The Gospels

from

The Gospels

Gospel IV

The Last Judgement

By Pietro Di Donato

I met Angela the Black Christ in front of Wally

Brown’s fish market. It was a snowing night

and the advent of the age of the Fourth Innocence.

Earth was cleansed of the polluted majority; the Loving God

remained. None of we the living recalled the Who and the

How of the Purification; Black God had decided our memories.

The negroid Christ had been around universities often teaching

that revolution was from apple pie American prophets and

it made sense that god-female was humanform and Black.

Angela Christ was the venus figure ebony gleaming—

our blessed vaginal Lord who moved as a pantheress

and the sliver night proved Blackness beautiful.

A group appeared in the quietly falling snow, all of

whom it was a great honor to know. That Angela-

God considered them not expendable, reflects justice.

She, blackest of black, chief judge of the Good and

of the Evil, was attended by Bertha Grossepede, wife of

Charlemagne, and by the virile virago of Forli, Catherine,

and sainted Mothers Cabrini and Teresa.

At the same time there abounded former beings once dear

to my mind and soul, the religioso Litterati; yea, I was

at home amongst the departed assortment of blessed “Spiriti Magni” such as Hesiod, Homer, Ovid, Horace, Catullus, Petronius, Cicero, Pericles, Virgil, Villon, Dante, Vico, Giordano Bruno, Savonarola, Petrarch, Poggio Bracciolini who ransacked the known world for precious manuscripts, Whitman; Tolstoy, Turgenev, even Dennis Potter singing Pennies from Heaven and so many more who will surely join us in the eternal vesture of Godhood away for mortal ‘Vie aspre ed dure.’

Wally with the one hand came out of the fish store and said, “Money’s no use no more—come in and be my guests on the house—

chowder and fish fry—oh for summer and clambake on the shore!”

God Black smiled a broad smile—“I made seasons to please people.”

—And with that the cold and snow went and lo, hot sunny July came.

We carried the baskets of seafood, bread and beer to the beach.

Gather the driftwood, light the fires, pile the kelp and stones—in cheesecloth swaddle the lobsters, shellfish, chicken and corn

—each do their share—in giving they goodly receive—ebony She- Christ too.

We agreed that Angela Christ knew what she was doing when

she invented nature, victuals, sex, air, land and sea—“Man!”

Christ cried, “You-all can’t beat charcoaled fish, corn and brew!”

Beautiful boys and girls flocked to the part and it was right

for Christ to gaily lead us singing and dancing and I tried to

remember where I had heard of a humble, forsaken, tragic God.

Did I read a sick book about a bearded Aramaic Messiah in MidEast?

Shadowed rumors tell of wicked man oppressing man, tortures and woe.

But unreasonable tales of tyrants and impotent Gods are dreams.

The disciples, and the small-numbered but qualified fellow humans

feasted and regaled, and loved and rested, exchanging joys free,

for life was finally bereft of hate, want, pride, ugliness, fear and war.

By starlight nightskinned Christ spoke. “make churches into museums.

The predators, parasites, usurers, whoring priests and politicians are gone. Sky is the dome, earth the altar, universal Love The Law.

“no more is allowed a mediocre, bourgeois, willy-nilly humanity;

jerks mating made numbers, made waste; the shitty old nonsense is out.

I’ll not permit again the herding masses, but only select Godkind.

“Brothers, sisters, comrades, history was the tale of cruel spill;

herein you’ll be sans the fools and knaves of the cretin $-Order.

Eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and be Gods!

“There is no common clay now to test or toy with—Gods and humans

shall be one to live for eternal pleasure. God is man/woman is God.

Without such equality all is dross and the game is not worth shit.

“The foul majority of yore thought earth live was the sole deal—

had the notion this planet was ‘It’ from alpha to omega, and that

it was not what you did that mattered but how you did it.

“Pals, gals, the whole thing is that virtues count and guilt matters.

If sins and crimes are not weighted and the stirring good not lauded,

then all creation is a farce within a nightmare and God meaningless.

“Yet, be at ease, Justice is the primum mobile and soul of Time.

If you have faith and love and not justice you are lacking.

Ecstasy, intellect and prophecy cease, but justice has no end.

“The evil sinning honkies, reactionaries, frauds and bloodthirsty

had the delusion that nothing mattered, thinking death wiped the slate;

but Death is the sheriff to I, The Judge, and door to the Eternal Court.”

The sepian Rabbess continued, “Justice shall grind exceeding fine.

The crimes must be witnessed by worthiest jury grave. As re-enactment

of mankind’s inhumanity the setting shall be the stage.”

There were twelve baskets of steaks left over and cases of beer.

All the surplus marine fruit Wall Brown returned to the sea.

We gathered litter, freshened the sands, and thanked goodness.

The stage of Justice was not far—only two blocks up Main Street.

The play before the Purification, MONDO MERDE, was on the

marquee.

It was changed for The Judge’s purpose to the THEATRE OF THE

OBSCENE.

The living theatre of positive truth is always most exhilarating;

among the reviewers were Dr. Schweitzwer and Pope John, passing

programs

were Allie Krause/Jeff Miller/Sandra Scheuer/and Bill Schroeder.

The four beautiful students from Kent State wanted to know if

their parents and family would attend. Black Judge God said, “Of course dear children—they sorrowed, vengeance shall be theirs!”

Aspect of Theatre could be scene of Supreme Court of cathedral;

celebrities milled about in the lobby, and from the East were

Mohammed, Baha ‘U’Llah, Ghandi, Siddhartha, Dervishes and Dali

Lama.

The Mezzanine was PURGATORY. A sign said “Guests of the

Mezzanine

not permitted to leave Theatre; only residents of UPSTAIRS allowed

OUT THERE.” Jack and Bob Kennedy came down from the Mezzanine.

Jack said to God, “Hello Angela; I’m looking forward to the trials.

On earth I had hoped and prayed that someday, somewhere, somehow,

all wrongs and crimes would be called to account by your Godliness.

The good brothers were glad to see me despite the grim circumstances.

We spoke fondly of happier days past and what might have been . . .

Oh misbegotten Oswald and Sirhan what evil you unloosed in USA!

Angela Christ grasped their hands. “I gave you fellows almost every

thing; you let me down with Viet Nam—don’t blush. Though your

probation

is not over I’ll write your passes for UPSTAIRS—I love Kennedys.

The lounges were crammed with characters reaching back to Genesis

and earlier. It was bizarre, fascinating, resembling the costume

department and cafeteria of a studio making a world-history film.

This was the opening day of the event both hoped for and dreaded

throughout the long yawning ages, THE LAST JUDGEMENT where mankind’s deeds were to be weighed in the Land of the Dead.

There were the myriad trial calendars: Newcomers Adam Cadmon and

Eve

claimed a certain Yehowah was a dirty old semite sadist racist who

with his accomplice Satan framed them in entrapment and invented

death.

A brief note a Nazarene wood worker against the Lord and millions

upon millions of killers’ victims versus the self-acclaimed carpenter

God . . . Abel charged Cain with first-degree homicide; Clarence Darrow was defense attorney. Uriah the Hittite had a suit versus one David and Beth—alienation and manslaughter.

You could close your eyes and in any direction touch a super-lawyer.

Solon, Solomon, Hammurabi, Maimonides, Belli, Bailey, Kunztler and

even Cicero who could prove anything and in the legal pool too were

Pharisees, Essenes, and stiffneckeced broadhemmed Sadducess.

I saw shorthorned Moses and Joshua: Arabs had them up for invasion.

Hooknosed hairy Moses was a blustering arrogant guy seeking publicity; he was shouting and arguing with Job, Jeremias, Isaaias and

Ezekiel.

In the press room were top reporters: Thucydides, Virgil, Dante,

Spenser and Shakespeare, and in a jury I spied Joan of Arc, Einstein, Oppenheimer, Sacco and Vanzetti, the Rosenbergs and poor lonely

Slovick.

Black giantess Christ said, “Before the staging of show-trials that

symbolize the criminality of the sick world recently wiped out you

must see DOWNSTAIRS and the deserved punishment of Citizen.

HELL was in the sub-cellar; there were no devils or fantastic beasts

and apparitions, neither sulphuric flames, demons—and identities,

of zodiacal configurations, geography or cosmogony of Dante’s fancies.

Back up on the court stage I saw Black Christ appointing as judges my friends Bill Moyers and I. F. Stone who was really Isador Feinstein. Mike Musmanno the coal miner who became a famous judge at the Nuremberg trials of the Nazi monsters, was with his clients Sacco and Vanzetti. . . . I was a sixteen year old master bricklayer with beret and trench coat when Musmanno, Carlo Tresca, Piccirilli the sculptor of the Lincoln monument, Ed Corsi and La Guardia took me in an old Pierce Arrow to Boston Prison’s death cells to visit the living saints Sacco and Vanzetti . . . The night shameful fascist America murdered the shoemaker and the fish peddler in the electric chair I joined the Communist party in their tiny poverty-stricken third floor headquarters over the Co-op cafeteria on Union Square (under the name of “Peter Phillips”). . . . How marvelous and miraculous beyond words that I, alive, should be with dear flamboyant Michael Musmanno in the court of the Last Judgement! . . . Mike’s impetuous warm shadow embraced me. . . . “Petey,” he said, “there’s no bullshit here, no nationalism, no flag-waving, no Vatican theatrical myths, no charlatan land of the free and home of the brave Hollywood and no tawdry T V patriotism . . . !”

She, God, took us down to sightsee HELL. . . . We saw a cesspool that

occupied the center of the earth—how blanching the sour stench,

how vast the circling turgid currents, how dread the massive

depressing sludge!

“Angela Christ,” began gentle Moyers, “this makes strongest stomachs

quail. What is it that be of such despicable disgusting magnitude?

And Why is HELL nothing but excrement, and of the worst and

meanest sort?”

“The endless fecal filth was THE PUBLIC—the sewerage that offends

you was the average man and woman who mutely supported the most

horrendous evils—they merit not identities and are eternal bacteria

consuming itself.”

So that was the final justice for the sought-after voting citizen—

the common denominator’s imago was ultimately universal odure—

Jack Jerk, Joe Blow, and John Doe flowered into the Great Toilet!

In the theatre lobby there were preview posters of divers trials;

Adam and Eve Cadmon bring bitter suits against YHWH for entrapment, sadism divine malpractice, racism, petulance, insanity, and for cowardly unchivalrously conspiring with Satan to invent and curse A and E with Death! There was the process of one ‘Yeshus Khriste’ against his “Father in heaven”—the charge: Forsakement—and oh how many-many countercharges against the said Saviour for criminally neglecting a few billion believers!—And what about the livid souls of rich Cardinals claiming that Rodrigo Borgia, later Pope Alexander VI had sodomized, robbed and poisoned them—how about that?

I saw something that surprised me: Ladybird and LBJ and cabinet with

Generals, Admirals, weapons manufacturers, puppet rulers, Billy Graham, Richard Millhaus Nixon, Laird, Mitchell and Kissinger.

With righteous indignation I said to Christ, “God what are these

scummy Vietnam murderers doing here and look, they’ve got their

families and catamites, plus the un-American jingo F B I and treacherous fascist C I A!”

Negroid Christ laughed and her blackness beamed: Cool it, they were

disintegrated in THE CLEAN UP and are nothing but thin ghosts, farts

in the wind, here to testify against themselves and reap the results.

I took a comfortable front seat. It was an especially somber audience;

the spectators were from Hiroshima, Nagasaki, riots, lynchings,

—were the long procession of those dealt man’s dire inhumanity.

The house lights lowered; Angela Christ was in the Judge’s pulpit;

Good Souls of this courtroom, the unforgivable crimes against my

children will be exposed and immune to former mundane powers.”

Two brothers, three and five, came in front of the stage curtain.

They held hands and spoke Vietnamese; the smaller tot said, “Strong brother, are we going to be buried? But when and how?”

“The invaders from the planes will bury us tomorrow; they who

wore shoes and helmets, and pointed rifles; the men who had

terrible fear in their empty faces and shot us pow-pow-pow-pow!”

“Brave brother, are they coming again? I’m afraid. Will we be

put in pretty coffins, and monks singing? I’d rather fall asleep

among the water rushes; oh, all will cry for us; all fall silent.”

“Tomorrow they come with Christian priests and their star-spangled flag. Masked soldiers will drag our stinking corpses with meat hooks

to a ditch and bulldozers will push mountains of dirt over us.”

“Older brother, let us run away

from the bad men, let us run

and find God somewhere near.

Let us go—from house to house

until we come where will be grazing

little horses of the water.

It’s not the sky . . . it’s rice paddies

with many crickets there that sing,

with all the rice stalks there that sway

and with the clouds that will be rising,

and wind just like a sword . . . Oh I

want to be a big boy and then a man. . .

oh if only we had been crickets . . .”

“Little brother dear, there’s a door;

but the door is closed and locked.

If we take the stairs,

they’ll see us on the stairs.

They’re coming now to bury us.”

“I trust big brother; tell me

will we ever see the light again

or the clouds that will be rising

or the crickets in the paddies

or the wind just like a sword?”

“Faithful little brother

our voices do not reach God;

Let us pray to the flowers here.

Oh, sunflower,

oh, sunflower that turns with the sun,

oh, sunflower, made of fire, help us.

Oh tiny small pink of the sun . . .

They sky over Mylai has lost its light-

there are only oceans and hills of carbon . . .

Americans are making footprints on the moon

and a dove lying dead on the seashore,

with her wings shattered and a flower in her bill.”

—The tots sing: “And in the flower an olive,

and in the olive a lemon . . . oh

what comes next? We don’t remember. What comes next?”

“Oh, big brother, there’s no light . . .

where are you? . . .

Take me to mother and father

and our sisters and neighbors—

O, oh I’m, so terrified!”

Christ broke out sobbing as true God can cry:

“My children, why have I forsaken ye!”

Christ, the wonderful Black female, rushed to them.

The older child said, “Tiny brother a hand comes to us,

perhaps the hand of God?

Oh, Lady God dark,

please don’t bury us;

wait a few small minutes

just while we kiss flowers and

undress their petals

to take with us.

Thank you. Now we’ll go;

we’ll go, but very slowly

. . . and then God . . .

you’ll let us see the sun?

. . . just a bit; just one ray?”

Tearful Christ knelt, and kissed their feet, hands and faces,

and pressed them to her deep breast and said, ye pure angels

shall be with me forever; ye are my loves my eternal joys!”

The curtain went up on the hamlet of Mylai; it was a steaming morning

bringing insects and smells of wet earth, elephant grass, flowers,

greening rice shoots, poultry and livestock under a clear blue sky.

Johnson, Nixon, Pope Paul, the congress, senate, and flag patriots

were amazed that they were returned from the ante-chamber of The Dead, and find themselves in Mylai under the star-spangled banner.

Brought back from the cesspool of Hell also were the parents, wives, and children of Medina, Calley, Simpson, West, Meadlo, and the three

thousand other heroic American soldiers who pulled triggers that day.

The two Vietnamese tots left Black Christ and went along the road

through the rice fields towards their hut. Though indescribable

that day had to be re-lived to gain the just verdict and sentence.

Nightskinned Christ said, “Permanent guests of the Pleasure Park, the Mylai sin will take place in the living flesh. Before the curtain falls and we go UPSTAIRS, the detestable cowardly criminals will pay!”

The helicopters were small in the distance but nearing roaringly,

were huge and hovered heavily, and circled, and fluttered down

amongst the tall elephant grass, the great blades idling nervously.

Above the helicopters’ fretted noises Christ cried, “Witnesses for

The Last Judgement this is not make-believe, movie or dream’s

nightmare; this is the reality of an eternally indelible crime!”

With me, in empathy, were four real Americans, Emerson, William James, Joseph Campbell, and our very dear Bill Moyers, and Moyers said, “I dreamfeared this in mind, hear and soul—My God here it is!”

American weapons smelled of oil and grease, the packs of efficiency,

the uniforms of tailored duck, boots of canvas-rubber, foot talcum,

and the GIs sported the smells of the meltingpot’s common pores.

Hundreds of lethally armed soldiers of ‘Charley Company,’ which is

C Company, First Battalion, 20th Infantry, leave the helicopters—some chew gum—a lot drag hard-hard- on reefers—all faces are empty.

Captain Medina even though he’s a Mexican-Spick is terrific and like a big brother and like your father and he said this is a fuckin’ beautiful chance to get blooded which means to taste blood and know right there you’re a fuckin’ fearless unbeatable one hundred percent true blue American and can get hunkie-even on the Reds whose land mines made of Campbell soup tin cans and unexploded artillery shells zapped five of our guys two weeks ago and wounded twenty two and to get fuckin’ sweet revenge for the Reds’ booby trap killing of our dear close pal Sgt. George Cox who was like a fuckin’ brother and loved America and cunt like me and now the dirty fuckin’ Red commie cocksuckin’ bastards and the dirty V C dogs are not in Mylai but their families and friends are and today we’ll learn the gooks a lesson by wiping out everything and everybody and all that breathes and moves in Mylai and that’s an order from the Higher Levels forthwith ‘cause the Generals and White House say they place no value on Vietnamese lives so when you kill a Vietnamese you kill just nothing—it’s going to be hot shit to kill without risk to kill on and many to cuddle that cute little old trigger and press it and jerk it off and feel The Gun jumping like you’re holding a small full grown tiger trying to get out of your hands to see the power and immediate results of a good piece of machinery hardware that is to hear it talk-talk paff-paff with undeniable authority because you got pissed off and bored by John Wayne and Humphry Bogart and the fairy Hollywood heroes winning wars and kissing broads and you wanting to get your real rocks by being able to knock someone off was there anything to compare with killing at will and being paid and insured and benefitted and praised and honored and Bob Hope-d for it and you not getting a scratch no other kind of come is like it makes you feel skyscraper tall when you get back to God’s Country U S A to say I fucking well made them bite the dust I stiffed them I wasted them I turned them into shit and you can cool say you did it like stepping on cockroaches and you did it to save your sacred Flag and save your holy Church and save your best Country in the whole fucking world and the only good gook is a fucking dead gook the Bible says there’s a time to kill it’s all dog eat dog and if you don’t get the other guy he’ll get you and you can just bet your sweet ass today right here is gooky Mylai it’s killing time because it’s better to stop the Reds in their front years than to have to pull them off premium white women like your scared mother and sister and daughter and niece and the nuns much better to wipe out commie gooks in their own rice-happy land than to have to fight them in hand to hand combat in Main Street and on the steps of your church and the White House they ain’t human beings and not even people these dirty orientals these dirty lousy slant-eyes they ain’t nowhere in God’s world like my precious darlings’ Polaroid snapshots behind plastic in my wallet next to my heart with locks of dear ones’ hair tied with ribbons and with my Rosary and lucky dice and rabbit’s foot and Saint James prayer book and the Holy Roman Catholic missal and relics of saints and medals and phylactery and mazzuza and lipstick-kissed letters from home God bless them a million times over well well well good luck mamma and kid gooks right straight ahead on the road like sitting ducks like fish in a barrel like instant T V dinner here’s where we got the stuff and makings for a hefty Body Count that’s what the Big Brass in Dee Cee holler for a High Body County for morale back in America the Beautiful to shit on the cowardly un-American peacenik doves well well well the dumb gooks are coming into perfect zero range that nice that sure nice a blind man couldn’t miss now as for the fucking beautiful M-16 on auto squeeze trigger and she purrs a kitten on one stream of paffs and watch our smoke those pretty slugs go as fast as a computer and you can’t see them but they goddamn sure hemstitch the gooks’ flesh and bones and they flop like rag dolls full of jagged holes and the gooks’ blood spurts and flies like beet juice like sticky strawberry syrup like the monthlies’ menstrual gung like messy mashed bedbugs well well well man it’s not like when you was a kid and had a cheap fiber-glass tot Christmas rifle with phony sparks and flames and smoke or a stick-make-believe-rifle or you cocked your hand like a pistol and you aimed and squinted and shouted bang-bang you’re dead and it was no ways like those frustrating dreams shooting bill collectors and summons servers and shyster-lawyers getting judgments and attachments and shooting sheriffs who pounded on your front door and confiscated the cars and things you needed and loved and threatened to jail you if you couldn’t get the dough up or shooting the husbands of the cunts you wanted to lay in your daydreaming jerking off or shooting the foreman who gave you a hard time and shooting the bank bastards who foreclosed your mortgage and creaming the shylocks who drove you to the wall and now you understand the natural appeal of the mafia guys whose best friend was the gun and the gun was the shortest distance between two points and search and destroy here in Mylai is the fucking real thing this is IT and not the puny shooting gallery in the carnival or the Penny Arcade in Times Square you ain’t a full rounded-out man until you killed people and then you’re God and the Devil rolled into one and somehow you bet the death-rap by making others dead sort of like imitation magic and it has to do with your country’s fascination with violence and military witchcraft and the sayings that killing is a normal thing and The Law is survival of the fittest and killing without danger to yourself is the best sport going and it ties in with not wanting to be suspected of having been a fraidy-cat bedwetting kid overfed and pampered and bragged about by your Hard-hat father and mother and you don’t want to be thought of as a guy behind a cart full of synthetic supermarket groceries and wearing a tell-tale wedding right but you want to be like the tough hombres in Hemingway stories and swashbucklers in historical novels and hell war is war and all sides do atrocities and that’s life and that’s the way it’ll always be par for the course and now won’t you look at those niggers West and Simpson gunning down the mama and bay gooks with me like they had the white cats’ credit card to kill they’re Oreos they’re burnt’cork blackface coons trying to get in with us Christian Whites some shit some shit we’ll lynch them and shoot them in their beds as usual back in God’s land killings some fun WOW WOW WOW we call the thatchroofed huts a hootch and there are nice solid houses too they say the Japs ruled a while and then the Frenchy-frogs and it makes you mad to think the heathen slants had nice style like civilized ways and you get boiling mad and madder to think the yellow vermin got the nerve to stand up and guff against us Americans the richest strongest smartest greatest best people in the whole goddamn fucking world so when we come to a hootch we push the gooks inside lop grenades in with them cut them down douse the place with gasoline and burn the living shit out of everything boy will we get plenty documentary pictures of the dead gooks to send back home and make a true-to-life gung-ho impression it gives you kicks to destroy what others so carefully put together get a lot of static out of your system like when you were a kid and cleared the air with tantrums and knocking down the mud huts and sand castles and busting the playthings and vandalizing the neighborhood on Halloween every fucking thing here in Mylai Pinkville says Captain Mad Dog Medina is enemy resources and we’re here to fuck up and snafu what’s aid and comfort to the enemy we spreads out in groups and sort of surround Mylai like a dragnet there’s a cow and we put a hundred pounds of bullets in the fucking V C moo-moo there’s a gook woman’s head popping up from some brush thirty of us aim and fire and she slumps over into one of those things that stick out of the rice paddies so that here head is a propped-up target we all shoot that head at the same them and so help me Christ you can see the bones of her head flying in the air chip by fucking chip plain as day we turn a curve in the trail and hello twenty five feet ahead of us are six Vietnamese old men and women carrying baskets we cut them down with M-16s a little boy is walking towards us in a daze he’s been shot in the arm and leg he isn’t crying or making any noise nosey ass Ronny Haeberle kneels down to snap the little kid a big G I kneels down next to the photographer and fires three shots into the kid the first shot knocks him back the second shot lifts him into the air and the third shot stretches him on the dirt and the little kids’ blood squirts up from three tiny red fountains this German-Jew book-reader guy Sgt. Mike Bernhardt chickens and refuses to obey Calley’s body-count orders and says this is cowardly goddamned point-blank genocide and the American flag will be stained with this forever and I’m not becoming a rotten murderer for no flag to hell with this shit—out of this whole Charlie Company just a fucking few squeamish sissies refuse to go along with us to exterminate the red rats and their little mice so you see God bless the real patriotic majority who always stick together through thick and thin and we are good Christian brothers Like Captain Medina says but the good nigger Simpson says man these ain’t human being civilians that means they’re the V C and you can’t trust them as far as you can throw the Statue of Liberty and Military Intelligence says even the baby at the breast is V C enemy resources because these inscrutable orientals may have a death-delaying booby trap stuck up the baby’s asshole and good nigger Simpson puts his M-16 to honest work on a gook mother and her baby in her arms and throws straw on their corpses and sets them afire and says aloud I’m under orders and doing my job for America and the flames roast the bodies and there’s a peculiar smell and their flesh swells and bursts and their limbs twitch and a GI says look Christ they got tucking ghosts in them this old gooky woman Nguyen Thi Doc is in the hootch starting breakfast with thirteen of her family including nine grand-children and great grand-children we pulled them out and the yellow slant-eyed bastards had the balls to protest and try to resist but we bayonet-prodded them into the poppy field and riddled the fucking shit out of them and we thought they were all zapped and it turns out the old woman was alive under the bodies of her grand-children and great grand-children and she says Mylai happenstance survivors told her we bagged six hundred and sixty nine gookerinos that day which ain’t hay which is a first rate booster morale showing for the Body Count end of things and that’s the way it goes all that day killing even ducks too with GI daggers and Col. Barker is right over our heads in his ‘copter filming and watching us at work and we torched hootches with cigarette lighters plus gasoline and threw corpses of lousy gook kids down wells to ruin the Reds’ water supply and we bayonetted a lot for good real life bayonet experience and practice on cows and chickens and all sizes of pigs and some energetic guys cut down the corn too a soft hearted GI goes over to a little boy who is in pieces from a direct grenade and puts a blanket over him a GI vomitted and then cracked up because he says Christ is watching us and many millions of Jews and Russians massacred by the Germans the way you’re massacring the Mylai innocents like Herod and watching you murderers are also the victims of the Catholic Inquisition and the hundreds of thousands murdered by Truman’s atom bombs and you hideous robot fools have you no eyes in your heads can’t you see this is a re-run of Mylai and you’re being tried in God’s Last Court and all you violent cowardly robots and the hand-jobs in Washington are going to have hell to pay and this religious Holy Roman Catholic nut is having hallucinations and makes us nervous and bugs our fun and we radio a ‘copter to give him a needle and calm him and ship him back to the base camp at Landing Zone Dottie eleven kilometers away this farmer and his two little sons pop up from nowhere and he’s carrying everything he owns in this world in a roped basket they look at us wonderingly we open up and then move in close to finish them off our beautiful sacred M-16s blast immense holes in their hearts and heads and the new young blood from the fucking kids sprawled faces down with their heads kissing the basket sprayed the basket red and the gook gore is a special Asiatic deep shiny red like the sparkling red of poppies or fresh-picked washed radishes.

oh boy and now there’s a group of women, pissy little girls and babies and the GIs grab a ten year old girl with apricot size tits and want to lay her and they start stripping here and laugh and tell her she’s a V C Boom-Boom which means she’s a whore for the Vietcong and the girl’s stupid mother is trying to protect her honor and is scratching and clawing at the GIs while mangled bleeding bodies are a gooky mess all around and hootches burning mad and hard and the GIs kick the mother’s dumb ass and hit her with rifle butts and Haeberle jumps in to take a picture of the women and the GIs let the girls along and she picks up her baby sister and is buttoning up her pajama fly that the GIs ripped open and the GIs are pissed off to think she won’t behave like a Saigon whore and the GIs say fuck it let’s not waste time and let’s go ahead and kill them and with M-16s and a machine gun they blast the group down one-two-three and some horny GIs shoot the little girl in her box that they were thinking to screw and Medina is having a ball killing right and left and plays Russian roulette with the gooks first and then he has himself photographed for laughs like a real Ronnie Reagan actor drinking from a coconut and holding a big sharp knife under the throat of a kid who’s gagged and tied to a bamboo that Medina God-love-him is sure having the fucking time of his life Ernie we agree should have been in Hollywood Lt. William Calley Jr.’s platoon gets about one hundred people in the center of the village timid wimpy GI Meadlo huddles men, women, children and babies into a sort of human island and makes them squat down and Calley comes over and says you know what to do with them don’t you and Meadlo a soft faced ignorant kid maybe eighteen says yes sir and takes it for granted Calley just wants the GIs to watch them and officer Calley leaves and comes back in ten minutes and says angry how come you ain’t killed them yet what are you waiting for the second coming of Christ and Meadlo is embarrassed and says I’m sorry I didn’t think you wanted us to really kill them that you just wanted us to guard them from doing any money business and Calley hollers I can’t even trust you guys while I go take a shit Goddamnit you ain’t’ supposed to think that’s what me and Medina get paid for and me and Medina are running this fucking show and I ain’t going to tell you no more and I want these V C cocksuckers dead presto-pronto like fifteen minutes ago and we got to learn all the red cocksuckers in the world a lesson and terrorize them and paralyze them and make them shit at the idea of Americans and her now I’ll fucking well show you assholes how a real American does his duty and Calley steps back a few feet and starts mowing down the screaming wailing crying gooks and he shouts to Meadlo Meadlo you delicate sonuvabitch you better start shooting if you fucking well know what’s good for you and the GIs don’t want to be courtmartialed and they start shooting with all their might clip after clip until every fucking man woman child and baby is stone dead we take sweet time out for ciggies, pot, booze and water and take a good relieving leak and say this is hot sticky muggy work and we’ll be getting so fucking hungry we could eat shit on a shingle with a rusty spoon and a jackass stuffed with straw Calley grins buddy-buddy friendly like and says I’m proud of you guys you’re real first class true blue American heroes but finish today’s duty to God and country first and then we’ll pig it with ice cold Coors and goodies later and then co-operative GIs help us round up the remaining hundred more gook villagers and we herd them and line them along an irrigation ditch eight feet deep and Calley says to the college superior officer guy Buckley Buckley baby we got just this last job to do and Calley says sincerely that I must say I fucking well like my patriotic work and it took a while to waste all those gooks and we do it on auto and towards the end switch to single shot to make it last longer and save ammo and the bodies filled the ditch all bloodies in ridiculous positions and Ronny Haeberle photographs that mess too for LIFE and somehow a toddler appears naked goes to a pile of the dead and surely finds his mother’s hand and a GI says I don’t want see that little V C cocksucker grow up a motherless orphan I’ll settle all his problems and he kneels and aims carefully not to half-ass the job and puts a bullet through the kid’s head but another GI turns yellow and can’t take it and he takes his crucifix and holy Christian things from his pockets and he laughs hysterically and shouts what the hell are our parents and loved ones doing right here in Mylai this afternoon did dissenters and peach marchers and conscientious objectors and dove politicians fly them here and what in Virgin Mary’s name are Lyndon Baines Johnson and Richard Millhaus Nixon and their cabinets and all their families doing here on the Mylai killing fields is this the last stop the end of the crazy world and a GI feels sorry for him and clubs him unconscious for his own good and it’s peaceful and along a lovely trail in the green rice plain two tiny brothers come along from a home thatchroof hut in the background and they’re looking for God the beautiful Black Woman The Christ saying we’re looking for Her and us superstitious GIs don’t want to hear that and Haeberle who’s everywhere photographs the gook tots in LIFE color and after we hear the clickity-click of his Nikon we fire on the little brothers and the bigger one pushes the smaller to the earth and covers him with his frail self and whispers don’t be afraid I’ll protect you and God will punish them and us GIs don’t go for that shit and we pour bullets into them and them come atop them and make goddamn sure we finish them off and then big as the horizon the Black Cloud of a Christ appears and blots the Mylai sun and then She the Christ cries mightily mine eyes have seen the utterest degradation and we know who stand convicted of the many-millioned-voice spectator Jury roars for Justice and Angela Christ raises her gleaming black arms and calls world-shakingly aloud Ye blessed recent Dear arise arise arise and carry out The Sentence the What and the Whereof you know too . . . and the precious little Vietnamese brothers with gaping point-blank gun powdered bleeding massive jagged wounds arouse and headless babies arose and the teenage pretty girl with her virginity knifed and blasted out gracefully and solemnly arose and her mother and baby brothers and sisters caked in tears and torn flesh arose and the grotesque slain on the bypaths arose and winsome peasant girls with punctured new breasts and riddled bellies arose and the bayonetted and those whose throats had been cut arose and the grenade-shattered arose and the charred and cremated arose from the flames and ashes and the dead arose from the wells into which their trashed lives had been contemptuously cast and the thickly packed assorted stilled bodies stirred in the ravine besmeared with their own and each other’s gore and excrement and they sharply aloft like densely close large swift birds and the once worthless sere aged arose springingly in eager strength and Angela the undisputed Christ-Woman Black Beautiful the Christ cried from The Four Winds come in oh wind and blow upon these special killed people that they may come to life and the separated parts of innocent bodies on the Mylai valley plain came together and the breath proceeded to come into them and they began to live and stand solidly upon their feet a very very great force and once-butchered suckling babes arose with the urgent force of infant Hercules and Angelus Christus cupped her long black fine fingers to her mouth and cried Haloo halllllooooo whom the Mad would destroy the Wyrd first make into secular avenging Gods Hello History are you there ghastly war criminals didn’t you know that murdering one blameless life is the same as murdering the whole world and the violated and killed raged wrath cried justice and there was no escape no exit no succor for the kith and kin of the blood-guilty and goddamned murder did out and the Mylai dead with iron grip grabbed President Johnson’s daughters and grandchildren and Nixon’s daughters and also the issue from the self-serving war-makers and the broods and simpering protected richly tenderly cared-for babies of all The Involved-of-death-culpables and there was not one chance in the universe that Time for them to feign innocence or provide excuse and out and also the offsprings of the sickeningly hypocritical chaplains were firmly thrust before Charlie Company’s death squad and Calley’s mother and father and kid sister and Medina’s people and Meadlo’s dear ones and the shameful traitor to his Black Race West’s family tasted and consumed the live metal bullets that came as endless lightning and the killer-Cains could not stop killing no matter how they tried and their bullets made bloodstreaming sieves of their mothers in particular who fouled the good earth from their Iscariot wombs with such filial abominations and I yelled Halloo Angela The Christ tell me is it fair for the children to direly pay for the sins of their progenitors and Her Vaginal Blackness said they all had their chances to redeem themselves and stand on their own feet their evil and murder and genocide and lies and cowardice and that they were not imbeciles and goddamn well knew that their father President Johnson and vulture mother Johnson were responsible for and they were not deaf dumb and blind to what daddy Nixon was liable for and the convicted begged in vain to be returned to the anonymous death and sanctuary as bacteria in the cesspool Hell and the late Leaders and cohorts then somewhat realized the depths of their crimes against humanity by the magnitude of the punishment which was the very dame kind of atrocious massacre daily for their loved ones as they as Commanders-in-chief had visited upon the innocents and Beautiful Night-black Christ thundered in her wonderfully resonant voice look you all and mark the indelible killers who chose the gun as their God for these killers shall be at their posts shoot-killing their own through the ages and aeons and my eyes widened at beholding the man of nothing as The White Rider and fascist Ollie North the redneck yanigan with the monkey’s face as the shooting Red Rider and the extrovert greaseball coward Medina as the Pale-green Rider and the once-loved ones of reactionaries did not die with merciful dispatch but died with extreme slowness with death by installments as the bullets shot out their eyes and teeth and genital parts and the Johnson and Nixon parents futilely shouted for medics and ambulances and tried to pick up the engored dripping parts and put them back it place before it was too late and unseen voices in ensemble sang the shoe is on the other foot and how does it feel to have your own bull butchered and the loved ones cried we rebel we rebel we curse you you ambitious arrogant self-serving parents we knew you were murderers and sinners doomed but we were pampered having a swell paradise on earth and didn’t have the character to tell the stupid world the truth and we did not know just what to do and what made you think we were better than the Asian children you destroyed we your children goddamn you through eternity and ex-President Lyndon Baines Johnson became the M-16 in Calley’s hands and Johnson became the case-hardened blue-steel gun barrel and the gunsight and Johnson-man became the eye the fixed his daughter’s clean head in the sight and Johnson’s whole self became the hideous Calley right forefinger that contracted the trigger and Johnson’s Christian soul became the explosive charge in the shell that went off and propelled the bullet and Johnson became the suddenly heated bullet that coursed the barrel hastily and went the short distance to Linda-Lucy and entered Johnson’s daughter breaking the fair skin of her forehead and drilling through her skull and ex-President Lyndon Baines Johnson was the formidable metal projectile that tunnelled her brain and came out the rear of her skull to spend itself in a burning hut and Lyndon Baines Johnson Commander-in-Chief of the brave fearless American invasion of little Vietnam became the virgin skull of his daughter receiving the overkill and President of the United States of America Johnson was the hot young unfucked blood ejaculating and cascading from her head wounds and the many-many wounds in her unblemished body and limbs and even Christ wept and the good dead wept and we the still living wept and lovely larger-than-life Angela Christ brushed her tears and said let us leave Retribution to Itself and the Fates over whom none hat power and let us go enjoy ourselves in the dear dear UPSTAIRS after the Trials of Final Justice and year the dear soul of LBJ’s daughter disdained her murdering father’s presence piercing her human being and her Catholic pure heart as it was shredded and as the bullets of capitalist democracy flooded her skull and the bones of her head went flying in the air chip by chip plain as day her soul sang faithfully Christ my Lord my God my All how can I love Thee as I ought Christ my Lord my God my All but yea look to the Far Right and do you see Irving R. Kaufman trial judge who used the Espionage Ace of 1917 to impose the death sentence once the kangaroo jury invented guilt for Ethel and Julius Rosenberg yea guilty for murdering the Rosenbergs are the Jew, Judge Kaufman and his homosexual fascist associate the only Roy Cohen and members of the Supreme Court and of Congress and Senate and before your very eyes here in Last Judgement they all mutually feast forever on the electricity-charged decomposed corpses of the immortal lovers Ethel and Julius and the innocent victims of foul murderers throughout all Time roar in Cosmos-shaking unison THOU SHALT NOT KILL. . . .

At the Last Judgement Voce Declamatorio the Court Herald Cried: “Made up histories predict the past and are more or less orderly . . .

but Life obeys no rules or wishes. . . . Life spills kaleidoscopically

casting fateful dice, disdaining time, place, relation and sequence

and anything goes for men and Gods . . . where would chronicle truth

be if we did not have the Chorus.”

THE CHORUS

“Black Hole Christ, grand Madame Death, is supreme Judge of judges. . . . no one, no thing can evade Her . . . the gigantic stygian deity was spewed perfect from the All mind of his Creator majesty the Devil, Metamorpheles . . . sinners, malefactors ancient and modern appear in this theater of ultimate justice willy-nilly, unbidden, capricious and

cartoon-seeming as in night’s dream, ante-chamber of Eternity . . .

Life is a montage that has no boundaries. . . . Life complete is in the

fabulous brain . . . the soul is the guest of the cerebral cosmos . . .

the recalled succubi of slumber, the phantasmagoric dreams are but

the soul’s vortex striving for return to the mother-womb of Chaos . . .

to be happy live into a future without illusions, especially delusions

of the supernatural, epitomized at their worst by after-life fancies

. . . no living thing returns from the dead, not even the so-called Gods . . .

confidentially—Life is the bittersweet hoax . . . the best we can do

is find a peaceful natural retreat, be calm, and enjoy the community

of like-minded friends. . . get on with life to the very lees . . .

Heaven? . . . yea Heaven is a girl’s beautiful gutscented fragrant

thighs!”

In the far distance and from under the blood-dripping horizon in

methodical persistent sandaled stamp came the zealous Buddhists

vibratingly chanting: “We offer gratitude to Gonten, Taishaku, Nitten, Gatten, Myojoten and all the other zenjin, the universal forces within all life, the guardians of Buddhism who night and day protect those who embrace the Gohonzon . . . Nam-myoho renge-kyo . . . we solemnly praise the Lotus Sutra, the inscrutable essence of the universe . . . we sincerely pray for the earliest possible realization of Kosen-rufu throughout the entire world . . . Nam-myoho-renge kyo . . . we pray to erase our negative karma created by our out past causes . . . we pray for our deceased relatives and for all who have passed away since the beginning of time, and especially our enemies . . . lastly, we pray for the Gohozon’s impartial benefits to spread throughout the world and bring peace and happiness to all mankind and the entire universe. . . . Nam myoho-renge-kyo . . .”

At the Last Judgement the court herald declaimed: “Hearken O ye

sands-of-the-seas”-souls tragically cursed with once-life: Only

contrivance-battened Literature hat orderly structure . . . but the

mystic mystery ‘Life’ spills mercurially, casting the fateful dice

disdaining time, place, relation and sequence haphazardly . . . Life

says with loft arrogance, ‘Anything goes!’ . . .

but where would chronicle-truth be if we did not have our catch-

and-counterweight Chorus which chants democratically sans fear: “All is atoms . . . we are molecules, passing moments . . . every drop of

liquid—blood, water, sweat, urine, semen, menstrual juice, drops of waters of the seas and falls and streams and rivers and of raging battle gore, every granule of earth, grain of sand, every degree of heat or cold, every turd of whale, man, woman and mite, every thought wave . . . is a God——Time and Space and the infinite universe fits amply on the point of a pin . . . Oh see, see correct proletarian Angels lead to the dock monkey-face Lieutenant Colonel Hero Merde cover-up for criminal

Teflon President Ham Actor,

alleged descendant of Ham, peeping-Tom son of wino Noah . . . notice interrogating Senators and Congressmen, who are not real men but

pale, supine flat shadows in tawdry mirrors . . .”