Manifesto Distress Code
—
A sidebar to the story of Sil Worthy (qv.)
—
SOME ADVISE: Getting to the End.
Eat them raw or else inspire hope, now that he’s go-
ing to jail or find alternative routes through the free
world while venturing into a mosquito jungle alone, there
to drown yourself, if all else fails in the signing of the Man-
ifesto Distress Code while repeating the mantra known as
the Boney Sutra, to
the urgent need for
relating to nature.
I could be impris-
oned for one year,
maybe two, and sl-
apped with a fine of
thousands, for that
is how threatened
the human body has
become to the so-
called Prevarication-
ists who warn you not
to assert the fund-
amental f-f-facts
that LSD can probe
ouch floating kin-
etic hot 3JiL lines
Are in-the Falsity of
hat check takers,
or as he, Blo O’Lozoft
say:
“At.”
“This.”
“Time.”
“It.”
“Is.”
“Impossible.”
Article Six:
Forget the Time.
Packed up and
ready to go, I am with
one desire lack-
ing: surcease of
sorrow while waiting for the
sorry machine of my heart—
any heart, fool!—to grant the legend-
ary idiot his one last card slapped
down to take the bourré mega-pot
at last and go himself home a king,
for who would believe you, who would
even try to erase the glowing towers
where you never blessed the chat-
tering voice in your head where st-
ood the Nemesis of Mocking Care.
Or would you speak forgiveness,
would you forget marginal errors,
and reach it on its
own faulty be-
gotten fearful
passageway into
the realm of the one
Blue Buddha who
has some good
propensities to
ADVISE, namely,
but not limited
to, COMPASSION,
while the day is
still upon us so
that the WATERY
ELEMENTS will
not rise up, no matter
what Blo O’Lozoft
him do say about
the airy elements
rising up as enemies,
nor indeed the el-
ements of the Rain-
bow Colors, neither
rising up as foes
along the path
from the Califor-
nia Beaches to the
realm of the Red Buddha which
must be like the commercial mine in
the mountains of Espaniola where
I worked for many years before giving
up the wandering life and settled
down with a tall Mayan woman who
swore her father was ahead of his time
living in Quintana Roo and smuggling
blood rum to the Yankees in Bay St.
John where they made the mistake of
trusting a man named Como who stole
their cargo and sank their boat and
laughed the whole time at the RADIENCE.
—
Transcribed—with slight emendations from Victor’s original text—by Smith who passed the message on to those who were capable of hearing and taking his advice, Sid Worthy included.
—
Artwork by R Young, inspired by the writings of Victor.
Photos of fecos at the Limoux Carnival in 1998 taken by DC Young.
studio arago 