TEARS AND DEWDROPS
I will set down, as best I can remember, the events accom panying my first visit to a whore. It was in Puerto Rico, in San Juan, in a bar called "Club Ritz", down by the waterfront.
The place is always filled with American navy men, and soldiers, and merchant marines from diverse parts of the world, and of course, the "mujeres del amor". It was my second night in P.R., and a boy named Jesse Taylor, whom I had met earlier in the day, turned me on to the place. It happened that one of the more popular girls at the club was his mistress. So here I was, alone, seated at the bar, eying the place, when I saw a young woman who appealed to me. Calling the bartender over, I asked him if he would convey the message to the girl in question that I should like to buy her a drink. He walked to the other side of the bar where she was seated, and looking at me, gave her my message. She glanced quickly at me, and shook her head, and in an instant she was sitting beside me with her hand on my thigh. I removed her hand from my leg and held it, asking her what she would like to drink.
I do not remember what she ordered, nor do I remember what it was that I was drinking. After the bartender brought her the drink I naively asked her if she were busy that night. She didn't seem to comprehend so I repeated the question in Spanish (I do not believe she was very proficient in English for she used the Spanish, when addressing me, for the re- mainder of the evening, and after the first few sentance s I did not speak English to her, but conversed with her in her own idiom thereafter.
Upon noting my childlike manners (in that I asked her if she were busy instead of asking her the price) she bluntly asked me if I would like to go to bed or not. I asked, "How much and for how long"? Anna smiled at me as one smiles at a child who has just asked a simple question. She informed me that her rate was five dollars, and that there was an additional three dollars charge for the use of a room in an adjoining hotel, and she stated that one "workout" would give me my money's worth. I told her that I had come for a lay, not for a gymnasium excercises. "Ten minutes" she said flatly. For eight dollars"? I squealed. "Forget it." I said. "Well then, for how long would you go?" she asked, avoiding my eyes. I figured that business must be bad, because I had never thought of a whore as one that would bargain. I decided to see how much I would be able to get down to.
"I think that an hour is fair enough" I remarked. Anna looked at me in surprise (although I don't know what amazed her). "Are you good for an hour"? she asked. "I'm good for all night' I replied, in the manner in which I imagined men well versed in "these matters" would speak. "Well" she said, playing with her half-empty glass, "Alright, an hour it is!"
I was glad that she was not in an argumentative mood, for she would have gone on five dollars poorer, and I, eight dollars richer, but unsatisfied. After finishing her drink, Anna called the bartender over and said something to him in Spanish which I did not understand. He nodded, and withdrew from his pocket a small disk, about the size of a poker chip. He handed this to her and she promptly grabbed me by the hand, and we were off. We entered the hotel, next door, walked up a flight of stairs and down a long corridor with rooms on either side. She stopped at one of these rooms and knocked. Presently, the door was opened by a swarthy young man who appeared to be in his middle twenties. She handed the disk to him, and turning to me, she asked me to pay for the room. This having been done, the hotel-keeper assigned us a room.
The room itself was surprisingly clean. I had expected rather dingy "sleeping quarters". I learned later that the sheets are changed every "session". Anna opened her purse and removed a pack of rubbers; offering me one. She asked me to adorn myself with it. I told her that after we undressed, she could have the pleasure of sheathing my sword. She asked if I wanted to pay her then. I replied that I prefered to pay later. After we had undressed she adorned me with a rubber. She stood up on the bed and switched on an overhead ventilation unit. As the cool air came rushing thru the room, she jumped up and down on the bed. Not being able to contain myself, I threw my arms around her waist and pulled her down on the bed beside me. She was clad only in a pair of bloomers, and these I promptly removed.
After a few minutes of heavy kissing and petting, I essayed to perform what the French call "faire minette", and the squemish refer to as cunnilingus. She was very reluctant to let me do this but forcing myself upon her, I finally had my way. She giggled throughout the performance. After having my fill of this diversion (or perversion, if you will), I mounted her and began the ancient dance. Being carried away with pasion, began biting her about the neck. However, she protested, and said that my teatment of her was too rough. I, of course, paid no heed. Shortly, it was done. Anna said that we now had to take a shower. This we did accompanied by some tomfoolery. Afterwards I paid her, and left.
A few nights later, sitiing at the bar, I saw her again. She was busily engaged in procuring drinks for herself from a poor individual who appeared to be spending his newly acquired week's salary on her. Upon seeing me, she asked if I wanted to go to bed. I replied that I had neither the money nor the desire to do so, but that it would please me very much if she would buy me a beer. This she reluctantly did, and hastily turned from me to her sponsor of the evening.
I didn't see Anna agin after that night. A few days later I was informed by one of the girls that she had discovered herself a few months gone and had returned to the village of her mother to give birth to her child.
TEARS AND DEWDROPS
The way to a man's heart is not so much through his stomach as it is through his gonads.
When a man says that sex is not the most significant factor in a happy marriage, I wager him that he has never been married.
Women who prefer to wait until after marriage before giving up their maidenheads must take this into account: 99% of men who go into a shoe store will not purchase a pair of shoes unless they can try them on to make sure that they will fit well.
Women who object to being compared to a pair of shoes, consider this: if so simple a thing as footwear, which does not last, is put to the test, how much more will a man, who considers a woman his most valuable possession, and who wishes this possession as everlasting, not wish to put her to the test?
You, who are of the spirit of the older generations, seem to condemn all the good in this modern world and condone the bad.
The good in this age consists of all positive changes and revolutions as we of this age see fit to make manifest in order to secure an extra bit of happiness for ourselves and our descendants, as stated in the Constitution.
Perhaps the greatest virtue in the world is Kindness.
If you have never tried alcohol, tobacco or dope, you haven't missed a thing!
A prostitute has nothing to offer a man but vaginal masturbation! Believe me; I know.
I wonder if my sister still wonders if I am going through my "atheist stage".
The love of God is the hating of mankind. The true love of mankind is the rejection of God.
God is only as powefull as man becomes. The more power man assumes, the less he looks for God.
When Man finally becomes god, he will no longer be atheistic since he will finnaly belive in himself.
As a child, I regarded my mother as God on Earth; but when I cut my emotional umbilical chord, I became an atheist; when I became an atheist I became
I did not become a man by being confirmed but by becomming a confirmed seeker of truth.
Truth exists only for those who wish to find it ... and who know how!
One of the greatest desires a man can have is to help wipe out hypocrisy in our society. However, it would be a tragic thing to discover that hypocrisy is a necessary and vital defense mechanism for the individual
One of the greatest desires a man can have is to help wipe out hypocrisy in our society. However, it would be a tragic thing to discover that hypocrisy is a necessary and vital defense mechanism for the individual living in a society of hypocrites!
Parents! Don't castrate your children emotionally. Encourage sexual experimentation at an early age, thereby instilling a healthy outlook on life. An ideal period to begin this program is just before the onset of puberty. If you are a teacher of young children, your opportunity for implanting good libidinal habits in tender yougg minds is exceptionally enhanced. However a good operational proceedure will invariably lay a great deal of emphasis on caution, as taking advantage of said opportunity may possibly lead to falling into a bit of misunderstanding on the part of the law.
Ah, my friend we met only a few moments ago and one of the first things you said to me was, "Last year I made $17,000". I am not impressed, although I believe it is vital to you! I suppose if you hadn't earned $17,00 last year you would have developed symptoms of mild neurosis. If you had told me what you did last year to make me a little happier, I would have been impressed.
For various reasons, the army brings out the worst in men, and since, for the most part, the army is composed of the worst type of man, it ultimately brings out the worst in the worst. However the army is a perfect cross-section of the nation, and the "average-Joe" will find that he fits in, or is fitted in, very nicely in the military scheme of things!
It was in the army that I found out how really abysmally stupid the "average" person is.
He who considers himself "average", and does nothing to overcome his "averageness" is truly average. My friends, this is by no means a compliment.
When I meet a man who is a nuclear-physicist, or is studying to be a nuclear physicist, I instantly dislike him, no matter how agreeable he may be. Freinds, we all know what the nuclear-physicists of this age are doing to our world! Sickening, isn't it?
Loneliness is the plight of modern man. Though he has devised various and sundry artificial and mechanical methods of escape from his intollerable situation, twentieth century man cannot overcome his deamon. When he thinks he has rid himself of it at last, it comes back to him in the night, a tormenting spectre.
Sexual promiscuity has one good function; it helps man to forget his misery. However, like any drug, it often becomes habit-forming; then addicting. When man allows his passions, those emotional opiates, to gain mastery over himself, he is on the right road to character deterioration.
The passions were made for man; not man for the passions.
It has been said to me that the person who possesses a high degree of intelligence or a more than "average" education, usually possesses little or no "common sense" at all. Sadly enough, I have made this same observation. It is my belief however that this "type" of individual cannot grasp the fundamentals of "common sense" precisely because they are too common" (i.e. simple) for him. It reminds one of the anecdote about Einstein. It was said of the great mathematical genius that he was unable to tackle simple problems in algebra simply because algebra was on a plane too "simple" for him. Is it not that perhaps out of envy (or fear) of the educated few (here I do not refer to the horde of pseudo or neo-pseudo intellectuals of our time), that the unintell- igent many parade this "fact" of inablity on the part of their academic peers to apply themselves to a "sense" so "common" as "common sense". I believe those whose "heads are in the clouds", are the ones who are most "faithfull to the earth". Exponents of Niezstche will here understand my meaning.
Certain people are condemned by the world at large as being perpetual "escape-seekers" In the highly intollerable age we live in, it is no small wonder that the sensitive of mind and spitit should wish to escape now and then to seek refuge from a world peopled by subhumans and ruled by fear and might, the sub-human ideals. However, there are means of escape and means of escape. There are those who are not only sensitive, but weak-willed; these are the ones who inevitably seek escape through narcosis or oblivion. They do not possess the means, provided by moral stamina, to look to a healthy avenue whereby they may withdraw for reflextion, whereupon their return to the 'world of men' brings a new knowledge to aid them, and possibly others, in finding a way to a fuller life. They are the "non-productives" which Eric Fromm speaks about. For them, it is the negative escape, as attained by---
Isn't it wonderful that man is the only animal that goes out of its way to destroy itself.
Ol John Smith doesn't like people who live in shacks on the other side of the tracks. Dirty people,--and lazy. He means the N-word. He forgets that the "N-word is only what we "white folk" made him.
If my words seem to make me out to be a Contradictor of myself, that only goes to prove one thing: I'm human.
All you people who feel indignant when the racial, religious, and ethnic minorities of America feel they are being persecuted ... if you didn't give them any grounds, maybe they wouldn't feel persecuted.
Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen! and I was there, in the rain and wind and cold. A freakish month was April. The sky was very dark and it made the streets and all look so dreary. The people seemed pleasant alright ... however I couldn't help feeling that they were trying hard forcing thie pleasantness. There were also many G.I.s there, and the girl I would have asked to marry me was afraid of ... Ah well, saved once more. But whenever I hear people speak of Denmark, I get a sour taste in my mouth.
I'm thinking about my penis. My poor little penis, not really little. We carry them around like chains, and they weigh heavily on us. Always hard, then soft. Hard and soft. Soft and hard like life. Life is like an erection. Excuse me -- no -- I mean like a hard-on. There is a subtle deifference between the two, if you know what I mean.
I am beginning another dream. It seems I am always looking for some thing, and always finding nothing but another dream. Perhaps what I am looking for does not exist at all. Perhaps it only existed once, ages ago, when mankind was young and first came out of the jungles, and began to live in organized society. How very much mankind has changed since that early time, - since the time of the childhood of homo "sapiens". Man has elevated himself above the other beasts of the field and has turned himself into a neurotic demi-god, and in so doing he has fulfilled the words of Jesus of Nazareth, in as much as man has gained the whole world, but has lost his soul.
I have just killed a roach; what a disgusting act it was. I wonder if I did the right thing in taking its life, but as I watched it crawl over the surface of the refrigerator, with its many legs, and its ugly (?) brown body, set against the background of the pure shiny white porcellain, I felt my insides churn, and my entire frame convulse in horror, so I squashed its guts out. For you see I couldn't live in the same house with him, and if he were a she, I would eventually have had to put up with her brood. A stich in time saves nine thousand nitemares. As I have been conditioned to destroy the contemptuous (?) ugly (?) little insects, so have men been conditioned to destroy their contemptuous ugly little selves.
All men were not created equal, and by the same token, all men were not created ugly and contemptuous, but many have made themselves both ugly and contemptuous by the mere act of pampering their devil within, and they have lost their souls by selling themselves to the devil-whore whose name is DISTORTED EGO.
Do you see that man over there? He is a whore! He has been playing the harlot's role all his life. Just recently he has whored himself out to the Devil, and in return, he has received a bright shiny new 8 cyllander, one million horsepower, convertable, iron uterus; and although he calls it "automobile", it is still nothing but an uterus. Is this a machine? Christ no! It is many things indeed, but it is not a machine. It is his mother, his girlfriend, his wife, even an extension of himself, but it is still not a machine. It is his church, his bedroom, his beast of burden. It is his joie de vivre, his escape from reality and his anima vitae. He is truly one with it. In fact, it can be said that it has more of a soul than he does. He shines it; he washes it; he doctors it constantly; he adores and worships it and serves it faithfully, and at the close of day, he kisses it goodnight. He is always talking about it and constantly involved with it. Often he curses it, but only because he realizes that it is so much better than himself. And for this chrome and steel mother-wife he labors, and gives the fruits of his labour, each week, to some salesman with horns and a tail. No more does he fulfill the Biblical prophecy and "earn his bread by the sweat of his brow", but his sweat and blood and natural drive earn him the latest and the greatest, and the finesest and the bestest "eternal womb" to which he is ever attached, both mentaly and physically by his self created "silver chord". And this chord shall never be shorn, and he shall never be born, and he it shall never be delivered into the world of love. He is trapped within the metal belly, and the Devil is laughing at him. The poor whore is in Hell already, and he doesn't even know it!
There are many menn and wymenn whose sole occupation is to stand on streetcorners and scream that everybody is going to hell when they die. Wether in Times Square or Pershing Square, they are the same. I have seen them; I have observed them at work. They are so sick and sickening. They also "teach" that Jesus Christ is comming back (as if they ever really knew or understood him). But Jesus is comming back, alright. He certainly is. And do you know what he's going to do when he gets back? First he will stop off at Delancy Street and have a kosher knish. Then he is going to gather up all the teachers, and all the preachers, and all the screachers, and he is going to throw them all in Hell. And do you know what this hell is going to be like? It is going to be one big movie house, and all of these will be chained to their chairs, and they will be forced to watch the events on the big three demensional, aromatic, stereophonic, wide screen. And on the screen, they will see portrayed, a world full of love and happiness, and understanding and brotherhood, and watching this will just ask eat the screamers up alive and kill them. And they will die over and over again. And this will last just about forever.
American wymenn are so utterly sick, and American menn perhaps still sicker. There is a specter haunting "the world", to misquote Karl Marx, but this time it isn't the spectre of communism to which I am reffering; it is the spectre of an evil malady called the "emotional plague". This dread disease has been with us for many years and pathetically enough the masses do not even realize its existance, although it is eating them up alive. It is an infirmity which rots the soul and destroys the body. It began its rampage in Europe hundreds of years ago and our forefathers unwittingly, or perhaps wittingly, carried the hateful germs to the New Word with them. And we are now physically and emotionally altered and distorted by its sypmtoms. We are exposed to it from the very moment in which we are expelled from the womb, and we imbibe it along with the milk from our mothers' teats. We are constantly subjected to it in our formative years, and both puberty and adolescence find us delibertatly inviting it further into our systems. As adults we continue to spread it among our young, and we transmit it to our newborn; and thus a vicious cycle moves happily along its prepared path. We do not try to examine it or stamp it out, for as I stated, the great many of us do not know of its exixtance. And when wherever there is the fresh tread of "civilized man's foot in the primative wilderness, there is the "emotional plague" ready to pounce upon the happy unsuspecting luckless savage whom we have come to convert" or "educate".
TEARS AND DEWDROPS
June 2, 1964
I remember F.D.R ... and J.F.K. too, but most of all, I remember J.F.K. After eight years of stuffy do-nothingness, he was like a breath of fresh air. Besides being young and handsome, he was a swinger. People overlooked the fact that he was a Catholic. When I was in the army, someone called him a Catlicker. I remember seeing that written on the wall of the shithouse at the snackbar. "Our president is a Cat-licker". I didn't think that was very nice then, I certainly don't think it's very becoming now. The people look up to J.F.K. as if he were a risen god (and who knows?..he might be!) It didn't matter that Angie Dickerson was his lover. Sinatra fixed him up. So what! Nobody said anything when he was fucking Lee Remick at Crosby's place. That was his own business. Still, he was a good man and a good president. That's why he had to be executed by the American people, who used Lee Oswald as their executioner. Yes, he was something alright. Who can replace him now? Johnson? Rocky? Not Goldwater? No? Nixon? Hell, the people of this country will look for him in members of his family but they will not find him there, not anywhere. He can say, with Jesus, "Today I am with you, but soon I am going to a far place, and where I go, there you cannot come, for I have a place prepared for me. Eat and drink me now while I am with you, for I give you my flesh and blood". I am afraid, yes afraid, the Resurection is not so near!
Here is a man who moves in a world of sound; his days and his nights are filled with notes; and if he can not precieve them by ear, he may inhale them and hear the sweet effluvium of their cadence. The air hangs heavy with a pungent odor; it is the scent of jazz, the black man's music, his very own creation, the expression of his soul; and if he cannot detect the bouquet by power of his olfactory nerves, he may have carnal knowledge of it thru the organized pandemonium and undertoned counterpoint of that most beautiful marriage of jazz and blues, that his ears will whisper to him. His eyes will see the "people" and the "places" of it, and his fingertips will feel the vibrations of it, and his tongue will tell him of its savoriness. He is high, high on sound; - hung up on it! Here, man! Have another drag! Tomorrow the man is comming to take your measure- ments for the box!
That guy sitting in the plush chair, and his lieutenants, sitting around his feet, tell you what you may read, what movies you may see, and what you may listen to and on your tele audio and video. Personally they think you're too damn dumb to decide these things for yourself. They are here to protect you and your glorious culture from moral decadence. They never say ass, but behind; and shytte is always dung, and man, like they've taken away your prykke from you, and given you a membra, or a pudoris causa in its stede, or else they've slapped a penis between your thighs. Do you know what a penis is? Penis is a Latin word that means "tail". So how do you feel now, knowing that you do all your urinating and ejaculating with your "tail"? As for me, I've always believed that a prykke by any other name is still a prick.
There is something disgusting about "civilized" humanity; viz. that we people are animals, and we don't act like animals. There are very few human beings left in the world; the majority of us aren't human beings; merely people. If we were human beings, we should, for one thing, annoint ourselves with a little piss rather than a lot of perfume.
The seeds of perversity are in us all, and as we have sewn, so have we reaped. In a repressive society there will be individuals not strong enough to put away the infamous "thorn in the flesh" of Paul of Tarsus. I have seen those who have taken any one of the various facets of their emotional make-up and made this facet, whatever it may be, to stand out as the mirror of their personalities. To be sure, they have done this against their own will, or to state it better, have been forced to do so by the insane system in which they exist. We, the components of the system, after having created monsters of these individuals, have turned upon them because they, in their desparateness, show us what we ourselves really are in our souls. This, we cannot bear to see. The ugly half-realized truth repulses us because we are afraid of it and at the same time fascinated by it.
I have heard it said by them who are,
Its greatest exponents,
That the manly sport of massacre,
Which we call Boxing, is indeed a great Art.
If it were that, I should gladly have
I should gladly have never a reservation
To reserve me some special spot
An avid spectator to be;
But these "classical" opponents
When locked in un-mortal combat
Would bear more armor than they now do
And if one should the other do hurt
My co-watchers would scream or faint,
Not so much for the better bruise But for the unfortunate's abuse.
But for the present, in the past I have heard and seen
Civilized man, who wittingly or no, Come, and glare, and growl
For Plasma's Fount to gush freely,
Freely, unrelentlessly, ruthlessly.
They have come by the hundreds
With their hundred dollar seat-tickets
To sit up close and watch
Killer Smith and Jack the Butcher
Beat the living shytte out of each other
Because the civil man knows only how to hate.
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