Ah Pook The Destroyer – by William S. Burroughs. Excerpt from Dead City Radio

Remembering a discussion I had
some time ago with sister Swantje Lichtenstein in Duesseldorf

Am listening again – by shere accident I thought – to one of my old magnetic tapes from the nineties. Sticking my ear and mind into that magnificent piece of literary audio-junk called Dead City Radio by/with William S. Burroughs. One of my favorite albums ever. My dear friend and poet Christian Loidl – today is his Todestag, so I now realize this fact is not so accidental after all – introduced me to this wizzard for the first time in 1995 in his flat in Vienna, Vereinsgasse. Where he – today seven years ago – flew out of the window after having taken an overdose of a rare Siberian mushroom.

“Dead City Radio” is a true gem of cut up poetry put to music in a most sensitive and workable way.
Question: “What are we here for?”
Answer: “We’re all here to go…”
The old magician gives readings from a variety of sources including “Naked Lunch”, “Interzone”, and “The Western Lands”. He invokes his vision in the name of Pan, god of panic; Ah Pook, the destroyer; and even Jesu the Christ. “Invoke” is the proper word, for this is a work of magic – be it black or white. Burroughs is weaving a vision. He wants us to peek through the chinks and see the monsters that lie behind the machinery of control – behind the great shining lies and the bounds of the Prometheus called Homo Sapiens. His objective is no less than a basic disruption of reality itself.
Please try to see the video belonging to the prayer – about (cosmic?) control – you will love it I am sure:
http://digitalphilosophy.wordpress.com/2007/03/08/burroughs%E2%80%99-death-needs-time/

“Question: Who really gave their order?”
“Answer: Control. The ugly American. The instrument of control.”
“Question: If control’s control is absolute, why does Control need to control?”
“Answer: control needs time.”
“Question: is control controlled by our need to control?”
“Answer: Yes.”
“Why does control need humans, as you call them?”
“Wait… wait! Time, or landing. Death needs Time, like a junky needs junk.”
“And what does Death need Time for?”
“The answer is so simple. Death needs Time for what it kills to grow in. For Ah Pook’s sake.”
“Death needs Time for what it kills to grow in. For Ah Pook’s sweet sake? You stupid vulgar greedy ugly American death-sucker!”

Zjivili to brother Chris out there in the realm of Ah Pook’s universe of Time.

Serge

The old magician with the incomparable creeky voice, gives and sometimes sings his ultimately grim and bitter spiritual readings from a variety of sources including “Naked Lunch”, “Interzone”, and “The Western Lands”. He invokes his vision in the name of Pan, god of panic; Ah Pook, the destroyer; and even Jesu the Christ. “Invoke” is the proper word, for this is a work of magic – be it black or white. Burroughs is weaving a vision. He wants us to peek through the chinks and see the monsters that lie behind the machinery of control – behind the great shining lies and the bounds of the Prometheus called Homo Sapiens. His objective is no less than a basic disruption of reality itself. If – somehow – humans would be prepared to rid themselves of their condition humaine for the benefit of a cosmic one, this would not necessarily make our universe a warmer and more pleasant place to find our destiny. Which is? To perish, and melt back into the pot that is permanently boiling on the stove of Ah-Pooks kitchen. What else to do but to cling on to the planetary lifeboats that were assigned to us by some cruel captain who likes to have it rough amidst the violent torrents of Time. If we want to get rid of the many biological boundaries and burdens of our human condition, we shall have to prepare for completely new ways of travelling. We shall have to be prepared to embark on a trans-dimensional voyage through unknown psysical realms, with the velocity of a gravitationless soul. What are we here for? We are here to go! We are here to go on a trip – peeking through tiny holes in the fence that marks the limit of our universe. We have to dive and dig deep, travel far and persist in our uncompromising destiny. So that finally we can find a way of opening up the protecting clamshell in which – at its very origin – our relentlessly self-sufficient galaxy was laid to grow. Like an oyster or a mussle, feeding upon the weak and salty glaze of its atomic fluidum.

1 reactie

  1. So the Pookvid was removed due 2 copyrightass. Who needs Control?


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