old Man himself stood at the end of the board room table a hat box under his arm. With an abrupt movement he emptied the hat box. The bronze head of a young girl crudely severed with a hack saw clattered across the board
room table. The Old Man held up a hack saw bronze filings caught in its teeth.

“This old hand went and sawed the head off their filthy mermaid . . J. Ericson & Sisters only living rival of Trak . .. If anyone does not like this thing that I have done I can use this saw a second time.”

He paced behind the board members like an aroused torn cat. He stopped behind Scamperelli the Pulp King who perfected a process for making pasta from sawdust. He clamped one hand over Scamperelli’s mouth pulled his head back and applied the hack saw to Scamperelli’s throbbing carotid. “Scamperelli do you like this thing that I have done?”

“Glub . . glub . . glub . .”

“I presume that is pulp talk for ‘yes.’”

He paced and stopped behind the Oil King. “Total Oil, do you like this thing that I have done?”

Dry Hole Dutton glanced sideways at the saw. With a presence of mind derived from his wildcatting days he crooned out: “Only you can make the world go round.” Unanimously other board members took up the chant. Its the old army game kid. Get there firstest with the brownest nose.

“Thing Police all Board Room Reports now are ended — i foretold you were all spirits watching TV program — Terminal electric voices end — These our actors cut in — A few seconds later you are melted into air — Rub out promised by our ever-living poet — Mr Bradly Mr Martin, five times our summons — no shelter in setting forth” —

“Beat your mother to Spanish broadcast still in progress — Just time — Just time — So we turn over board books
— i can work for anybody — newsreel lark — So i am giving out Rewrite Department — Pictures shatter absent bodies — Juke box closing their screens — Sex phantom tape association afternoons conveyed on the air with human image — flesh done slow motion — Hurry up — Counter the last errand boy from stupid pressure group — All right, Doctor, machine is disconnected — Indications enough written in symbols as the machine shut off July 26, 1962, Present Time — Just Time — Just Time — flashing on global scale: ‘Scandinavia outhouse parasite, go home’ — And no address nova mob — The human body is sound track on ‘Hamburger Mary’” —

“Just a technical sergeant — Now in all my experience i can work for anybody and clear this department” —

“Bulletins make a play for the planet — unworkable course, Mr Bradly — So why intersect on empty heart and empty speech? — Why not leave all the things you are? — A boy shut off the sound — Now the final answers to my questions loud and clear on your ticket — No one is there to change new dreams for old — Hear the silence — Some one in the mood for rewrite — old dream, Panama — year ago melted” —

“Man, like good bye then” —

“Sidewalks of new solitude overtakes the tapes — Singing came before body with the answer on a face — Half-healed in wind and rain play the game as well as you — entire film to smoke — nothing here now — Calm his face dictates the dream in doorways — These our actors bid you a long good night from Florida up to the old North Pole — So why ask questions of one absent today? — Why not leave your ambiguous sexual contacts? —
Why not shut off absent tenants? — Silence says good bye to white planet — You can look any place — in slow formations, no address — The sound track conjures up burning metal eyes and long claws — Shut off the sound track carried by the navigators — Controllers of word and music monopolized and froze the earth — kept the Djoun forces in film programs — Junk is colorless no-smell of death as punctuation — Nothing here now but half-healed dream flesh hatching forth the story of a cold
adiós
— Silence, Mr Bradly Mr Martin — No shelter in the cotton flesh lying there — Your ticket now ended — These our defectors from the nova mob pipe your summons — All the sound track evokes the image into dawn and dream — fade out Madison Avenue Lark” —

“Other flesh interviews and soon extracted home in the dog — ten alternative answers to any dead nitrous framework— Mr Martin is story of any face any script you want” —

“I discovered that i could anticipate encounter — So i recorded the dialogue and your ticket now ended — Appropriate background music at the far end of evening — So we’ll sing one song with your tape and dispense with making a Monday line — You are still watching a TV program from phallic statues—secondhand erogenous place — angel voices calling old image track — Look God’s your TV set — Put in your own sound track faces — Bulletins free the Djoun forces — I put them out with wind and rain and birdcalls — Rub out the word — There is no one there you got it? — sex and pain recordings— orgasm cocoon of one absent today — Fade-out
overtakes the ship came apart here — white sheets dripping nova”—

“Just a technical question caught our ticket — Remember i was the door to put out Rewrite Bulletins — You got sex and pain information — It’s all done with recorders — Recollect green flowers hanging over the swamp mud with erectile formulae feeling into mouth and penis? — Cotton flesh lying there in ice? — You understand sex and pain information so why ask questions? — Why not leave green flowers hanging over sexual contact? — Tendrils of erectile tape? — Why not shut off fire feeling into mouth and penis? — i shut off the sound track on a shadow in the last words — Now dream flesh left no address for i see the images sharp and clear — So i press button in final ape of history — Seconds later cold empty you melted the cotton flesh lying there — Broken dream beside you and the dreamer takes his way toward terminal punctuation — What have i my friend to give? — Shut the whole machine off — Rub out the life i led — nothing here now but shade from the death trauma — The story of cold
adiós
— No shelter in the dogs — Calling Panama alterations — flesh empty in the trade winds — ebbing carbon dioxide as punctuation — Silver flakes closed your account — Nothing here now but dust falling from demagnetized patterns — Departed have left Mr Bradly Mr Martin — Five times good night under surges of silence — Shadow actors walk through dream — No one is there to listen — Someone walking from Rewrite to microphones trails Summer dawn sounds and old dream — Panama night button feeds back these sounds with sweat flipped from his face — TV program melted before
daybreak — Seconds later you splintered on empty flesh — Breath of the trade winds talking — I folded the bulletins of evening” —

“Man, like good bye then” —

“Rain and birdcalls — The dreamer with dirty flesh came before talking — Explode the word? — No one there — Solitude overtakes thy tape caught in the door — Dream singing came before body without a shadow without relics — face healed and half-healed in wind and rain — Well, word evokes image — Silver film took it to smoke path — Shut the whole machine off — Rub out scar impressions — nothing here now in kerosene lamp — open shirt, calm his face — The street blew rain, Mr Bradly Mr Martin — five times thy dream in doorways — no shelter in the dog’s death trauma — out of the sick lies no program — nothing here now but a cold odor of vacant good bye — empty condom caught in the door” —