averted  eyes  and  the  cemetery   in  the
middle  of  town  (every   town  in   Sweden  seems   to  be
built  around  a  cemetery),  and  nothing  to  do   in  the
afternoon,  not  a bar  not a  movie and  I blasted  my last
stick of Tangier tea and I said, "K.E. let's get  right back
on that ferry."
  But there is no  drag like  U.S. drag.  You can't  see it,
you  don't  know  where  it  comes from.  Take one  of those
cocktail  lounges  at  the  end  of  a subdivision  street --
every  block  of  houses  has  its  own  bar  and  drugstore
and market and liquorstore. You walk in and it hits you.
But where does it come from?
  Not the bartender, not the  customers, nor  the cream-
colored  plastic rounding  the bar  stools, nor  the dim
neon. Not even the TV.
  And our habits build  up with  the drag,  like cocaine
will build  you up  staying ahead  of the  C bring-down.
And the junk was running low.  So there  we are  in this
no-horse  town  strictly from  cough syrup.  And vomited
up  the  syrup  and drove  on and  on, cold  spring wind
whistling  through  that old  heap around  our shivering
sick sweating bodies and the cold  you always  come down
with when the junk runs  out of  you.... On  through the
peeled landscape, dead armadillos in  the road  and vul-
tures  over the  swamp and  cypress stumps.  Motels with
beaverboard walls, gas heater, thin pink blankets.
  Itinerant  short  con  and carny  hyp men  have burned
down the croakers of Texas....
  And no one  in his  right mind  would hit  a Louisiana
croaker. State Junk Law.
  Came at last  to Houston  where I  know a  druggist. I
haven't been there  in five  years but  he looks  up and
makes me with  one quick  look and  just nods  and says:
"Wait over at the counter...."
  So I sit down and drink a  cup of  coffee and  after a
while he comes  and sits  beside me  and says,  "What do
you want?"
  "A quart of PG and a hundred nembies."
  He nods, "Come back in half an hour."
  So  when  I  come  back  he  hands  me  a  package and
says, "That's fifteen dollars.... Be careful."
  Shooting  PG  is  a  terrible hassle,  you have  to burn
out the  alcohol first,  then freeze  out the  camphor and
draw  this  brown  liquid  off  with a  dropper --  have to
shoot it in the vein or  you get  an abscess,  and usually
end  up  with  an abscess  no matter  where you  shoot it.
Best deal is to drink it  with goof  balls.... So  we pour
it  in  a  Pernod bottle  and start  for New  Orleans past
iridescent  lakes and  orange gas  flares, and  swamps and
garbage  heaps,  alligators  crawling  around   in  broken
bottles  and  tin  cans,  neon  arabesques of  motels, ma-
rooned  pimps  scream  obscenities  at  passing  cars from
islands of rubbish....
  New   Orleans  is   a  dead   museum.  We   walk  around
Exchange  Place  breathing  PG  and  find  The  Man  right
away. It's a  small place  and the  fuzz always  knows who
is pushing so he figures what the hell does it  matter and
sells  to  anybody.  We stock  up on  H and  backtrack for
Mexico.
  Back  through  Lake  Charles  and the  dead slot-machine
country, south end of Texas, nigger-killing  sheriffs look
us  over  and check  the car  papers. Something  falls off
you  when  you  cross  the  border  into Mexico,  and sud-
denly  the landscape  hits you  straight with  nothing be-
tween  you  and  it,  desert  and mountains  and vultures;
little wheeling specks and  others so  close you  can hear
wings  cut  the  air  (a  dry  husking  sound),  and  when
they spot something they pour  out of  the blue  sky, that
shattering  bloody  blue sky  of Mexico,  down in  a black
funnel....  Drove  all  night,  came  at  dawn  to  a warm
misty  place,  barking  dogs  and  the  sound  of  running
water.
  "Thomas and Charlie," I said.
  "What?"
  "That's  the  name of  this town.  Sea level.  %We climb
straight up from  here ten  thousand feet."  I took  a fix
and  went  to  sleep  in  the  back seat.  She was  a good
driver.  You  can  tell  as  soon  as someone  touches the
wheel.
  Mexico  City  where  Lupita  sits  like  an  Aztec Earth
Goddess doling out her little papers of lousy shit.
"Selling  is  more of  a habit  than using,"  Lupita says.
Nonusing  pushers  have  a contact  habit, and  that's one
you  can't  kick.  Agents  get  it  too. Take  Bradley the
Buyer.  Best  narcotics  agent  in  the  industry.  Anyone
would  make  him  for junk.  (Note: Make  in the  sense of
dig or size up. ) I mean he can  walk up  to a  pusher and
score direct. He is  so anonymous,  grey and  spectral the
pusher  don't  remember  him  afterwards.  So   he  twists
one after the other....
  Well  the  Buyer  comes  to  look  more  and  more  like
a junky. He can't  drink. He  can't get  it up.  His teeth
fall out. (Like  pregnant women  lose their  teeth feeding
the stranger, junkies lose their yellow fangs  feeding the
monkey.  )  He is  all the  time sucking  on a  candy bar.
Baby ъuths he digs special. "It really disgust you  to see
the  Buyer sucking  on them  candy bars  so nasty,"  a cop
says.
  The  Buyer  takes  on   an  ominous   grey-green  color.
Fact is his  body is  making its  own junk  or equivalent.
The  Buyer  has  a  steady  connection.  A Man  Within you
might say, Or so he thinks. "I'll just set in my room," he
says. "Fuck 'em all. Squares on both sides. I am  the only
complete man in the industry."
  But  a  yen  comes  on  him  like  a  great  black  wind
through  the   bones.  So   the  Buyer   hunts  up   a  young
junky and gives him a paper to make it.
  "Oh  all  right,"  the  boy  says.  "So  what  you  want to
make?"
  "I just want to rub up against you and get fixed."
  "Ugh...  Well  all  right....  But  why  cancha   just  get
physical like a human?"
  Later  the  boy  is  sitting  in  a  Waldorf with  two col-
leagues  dunking  pound  cake.  "Most  distasteful   thing  I
ever  stand  still  for,"  he  says. "Some  way he  make him-
self all soft like a blob of jelly and surround me  so nasty.
Then  he  gets  wet  all  over  like with  green slime.  So I
guess  he  come  to  some  kinda  awful  climax....   I  come
near  wigging  with  that  green  stuff all  over me,  and he
stink like a old rotten cantaloupe."
  "Well it's still an easy score."
  The  boy  sighed  resignedly;  "Yes,   I  guess   you  can
get  used  to  anything.  I've  got  a  meet  with  him again
tomorrow."
  The  Buyer's   habit  keeps   getting  heavier.   He  needs
a  recharged  every  half  hour.  Sometimes  he   cruises  the
precincts  and  bribes  the  turnkey  to  let  him in  with a
cell  of  junkies.  It  get  to  where  no amount  of contact
will  fix  him.  At  this  point  he  receives a  summons from
the District Supervisor:
  "Bradley,  your  conduct  has  given rise  to rumors  -- and
I  hope  for  your  sake  they  are  no more  than that  -- so
unspeakably   distasteful  that...   I  mean   Caesar's  wife
...hrump...   that   is,   the   Department  must   be  above
suspicion...   certainly   above   such  suspicions   as  you
have  seemingly   aroused.  You   are  lowering   the  entire
tone  of  the  industry.  We are  prepared to  accept your
immediate resignation."
  The  Buyer  throws  himself  on  the  ground  and crawls
over  to  the  D.S.  "No, Boss  Man, no...  The Department
is my very lifeline."
  He kisses the D.S.'s hand thrusting his fingers into his
mouth  (the  D.S.  must  feel  his  toothless  gums)  com-
plaining he has  lost his  teeth "inna  thervith." "Please
Boss Man. I'll  wipe your  ass, I'll  wash out  your dirty
condoms,  I'll  polish  your  shoes  with  the  oil  on my
nose....
  "ъeally, this is  most distasteful11  Have you  no pride?
I must tell you I feel a distinct revulsion. I  mean there
is something, well, rotten about you,  and you  smell like
a  compost  heap."  He  put  a  scented   handkerchief  in
front of his face. "I must ask you to leave this  office at
once.
  "I'll do  anything, Boss,  anything." His  ravaged green
face splits in a horrible smile.  "I'm still  young, Boss,
and I'm pretty strong when I get my blood up."
  The  D.S. retches  into his  handkerchief and  points to
the door with  a limp  hand. The  Buyer stands  up looking
at  the  D.S.  dreamily.  His  body begins  to dip  like a
dowser's wand. He Bows forward....
  "No! No!" screams the D.S.
  "Schlup...  schlup  schlup."  An  hour  later  they find
the Buyer on the  nod in  the D.S.'s  chair. The  D.S. has
disappeared without a trace.
  The  Judge:  "Everything  indicates  that  you  have, in
some  unspeakable  manner   uh...  assimilated   the  Dis-
trict Supervisor. Unfortunately there is no proof. I would
recommend  that   you  be   confined  or   more  accurately
contained  in  some  institution,  but I  know of  no place
suitable  for  a man  of your  caliber. I  must reluctantly
order your release."
  "That  one  should  stand  in  an  aquarium,"   says  the
arresting officer.
  The  Buyer  spreads   terror  throughout   the  industry.
Junkies  and  agents  disappear.  Like  a  vampire  bat  he
gives  off  a  narcotic  effluvium, a  dank green  mist that
anesthetizes his victims and renders  them helpless  in his
enveloping  presence.  And  once  he  has  scored  he holes
up for several days like a gorged boa  constrictor. Finally
he is caught  in the  act of  digesting the  Narcotics Com-
missioner and destroyed with  a flame  thrower --  the court
of inquiry ruling that  such means  were justified  in that
the  Buyer  had  lost  his  human  citizenship and  was, in
consequence,  a  creature  without  species  and  a  menace
to the narcotics industry on all levels.

  In  Mexico  the  gimmick is  to find  a local  junky with
a  government  script  whereby they  are allowed  a certain
quantity  every  month.  Our  Man  was  Old  Ike   who  had
spent most of his life in the States.
  "I was traveling with Irene Kelly and  her was  a sport-
ing  woman.  In  Butte,  state  of  Montana,  she  gets the
coke  horrors  and  run  through  the  hotel  screaming Chi-
nese  coppers  chase her  with meat  cleavers. I  knew this
cop in  Chicago sniff  coke used  to come  in form  of cry-
stals, blue  crystals. So  he go  nuts and  start screaming
the  Federals  is  after him  and run  down this  alley and
stick his head in the garbage  can. And  I said,  'What you
think you are doing?' and he  say, 'Get  away or  I shoot
you. I got myself hid good.'"
  We are  getting some  C on  ъX at  this time.  Shoot it
in the mainline, son. You  can smell  it going  in, clean
and cold  in your  nose and  throat then  a rush  of pure
pleasure  right  through  the brain  lighting up  those C
connections. Your head shatters in white  explosions. Ten
minutes  later  you  want another  shot... you  will walk
across town for another shot. But if you can't  score for
C you eat, sleep and forget about it.
  This is a yen of the brain alone, a need  without feel-
ing  and  without  body,  earthbound  ghost  need, rancid
ectoplasm swept out by  an old  junky coughing  and spit-
ting in the sick morning.
  One  morning you  wake up  and take  a speed  ball, and
feel  bugs  under your  skin. 1890  cops with  black mus-
taches block the doors  and lean  in through  the windows
snarling  their  lips  back from  blue and  bold embossed
badges.  Junkies  march  through  the  room  singing  the
Moslem  Funeral  Song,  bear  the  body  of  Bill  Gains,
stigmata  of  his  needle  wounds glow  with a  soft blue
flame.  Purposeful schizophrenic  detectives sniff  at your
chamber pot.
  It's the coke horrors.... Sit back and play it cool and
shoot in plenty of that GI M.
  Day of the Dead:  I got  the chucks  and ate  my little
Willy's sugar skull. He  cried and  I had  to go  out for
another.  Walked  past  the  cocktail  lounge  where they
blasted the Jai Lai bookie.

  In  Cuernavaca  or  was  it  Taxco?  Jane meets  a pimp
trombone player and disappears in a  cloud of  tea smoke.
The pimp  is one  of these  vibration and  dietary artists
--  which  is  a  means  he  degrades  the  female  sex  by
forcing his chicks to swallow all this  shit. He  was con-
tinually enlarging his theories... he  would quiz  a chick
and threaten  to walk  out if  she hadn't  memorized every
nuance  of  his  latest  assault  on  logic and  the human
image.
  "Now, baby.  I got  it here  to give.  But if  you won't
receive it there's just nothing I can do."
  He was a ritual  tea smoker  and very  puritanical about
junk  the  way  some  teaheads  are.  He  claimed  tea put
him  in  touch  with supra  blue gravitational  fields. He
had  ideas  on  every  subject:  what  kind  of  underwear
was  healthy,  when  to  drink  water,  and  how  to  wipe
your  ass. He  had a  shiny red  face and  great spreading
smooth nose, little red eyes  that lit  up when  he looked
at  a  chick  and  went  out  when  he looked  at anything
else.  His  shoulders  were   very  broad   and  suggested
deformity. He acted as if  other men  did not  exist, con-
veying his restaurant and store  orders to  male personnel
through  a  female  intermediary.  And  no  Man  ever  in-
vaded his blighted, secret place.
  So  he  is  putting down  junk and  coming on  with tea.
I  take  three  drags,  Jane  looked at  him and  her flesh
crystallized. I leaped up screaming "I got the  fear" and
ran out of the house. Drank a beer in a  little restaurant
-- mosaic  bar and  soccer scores  and bullfight  posters --
and waited for the bus to town.
  A year later in Tangier I heard she was dead.
B E N W A Y

So  I  am  assigned  to  engage  the  services  of Doctor
Benway for Islam Inc.
Dr.  Benway  had  been  called  in  as  advisor   to  the
Freeland ъepublic, a place  given over  to free  love and
continual bathing.  The citizens  are well  adjusted, co-
operatives, honest, tolerant and above all clean. But the
invoking  of  Benway  indicates  all  is not  well behind
that  hygienic  facade:  Benway  is  a   manipulator  and
coordinator of symbol  systems, an  expert on  all phases
of interrogation,  brainwashing and  control. I  have not
seen  Benway  since  his  precipitate departure  from An-
nexia,  where  his  assignment   had  been   T.D.--  Total
Demoralization. Benway's  first act  was to  abolish con-
centration camps, mass arrest  and, except  under certain
limited and special circumstances, the use of torture.
"I  deplore brutality,"  he said.  "It's not  efficient. On
the other hand, prolonged  mistreatment, short  of physi-
cal  violence,  gives rise,  when skillfully  applied, to
anxiety and a feeling of  special guilt.  A few  rules or
rather guiding principles are  to be  borne in  mind. The
subject must not realize that the  mistreatment is  a de-
liberate attack of  an anti-human  enemy on  his personal
identity. He must be made  to feel  that he  deserves any
treatment he receives because  there is  something (never
specified)  horribly wrong  with him.  The naked  need of
the  control  addicts  must  be  decently  covered  by an
arbitrary and intricate bureaucracy  so that  the subject
cannot contact his enemy direct."
Every  citizen  of  Annexia  was  required  to  apply for
and carry on his person  at all  times a  whole portfolio
of  documents.  Citizens  were  subject  to  be   stopped  in
the  street  at  any  time;  and the  Examiner, who  might be
in plain  clothes, in  various uniforms,  often in  a bathing
suit  or  pyjamas,  sometimes  stark   naked  except   for  a
badge  pinned  to  his  left  nipple,  after   checking  each
paper,  would   stamp  it.   On  subsequent   inspection  the
citizen   was   required   to   show  the   properly  entered
stamps  of  the  last  inspection.  The  Examiner,   when  he
stopped  a  large  group,  would   only  examine   and  stamp
the  cards  of  a  few.  The  others  were  then  subject  to
arrest  because  their  cards  were  not   properly  stamped.
Arrest  meant  "provisional  detention";  that is,  the pris-
oner  would  be  released  if  and  when  his   Affidavit  of
Explanation,   properly   signed   and   stamped,   was   ap-
proved  by  the  Assistant  Arbiter  of  Explanations.  Since
this  official  hardly  ever  came  to   his  o%office,   and  the
A%fidavit  of  Explanation  had  to  be  presented  in  person,
the  explainers  spent  weeks   and  months   waiting  around
in unheated offices with no chairs and no toilet facilities.
    Documents  issued  in  vanishing   ink  faded   into  old
pawn  tickets.  New   documents  were   constantly  required.
The  citizens  rushed  from  one  bureau  to  another   in  a
frenzied attempt to meet impossible deadlines.
    All  benches were  removed from  the city,  all fountains
turned  off, all  flowers and  trees destroyed.  Huge electric
buzzers  on  the  top  of   every  apartment   house  (every-
one  lived  in  apartments)  rang  the  quarter  hour.  Often
the  vibrations  would  throw  people  out  of  bed.  Search-
lights  played  over  the   town  all   night  (no   one  was
permitted to use shades, curtains, shutters or blinds).
    No  one  ever  looked  at  anyone  else  because  of  the
strict  law  against  importuning,  with  or  without  verbal
approach,  anyone  for any  purpose, sexual  or otherwise.
All  cafes  and  bars  were closed.  Liquor could  only be
obtained  with  a special  permit, and  the liquor  so ob-
tained could not be  sold or  given or  in any  way trans-
ferred to  anyone else,  and the  presence of  anyone else
in  the  room  was  considered  prima  facie  evidence  of
conspiracy to transfer liquor.
  No one was permitted to  bolt his  door, and  the police
had  pass  keys  to  every room  in the  city. Accompanied
by  a  mentalist  they  rush  into someone's  quarters and
start "looking for it."
  The   mentalist   guides  them   to  whatever   the  man
wishes  to hide:  a tube  of vaseline,  an enema,  a hand-
kerchief with come  on it,  a weapon,  unlicensed alcohol.
And  they  always  submitted  the  suspect  to   the  most
humiliating  search  of  his  naked  person on  which they
make  sneering  and  derogatory  comments.  Many  a latent
homosexual  was  carried  out   in  a   straitjacket  when
they planted vaseline in his  ass. Or  they pounce  on any
object. A pen wiper or a shoe tree.
  "And what is this supposed to be for?"
  "It's a pen wiper."
  "A pen wiper, he says."
  "I've heard everything now."
  "I guess this is all we need. Come on, you."
  After  a  few  months  of this  the citizens  cowered in
corners like neurotic cats.
  Of  course  the   Annexia  police   processed  suspected
agents, saboteurs  and political  deviants on  an assembly
line basis. As regards the interrogation of suspects, Ben-
way has this to say:
  "While  in general  I avoid  the use  of torture-torture
locates   the   opponent   and   mobilizes  resistance-the
threat of torture is useful to induce  in the  subject the
appropriate feeling of helplessness  and gratitude  to the
interrogator for withholding  it. And  torture can  be em-
ployed  to  advantage  as  a penalty  when the  subject is
far  enough  along  with the  treatment to  accept punish-
ment  as  deserved. To  this end  I devised  several forms
of   disciplinary   procedure.  One   was  known   as  The
Switchboard.  Electric  drills  that can  be turned  on at
any  time  are  clamped against  the subject's  teeth; and
he is instructed to operate  an arbitrary  switchboard, to
put certain connections in certain sockets in  response to
bells  and  lights.  Every  time  he  makes a  mistake the
drills are turned on for twenty