by Roar Sheppard <NOTE
TO READER: for maximum realization please print and read on
paper>
ANOTHER REPORT FROM THE INSTITUTE:
SNAKES, DRAGONS &
LOTUS EATERS
SOMEWHERE
BETWEEN SEOUL AND THE ENTROPICS THERE LIES A low ROAD TRAVELLED ...
by M.R. Bradie
*Another fine
presentation by the EXPRESSWAYS TO YR SKULL
INCORPORATA*
I was sleeping with my shoes on,
under the mosquito net of a groovy Siamese island
bungalow, when I had the most vivid, thorough and totally recallable
death dream I've ever dreampt.
ENTER DREAM STAGE CENTER:
I'm standing in a
dark, nondescript place, in front of an unidentifiable man who's
holding an Uzi
( an easily
recognizeable Israeli sub-machinegun). He says to me, " I'm
going to kill you now,
get on your
knees.". I say, "Okay.", and obey him without
resistance, immediately
getting down on my knees.
Without hesitation, he gets behind me and buries
the
barrel of the gun in
the hair on the back of my head. I feel him rooting
around
in my thick
hair with the barrel for the perfect spot. Then I hear a
loud
crack and feel a sharp pain in my head and everything goes
com-
pletely black. Instantly I see, feel, become an inverted
black
triangle, like the top of an hourglass on a two
dimensional
plane ... wiggling down down ... until I'm an
upright
black triangle, like the bottom half of an hour-
glass on a two dimensional plane ... wiggling,
wiggling ...In the next instant, I'm spit
forth from the black triangle world, my whole
body and person intact, and I'm flying freely ...
and
I can look at my hands outstretched before me and
see
that I'm a translucent ghost version of M.R. Bradie. I'm
flying
through a spacious sort
of yellow tiled shopping mall, complete with
potted trees
and spewing fountains ... there are hoardes of other flying
indi-
viduals ...
escalators, cash registers ... but nothing to buy ... emptiness
running into
infinity where the
walls should be. I make eye contact with the flying ghost of
another
nondescript person
and she let's loose a horrendous soul-scream and flies into me ...
casting
us both into
tailspins that result in a blurry shift from the surrounding ghost
mall to an oblivious
void of nothing
...
EXIT DREAM STAGE FLIPSIDE:
I wake, stand
up, and head for the local kitchen for fruit pancakes and a
pineapple milkshake.
THOUGHT VS.
ACTION
Bangkok's Khao-San Road is
anything anybody ever claims it to be. Any picture ever
painted is by nature, complete andprecise. I arrived
there three separate times during my month long vacation in
the land of King Rama the IXth.
The first was blasting sun
and smog, Black Sabbath's 'Children of the Grave' throbbing
from a perfect sound system,throngs of wild dogs living in the
streets.
The second arrival on that road was in the company of a 20
year old fire engine-red dyed hair sporting Americancollege
kid I'd started running with along the way. It was book
store shopping, Me-Kong whiskey drinking and fake I.D.buying,
international spectrum girl lusting and transexual sexual
proposition avoiding.
The third and final
touch'n'go was money rationing, pack hauling and a sort of
on-street fashion show runway conpletewith the tatooed youth
of tomorrow and futuristic looking Israeli hippies who'd been
on the bus to Bangkok from Surat Thania week and a half
earlier, one of which managed to fuck his girlfriend in the
laid-back seat while it was dark and hethought we were
sleeping. The damndest thing was that after watching a
cross section of the fabled street for a period oftime
spanning from the early afternoon to the 2am shutdown, I
realized that so many of the people promenadeing up and
downthe street were the same ones who'd been doing it all
day.
(flash
back to Korea) DETAILED DESCRIPTIONS OF THE POPULAR
'RE-VIRGINIZATION and PENILE ENLARGEMENT OPERATIONS' AS
TOLDTO G.LENNY MUNNY BY THE KOREAN DOCTOR TREATING HIM AFTER A
MOTORCYCLE CRASH:
I was sitting on the couch in
the rumpus room of G.Lenny's apartment, OUTPOST ALPHA-ALLAK,
when he told me aboutDoctor Kim's story. It went
something like this:
"I was in his office, getting
the fluid drained from my hip. We were chatting, and I
mentioned that I was heading forFukoka in two days to get a
new visa hooked up. He started telling me about the
strip shows and hooker clubs that Fukokahas to offer, but
warned me that wide eyed gai-jin's such as myself were often
not admitted.
But, having reached a new rapport
of openess on socially tabooed topics concerning matters of
human sexuality, Iventured to ask him about the strange
're-virginization operation' I'd heard of along the vague
bar-room conversationalwire. He smiled and seemed
obliged to explain as he deftly manipulated the suction device
under the scarified skin shunton my
hip.
He
began by explaining that for many of the more conservative and
supposedly chaste couples who marry, it's fullyexpected that
the female show proof positive on her wedding night
consumation bed that she is in fact a vaginal virgin,
byexpressing pain upon the initial penetration and by
releasing blood that is assumed to have originated from a
freshlybusted hymen.
Having
set the stage, he went on to explain that he was frequently
approached nervous brides-to-be, who inconfidentiality,
expressed to him that they had lost their virginity and hymen
at an earlier date. Some, he said, claim tohave rendered
the epidermal overgrowth to a crudely inserted tampon or
aerobics class, while others confessed to having hadsex before
marriage. All women expressed the fear of nuptual anuhlment,
becoming an unmarriable social pariah or evenphysical abuse
upon the discovery of their previously penetrated vaginal
passage upon their wedding bed. The women askedhim if
there was anyway to regain their virginity through modern
surgical means.
For a handsome price, he said, this is how he solves their
problem: The simple procedure has to be performed
withintwo or three days before their wedding night, because
the juryrigged hymen won't last much longer. All
he does is take asingle hair folicle of suitable length off
the woman's head. Then he goes up into her vagina and
does a shallow suture,drawing the walls together with the
hair, in effect, creating an easily broken barrier with a
material that is incapeableof causing suspicion if
spotted. And that's it. The woman get's down on
her wedding night. The new hubby inserts hispenis and
breaks the hair-sown suture, which induces a reasonable amount
of pain and bleeding. Viva illusion!
Well, I was jazzed by our freewheeling talk and this crazy
information, so I asked him about the penis enlargmentsurgery
I'd heard talked about in more places than just Korea. He
chuckled and replied that it was much more difficult
andstatistically less successful than the Re-virginization,
and that he'd never performed one, but that it worked
like this:When a man wants to have his penis enlarged, the
first step is to remove the fatty tissue that covered the base
of thepenis ... a simple enough procedure that offers the
appearance of increased length. Then, in an attempt to
increase thegirth of the penis, or in layman's terms, the
thickness, they take the fatty material, or a silicone
substitue which offersgreater firmness and greater risk, and
inject it throughout the penile shaft. The biggest
difficulty, he said, and risk,is that the hotdog will burst
from all the added pressure, or come out all lopsided and
deformed. Those aren't his exactwords of course, but you
get the gist. "
It should be noted that G.
Lenny cashed his Korean Won out yesterday and headed back to
the States to share hisvaluable newfound knowlege with the
western world, and that this surly and rather unattractive
brick of a man will besorely missed by the minions of Pusan's
Academic Underground.
ON THE NATURE
OF ANALOGUE TRANS-SONIC TRANSLATION: A RETREAT FROM
REALITY
It was no heavenly revelation
or crystal and incense induced epiphany; it was a featurless
green man, composed soleyof ocilliating rings of pure sonic
vibration ... and he was sitting on my couch in the heat of a
drug free afternoon,generating himself forthright from the
water-warped copy of 'Beggar's Banquet' or maybe it was
'Trompe Le Monde', playingon my mono tape deck with dying
batteries. He didn't have eyes to see me, a mouth with
which to address me, or ears tohear my moans of fear, but he
was giving me advice. He was in my head; he was
absolutely analogue, and by definition,irreduceable; his ...
or rather, it's name ... no, he must've been a man, because
the perpetually shifting green rings werebulging out a little
bit where his unit would've been ... his name was
Analogus. I'm not sure if his name was soleyderived from
the word 'analogue', or if there was some intended double
meaning concerning his sexual proclivities, and Ididn't bother
to ask or find out in any other way. This is what he said to
me:
' Dude, you're living in an
age gilded with illusion. You have to seek freedom from
the tyranny of information anyway you
can.'
Then, through his
telesonic vocoded voice that was vibrating it's way through my
skull, he advised me to quit my joband take a vacation.
I began to question him.
" But, Analogus,", I asked, "If I
do that, what'll I do when I run out of money and have nowhere
to go?".
"Mike, ", he vibrated to me, "
That's when you know it's time to come back to Korea, couch
surf and borrow money, andteach some more English ... at
least until you raise enough dough to quit your job again and
take another vacation!".
It made sense at the time. So
I did. I jumped that shitty hagwon contract so fast that
it made my poor abandonedstudent's heads
spin!
I don't know who recorded that
guy's album, but whoever it was had damn fine production
values!
Next thing I knew, I was
hangin' out in the jungle, tokin' C and puffin' O from tribal
pipes and a bamboo bong witha machete tied to the bottom,
holding it firm in the dirt.
As per my credentials as a
Certified Ologist, an advanced degree bestowed upon me by the
ever lovin' InternationalInstitute for the Advancement of
Hand-Eye Coordination & the Surrealio-Satirification of
Consensus Reality, I also took theopportunity to study indepth
a wide range of free range wildlife, including but not limited
to ... the crab that lived in ahole in front of my beach house
... an alligator I saw lowridin' in a ditch on the side of
dirt road ... some funny littlepigs ... some big dick Oxen
with rings in the nose ... an elephant upon whose head while
sitting I managed to roll andsmoke a joint ... coconuts ...
the girls of Padpong who've perfected the live sex show to a
degree that obliterates anynotions of sensuality ...
generating an erection was the bodily function I was farthest
from as I watched the talentedladies of Club Super Pussy shoot
darts from vaginal blowguns, down liter bottles of water
into the same orifice ... andthe most vomit inspiring feat of
absolute anti-sexual inverted-perversion ... the string of
razor blades pulled out of dapussy! Let me tell you my close
personal friends ... I haven't seen anything like it since I
caught Gwar's life affirmingshow at the Rose Land in down town
Portland, Oregon, two summers ago. May the Gods help us
all.
Jungle on
Opiates
While on the
super-secret Island of Koh Phanagn, which was a virtual
hidden paradise, hosting no more than 10,000North
American and European tourists at any given time, I was
also able to confer with one of my longtime
trans-dimensionaltelepathic colleagues, a Buddhist monk
I like to refer to as 'the dude who looked like a mutant
snake-man', which was afterall, an exquisite honor and
an exemplified privelidge. Our chance meeting
occured thusly:
I'd gotten the first bathroomless
bungalow I'd stumbled upon the night my ship wrecked and
stranded me on the desertedbeaches of Koh Phanagn. While
I was sleeping peacefully that night, two beautiful drunken
Thai hookers (of age!) burstinto my tiny room and raped
me. One of them was so drunk that she puked and in
effect, bungled my bungalow. Upon wakingamidst the filth
on the following morning, I realized that I had to make my
escape to another bungalow sight. I managed tofashion a
motor scooter out of motor scooter parts that had been
previously assembled and gassed up outside my room.
Ibegan driving all around the island with all my shit in my
backpack on my back and pouring out of the basket on the
frontof my scooter. I drove around all day in the merciless
sun, smoking joints to keep my head clear. Every
Bungalow I went toacessed from my appearance that I was an
idiot and refused to rent me a room. Eventually, I got
so sunbrained from drivingaround in a stoned tizzy like
someone listenin' to too much Thin Lizzy, that I crashed my
scooter. I wiped out on a patchof sand. Then I
just stood there, staring at the bashed gear shifter and
watching the oil leak from the engine. I was solow. A
couple whitey cats passed me and gave me those 'extreme' sort
of looks from beneath their tribal tatoos. Then aThai fellow
riding a street bike with mud on the tires rolled up and asked
me, " Did you fall down?". (...to be continued
soon in some form or
fashion)
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