| fiction |
milk volume one |
A Note
-for Larry Sawyer
My books are an account of my apprenticeship to a master practitioner: Brion Gysin. In this account
I am attempting to tell a truth that transcends so-called fact. "A deceit in the service of truth," in
the words of the Amazonian shaman Don Juan Tuesta (as quoted by Cesar Calvo, The Three Halves
of Ino Moxo). "Fact" is right where you are now. Is it possible to bring a modicum of truth into such
a situation? We'd all better hope so. I'm not presenting what "really happened," "factually,"
because I don't know. In fact, I don't know if anything happened at all. Do you? Trying to get at The
Facts leads inevitably to the Fact that there are no such facts to get at.
TW: "And what are we going to do now, whenever or never?"
BG: "As I would paint, so the Spirit speaks."
And so I wrote.
from Perilous Passage
My mind felt suddenly very clear and I saw Bedaya sitting at his table, his face blurred, fuzzy like an
old Comte...the unmistakable voice...
"What, you never heard of her contact with the sort of people who later became the CIA? She had
gone into trance and located the captain of the British dirigible the R-101..."
"The dirigible is on fire, we are going down!"
"And indeed the R-101 did crash...all the fault of those contractors just typical of her, she was
always trying to make the Air Ministry...daily 24-hour-a-day game next day the news came that it had
crashed naturally being one up on your psychic opponent someplace between Belgium and France..."
"I have denoted a crossroads to do something absolutely terrible!"
"She'd done her trick and made her effect."
"She went before the Psychic Ten about this and she'd cleared her name, she'd gone to Vienna
where her extra personalities immediately took one sweeping glance at my bare knees and my kilt...and
asked the usual questions...She had these spirit guides one of which was a 16th century charming young
man in skirts, Persian at the court of Shah Jehan or something..."
"Couldn't you both come around to dinner?"
I saw her through his eyes, staring intently...
"During your Japanese translation work at the receiving and transmitting center you saw those
documents...Pearl Harbor, Hiroshima...did you translate that message traffic? Where are your copies? What
are your intentions? You cannot rewrite or blackmail history..."
And his voice faded, spilling sun and French windows out of the room spilling the color of roses
down on the stone garden of an empty canvas, early morning, and I am in the garden of a charming country
house, up against the crumbling brick wall, shielded from the sun and French windows of the house by an
arch of roses down on the stone making love to a spirit form I am conjuring kissing the body my head
between the legs the soft hair of the thighs caressing my face...until the figure disappeared...(it was you).
I walked back to the house dressed only in a blanket wrapped around me to the entrance there was
mail by the door several packages I looked at them urgently difficult to see, nothing for me, there was a note
saying all mail will be delivered directly to the guest rooms.
Into the house holding onto my blanket. Facility, Duchess of Wind, was there and reminding me that
this young Arab disciple is arriving any minute and in he walked, unattractive very slippery dishonest face.
She took over and we were seating ourselves on cushions him bringing out a tape recorder and the rest of
his equipment as if we'd arranged for an interview. Well, she probably had. I felt uncomfortable my blanket
kept slipping off he was having trouble with his equipment...
The duchess was talking in hushed tones in Arabic with some other visitors, apparently about him,
we were all seated on cushions on the floor, inside in whispers. She turned to me-
"I see what you mean about disciples" -then she is saying something like "I first met Matilda
through Mata Hari-"
The Arabs were all sharply dressed in expensive silk suits, jewelry, thin mustaches, kinky black hair
receding, one got up and presented me with a large packet, obviously containing clothing. He was most
impressed with me when we met he was not so sure in the car later, but now everything is fine, I am most
profound. I thanked him and took the package. Inside was a beautiful grey-brown djellabah-like duffel coat,
he was talking about the material- "It is not exactly wool." -I put it on and walked outside into the Arab
courtyard walking around pulling the hood up over my head and down over my eyes shading them from the
sun feeling invisible. By now it was mid-afternoon.
I pulled the hood back and the Arabs were outside too prostrating themselves on small mats jewelry
glittering. There was another item of clothing with the great coat a jacket that didn't look so great but it
seemed to have disappeared and I mentioned it to this disciple and he immediately went over to one of the
others and tapped him on the shoulder, tapping him some more as the man continued his devout business
ignoring him. Appalled, I walked quickly back to the house away from all this through a corridor where
clothes were hanging I rummaged through a few to find this jacket. There was steam everywhere. A
haman. Suddenly Bedaya appears, naked, in some confusion, as if lost. I am confused, vexed and anxious.
What on earth is this all about?
"Somebody died today, I can feel it."
"Yes," I said, trying to ask questions, suddenly totally lost- "What is happening?" -But he gave
me just a few quick words and bounded into the steamy haman. He is still in action.
It is darker, Arab cops are appearing pushing people around muttering about dark practices in the
steam.
I am frightened.
Bedaya said to me: "People are shit, my dear."
Typical of him, I thought. He didn't repeat the Old Man's dictum, "Some people are shit," he said
"People are shit."
When Bedaya referred to man as The Bad Animal I didn't understand- "What is a good
animal?"
Now I do.
So Mr. Green, for example, simply treats people as they are: Shit.
He knows. He is shit and so are they. What is his game? To maintain false consciousness. To keep
everybody right here where they belong. In the shit.
Bedaya gave me many warnings... "You have no idea what it is you're getting into."
But I knew pretty well what it was that I was getting out of...And since I had no choice anyway.
I knew the call would come. 4 A.M. A hoarse whispering voice.
"I've seen Bedaya. I've talked to him..."
"Yes? Who is this?"
"You know who it is."
"I do?"
"Yes. I'm in Morocco. Somebody just tried to kill me..."
"They tried to kill you..."
"Yes." A terrible crackling...
"Who is this?" The voice:
"You know who it is...very weak..."
A terrible machine gun crackling through the wires the voice still croaking...
"The horror...the pain..."
"I can't hear you, there's an awful noise. How did this happen?"
"You hear me now?"
"Yes...what happened?"
"They tried to kill me."
"Who did?"
A terrible crackling crashing sound, the voice very weak...
"I can't hear you."
"You hear me now?" crackling through the wires...
"Yes, I hear that...and who is this?"
"You know..."
"No, the line is terrible. You're in Morocco?"
"Yes." ...crackling, crashing...
"You hear me now?"
"Yes."
"It's J."
"Okay J., what did Bedaya say to you?"
"He spoke about the Word...You hear me now?"
"Yes...and when was this?"
The voice, very weak, another sort of time...
"Two nights ago..."
"In the evening?"
"Yes."
"And then they tried to kill you?"
Crashing crackling...
"Yes."
A long silence...crackling...
"You hear me now?"
"Yes."
"How do we escape from Time...?"
"Uh...I suppose we can escape from Time anytime if we wish. It depends on what you mean by
Time...Bedaya is obviously in another sort of time..."
"But how do you handle it, the horror, the pain...?"
Crashing, crackling...
"You hear me now?"
"Yes...I saw Bedaya at about the same time. He was naked, his body was whole again. He seemed
rather lost and confused and that unnerved me. I tried to ask him questions but I couldn't pick up the
answers. He gave me a few quick words and then dived away into a haman. So he's still in action.
"You hear me now?"
"Yes."
"How about Hassan i Sabbah's program?"
"Well...I think it's still in operation...You know we intend to continue by means of the Third Mind..."
"Yes." The voice becoming clearer...
"I can hear you now." The hoarse crackling medium voice...
"Yes. Why is there so much opposition?"
"It's inevitable, isn't it...?"
"So much opposition...to you..."
"Yes?"
"You know that?"
"I can imagine."
"I don't understand that."
"No...?"
"Do you know where it comes from?"
"No..."
"You know the other J...? You know who I mean?"
"Yes."
"You know he controls the Old Man...?"
"Yes."
"You know who he works for...?"
"..."
"You hear me now?"
"Yes."
"You know who he works for...?"
"I can imagine...the company, you mean?"
"Yes...You hear me now?"
"Yes."
"You have to be very careful. You know that."
"Yes..."
"Do you think I'm crazy?"
"No. Is that what I'm supposed to think?"
"No."
"You just sound very weak and unnerved..."
"I intend to protect you."
"I think I need it."
"Yes. I want you to take this number. I'm going to give you this..."
Crashing, crackling...
"...number for you to call when it becomes necessary."
"Just a minute."
I dragged myself up and found a pen.
"Okay. Is this a London number?"
"Yes."
"And in what circumstances should I call it?"
"You'll know when. Bedaya will tell you..."
"Okay, I've got it..."
"Okay..." silence
"Take care, J."
Silence a click and the phone went dead.