Manifesto Distress Code

Manifesto Distress Code

A sidebar to the story of Sil Worthy (qv.)

SOME ADVISE: Getting to the End.

Eat them raw or else inspire hope, now that he’s go-

ing to jail or find alternative routes through the free

world while venturing into a mosquito jungle alone, there

to drown yourself, if all else fails in the signing of the Man-

ifesto Distress Code while repeating the mantra known as

the Boney Sutra, to

the urgent need for

relating to nature.

I could be impris-

oned for one year,

maybe two, and sl-

apped with a fine of

thousands, for that

is how threatened

the human body has

become to the so-

called Prevarication-

ists who warn you not

to assert the fund-

amental f-f-facts

that LSD can probe

ouch floating kin-

etic hot 3JiL lines

Are in-the Falsity of

hat check takers,

or as he, Blo O’Lozoft

say:

“At.”

“This.”

“Time.”

“It.”

“Is.”

“Impossible.”

Article Six:

Forget the Time.

Packed up and

ready to go, I am with

one desire lack-

ing: surcease of

sorrow while waiting for the

sorry machine of my heart—

any heart, fool!—to grant the legend-

ary idiot his one last card slapped

down to take the bourré mega-pot

at last and go himself home a king,

for who would believe you, who would

even try to erase the glowing towers

where you never blessed the chat-

tering voice in your head where st-

ood the Nemesis of Mocking Care.

Or would you speak forgiveness,

would you forget marginal errors,

and reach it on its

own faulty be-

gotten fearful

passageway into

the realm of the one

Blue Buddha who

has some good

propensities to

ADVISE, namely,

but not limited

to, COMPASSION,

while the day is

still upon us so

that the WATERY

ELEMENTS will

not rise up, no matter

what Blo O’Lozoft

him do say about

the airy elements

rising up as enemies,

nor indeed the el-

ements of the Rain-

bow Colors, neither

rising up as foes

along the path

from the Califor-

nia Beaches to the

realm of the Red Buddha which

must be like the commercial mine in

the mountains of Espaniola where

I worked for many years before giving

up the wandering life and settled

down with a tall Mayan woman who

swore her father was ahead of his time

living in Quintana Roo and smuggling

blood rum to the Yankees in Bay St.

John where they made the mistake of

trusting a man named Como who stole

their cargo and sank their boat and

laughed the whole time at the RADIENCE.

Transcribed—with slight emendations from Victor’s original text—by Smith who passed the message on to those who were capable of hearing and taking his advice, Sid Worthy included.

Artwork by R Young, inspired by the writings of Victor.

Photos of fecos at the Limoux Carnival in 1998 taken by DC Young.

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