Busdriver Rex in outlaw Chicago, in a movie house with Dillinger, at Ciro's
with Capone, drinking sidecars with Dean Martin. a solid line of dinosaur
sidecars at the premiere this evening. THE MONSTER...now playing!

Cheating in blue log rebellion
angels in airplanes
overflowing into glowing space
angels and their glowing smiles
even as the airplane falls
even as the jet fuel explodes
the angels and their burning smiles
invulnerable to rebellion of all kinds
burning the flesh off pure angels inside
so don't worry about it, my loves

When the magnetometers spin like crazy, sending us all into a Bermuda Triangle
rebellion, sending us all to devils tower, after one blip of the radar set we'll be
back to our old tricks, a little more glowing for the wear, but humming with
kundalini molecules. How many blips have you already surmounted? I have died
once while yet alive, calving off into the nether regions, the withers of the universe,
sending one off to the Unverse, sending one off to the obverse below...he's feeding
me lines even now, feeling my antennae with feelers, sending microwaves from
the dead. Microwaves of the oven dead, microwave angels in a kind of harmonic
universe. Where he broke off I grew limbs of rebellion, of frankenstein unbound
rebellion, all chainnecked and boltchinned. I swung my huge fists like an ivycovered
frankenstein spraying china shards in all directions. swinging corrections in all
directions in all dimensions -- it's all five-D now! By god, I remember when we were
lucky to have three D! Our grandparents had two D and liked it. Imagine the poor
bastards limited to one goddamn D. (Shrunk down from the one million D of the
vedas, to be sure.)

based on "Human Cuba Jerseys"