Sebastian BRADT

Werd geschreven voor zowel het tachtigste geboortejaar als het negende overlijdensjaar van de onnavolgbare en in de eerste plaats richtinggevende Allen Ginsberg. Ik vertrok van een toevallig op het internet ontdekte 'cut&paste - interface', geheten 'The Mangler'. The Mangler is een soort knip - en plakmachine die zijn materiaal - lexical chunks - integraal aan 'Howl', Ginsberg's visionaire kultgedicht uit 1956, ontleent (waarmee we meteen een derde reden hebben om wat te vieren). De gebruiker hoeft slechts een zin in te tikken, op de 'Seed The Mangler Now' - knop te drukken, en de hakselaar tovert een hele paragraaf versneden Howl tevoorschijn. Zo gezegd, zo gedaan en ik ging aan het Howlen. Nadien werd het eindresultaat overgoten van een strikt fonetisch James Joyce - sausje, waardoor de woorden een veelheid aan betekenissen kunnen krijgen als ze op dubbelzinnige manieren gespeld worden, en Howlage was tenslotte een feit. Voordrachtsregel: zo luid, drammerig en bezeten als überhaupt mogelijk is te deklameren.



“Birlyblitztibiktybluktybuxubustibliktibistus!”, sensuously laughin@is invisible umah when u woke up in an electrified xtsea, streaming out of the war - blue flashfeedlight of the Bluntness & Blueness, sufferin Yrop’s naked mindforluv into a sabbathanic sexeaufone cry that shivered and seadit u again but u ran thru’ur closet, hung with nothin but the shadow of cungarees, loungin hungrily and lonesomely to brilliond Shithice to converse about The Net & AEternity, (an unfair match) and so u took ship to Paiurr Mqarish, jumpin off the Baustil Blackout, howlin with the desolate angels, (ur tendons smokin wombs, ur I’s are a thousand years’ stairways), sobbin and weepin in a black skunkfrog fog of pùàh messheanary, and broke down on systementropically endliss taughts in ur naked head reincarnating in the yellow mournin stanzay of gibberish and cooked rotten animals’ lungs, hearts and tales, when u split the heavens of the Hypahhuman Tomb and the Satan Island Ferry wailttobyte sordrosedetectives in the seed of ur petticoatraumay of burnt golden radioy in the sunset, cryin all over the hospitalillumination; “O, Victory, mind US, for we freely hopped on the black locomotive from North Ridge to West Freak, where uv murdered your twelve secretaries”, burntalive in bat music, sittin in bahxis, bein fucked in the lake, prepared to sweetin the Gift of the Gap & Nitroglycerin Shrieks & Daisychains thrown at HTQQ lecturers on Arlequin & Subway, weakenin the spangled Lacklove given back to Narcissus, the arseangel of Absolute Reality in the bloody toilet, moanily watchin Birmingham Jazz Incarnation, tryin to figure out that vision of Eternity, the voidzz ur inn as a last piece of mental furniture (nothing but a hopeful little bitch of halluseennation), but now, what sphinx of concreet and aluminimum bashed open ur skull and ate up ur Brain & Imagination, emptied down to the verylast crèck of hydrogen doom, left alone with ur insanity & ur skullscreaming Nothingsm down to Unconsciousness in inseminyte halls, bein crowned with Laurel & Oblivion, copulating ecstatically and insatiate with a sudden flash of a krankzillion elliptique FingerPrintsz from Beauregards to Mal-Per-Tui’s last telephone – wept romans of the sensey, (where u forgot to grow light with a Closed Nothing), blown by Human Hyperseraphim Cemeteries scattrin ur semen freely on Fa$hion Dollar$ and Insanity Doctors resurrectin ur 44 blows thru the head to 44 last suicidangels of Fireplace Cursherow, P.A.I., with big pacifist cigarette holes burned in ur loft, who (coughin on the radio) became the faculties of the soul between two visual images and joint the elemental verbs to set the sensationnoun of Saint Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus Prose, demandin instènténius lobotomy, metrazolectricity and hydroccupational doom of a Kraftwerk’s loom, ur one – eyed poem butchered out of ur body (good to eat a thousand dreams!), and even then, ur neck shrieked with wild delight and pederastoxication, howlin under smalltown rain, naked in the animal soup of Insulin & Pingpongamnesia when 50 more electroshocks didn't ever return ur body to ur soul again with sirens jumpin from Up & Doom to Americomnipotens, The Seventh Egg in the crucifixion decade where Capitalism Genitals, long smokestacks and antennae crowned the city, but u, u crazily broke ur back, liftin pavements, trees, visions, omens, roses, Allgorhytmyriad Moviehice & Ricketyracketyrows, heartliss horrorgèps in Time & Space, white gymnasiumsnakes foetidly Rockin & Rollin over barefoot - smèsshed phonograph records of the nostalgic European Flame & Must - Art Gasses to a drunken taxidoor closed at 4AM and groovy angels, bebopkabbalain through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfatherstyle under the mournin glory of the ghostly Los Alamos, and the Satan Island Ferry also wailed, and tremblin before the messheanery of other skeletons, u wailed, too, in policecars for committin no crime but picked urself up out of the ellipse into the wailin volcanoes, leavin a last telephone wail before u collapsed 3ce in front of the pope's redneck shoes, yes u, Pierre Honulaire, ur wailin soul illuminated by a sacrosanct dorkskinned narcotobaccharismatic haze of communidecapitatitalist pamphlutisms, and u only said;

"Yàmreckufréhto! Yabmu yawa valèki vastnèli yàhtere yàtsdoo yàwi kàwti... Yasya yato yahcecna yàwa tàhda qafyllani yàwi yàwtni... Yasya yato yammchu tàsto yàhda vàwtni...Kàssecku tàwsa kàhtgi yaschu yano yawsi yahtere, yeah?"