into the  casita and
starts plucking at his mustache.

  They  just  bring  so-called  lunch....   A  hard-boiled
egg with the  shell of  revealing an  object like  I never
seen  it  before.... A  very small  egg of  a yellow-brown
color...  Perhaps  laid   by  the   duck-billed  platypus.
The  orange  contained  a  huge   worm  and   very  little
else.... He really got there firstest with  the mostest....
In  Egypt  is  a  worm  gets into  your kidneys  and grows
to  an  enormous  size.  Ultimately the  kidney is  just a
thin  shell  around  the  worm.  Intrepid  gourmets esteem
the  flesh  of  The  Worm above  all other  delicacies. It
is  said  to  be  unspeakably  toothsome...,  An Interzone
coroner  known  as  Autopsy  Ahmed  made  a  fortune traf-
ficking The Worm.
  The  French  school   is  opposite   my  window   and  I
dig  the  boys  with my  eight-power field  glasses.... So
close  I  could  reach  out and  touch them....  They wear
shorts....  I  can  see  the  goose-pimples on  their legs
in  the  cold  Spring  morning....  I  project  myself out
through the glasses and across the street, a ghost  in the
morning sunlight, torn with disembodied lust.
  Did  I  ever tell  you about  the time  Marv and  me pay
two  Arab  kids  sixty  cents  to  watch  them  screw each
other? So I ask Marv, "Do you think they will do it?"
  And he says, "I think so. They are hungry."
  And I say, "That's the way I like to see them."
  Makes  me  feel  sorta like  a dirty  old man  but, "Son
cosas de la vida,"  as Soberba  de la  Flor said  when the
fuzz upbraids him for  blasting this  cunt and  taking the
dead body to the Bar 0 Motel and fucking it....
  "She  play  hard  to  get already,"  he say...  "I don't
hafta  take  that  sound."  (Soberba  de  la  Flor  was  a
Mexican  criminal  convict  of several  rather pointless
murders. )

  The  lavatory  has  been locked  for three  hours solid.
...I think they are using it for an operating room....
  NUъSE: "I can't find her pulse, doctor."
  Dъ.  BENWAY:  "Maybe  she  got  it  up  her   snatch  in
a finger stall."
  NUъSE: "Adrenalin, doctor?"
  Dъ..  BENWAY:  "The  night  porter  shot  it  all  up for
kicks."  He  looks  around  and  picks  up  one  of  those
rubber vacuum  cups at  the end  of a  stick they  use to
unstop  toilets....  He   advances  on   the  patient....
"Make  an  incision, Doctor  Limpf," he  says to  his ap-
palled assistant.... "I'm going to massage the heart."
  Dr.  Limpf  shrugs  and begins  the incision.  Dr. Ben-
way  washes  the  suction  cup by  swishing it  around in
the toilet-bowl....
  NUъSE: "Shouldn't it be sterilized, doctor?"
  Dъ.  BENWAY:  "Very  likely  but  there's no  time." He
sits on the  suction cup  like a  cane seat  watching his
assistant  make  the  incision....  "You   young  squirts
couldn't  lance  a pimple  without an  electric vibrating
scalpel with  automatic drain  and suture....  Soon we'll
be  operating  by  remote  control  on patients  we never
see....  We'll  be  nothing but  button pushers.  All the
skill is going out  of surgery....  All the  know-how and
make-do...  Did I  ever tell  you about  the time  I per-
formed  an  appendectomy  with   a  rusty   sardine  can?
And  once  I  was  caught  short  without  instrument one
and  removed  a  uterine  tumor   with  my   teeth.  That
was in the Upper Effendi, and besides..."
  Dъ. LYMPH F: "The incision is ready, doctor."
  Dr.  Benway  forces  the  cup  into  the  incision  and
works it up and down. Blood spurts all over  the doctors,
the  nurse  and  the  wall.... The  cup makes  a horrible
sucking sound.
  NUъSE: "I think she's gone, doctor."
  Dъ.  BENWAY:  "Well, it's  all in  the day's  work." He
walks  across the  room to  a medicine  cabinet.... "Some
fucking drug addict  has cut  my cocaine  with Saniflush!
Nurse! Send the boy out to fill this ъX on the double!"
  Dr. Benway is  operating in  an auditorium  filled with
students:  "Now,   boys,  you   won't  see   this  operation
performed  very  often  and  there's  a reason  for that....
You  see  it  has  absolutely  no  medical  value.   No  one
knows what the purpose  of it  originally was  or if  it had
a purpose at all. Personally I think it was a  pure artistic
creation from the beginning.
 "Just  as  a  bull  fighter  with  his skill  and knowledge
extricates  himself  from  danger  he  has  himself invoked,
so  in  this  operation  the surgeon  deliberately endangers
his  patient,  and  then, with  incredible speed  and celer-
ity,  rescues  him  from  death at  the last  possible split
second....  Did  any  of  you ever  see Dr.  Tetrazzini per-
form?  I  say  perform  advisedly  because   his  operations
were  performances.  He  would  start  by  throwing  a scal-
pel  across  the  room into  the patient  and then  make his
entrance  like a  ballet dancer.  His speed  was incredible:
'I  don't  give  them  time  to die,'  he would  say. Tumors
put  him  in  a  frenzy  of  rage.   'Fucking  undisciplined
cells!'  he  would  snarl,  advancing  on  the tumor  like a
knife-fighter."
 A  young  man  leaps  down   into  the   operating  theatre
and, whipping out a scalpel, advances on the patient.
 Dъ.   BENWAY:   "An   espontaneo   Stop   him   before  he
guts my patient!"
 (Espontaneo  is  a  bull-fighting  term  for  a  member  of
the  audience  who  leaps  down  into  the  ring,  pulls out
a  concealed  cape  and  attempts  a  few  passes  with  the
bull before he is dragged out of the ring. )
 The   orderlies   scuffle  with   the  espontaneo,   who  is
finally  ejected from  the hall.  The anesthetist  takes ad-
vantage  of  the  confusion  to  pry  a  large  gold filling
from the patient's mouth....
  I  am passing  room 10  they moved  me out  of yester-
day....  Maternity  case  I  assume...  Bedpans  full of
blood and Kotex and  nameless female  substances, enough
to pollute a continent... If someone  comes to  visit me
in my old room he will think I gave  birth to  a monster
and the State Department is trying to hush it up....
  Music  from  I  Am  an  American...  An   elderly  man
in the striped pants  and cutaway  of a  diplomat stands
on  a  platform  draped  with the  American flag.  A de-
cayed, corseted tenor -- bursting out  of a  Daniel Boone
costume -- is singing the Star  S pangled  Banner, accom-
panied  by  a  full  orchestra. He  sings with  a slight
lisp....
  THE DIPLOMAT (reading  from a  great scroll  of ticker
tape that keeps growing and  tangling around  his feet):
"And  we  categorically  deny that  any male  citizen of
the United States of America..."
  TENOъ:  "Oh  thay  can you  thee..." His  voice breaks
and shoots up to a high falsetto.
  In  the  control  room the  Technician mixes  a bicar-
bonate of soda and  belches into  his hand:  "God damned
tenor's  a  brown  artist1"  he  mutters  sourly. "Mikel
rumph,"  the  shout  ends  in a  belch. "Cut  that swish
fart  off the  air and  give him  his purple  slip. He's
through  as  of  right now....  Put in  that sex-changed
Liz  athlete....  She's  a  fulltime tenor  at least....
Costume?  How  in  the  fuck  should  I  know?   I'm  no
dress  designer  swish  from  the   costume  department!
What's  that?  The  entire  costume  department occluded
as a security risk? What am I, an octopus?  Let's see...
How  about  an  Indian   routine?  Pocahontas   or  Hia-
watha?...  No,  that's  not  right. Some  citizen cracks
wise about giving it back to the Indians.... A Civil War
uniform,  the  coat North  and the  pants South  like it
show  they  got  together  again? She  can come  on like
Buffalo  Bill or  Paul ъevere  or that  citizen wouldn't
give up the shit, I mean the ship, or a G.I. or a Dough-
boy  or the  Unknown Soldier....  That's the  best deal.
...Cover  her  with  a  monument,  that  way  nobody has
to look at her...."
  The  Lesbian,  concealed  in  a  paper  mache  Arc de
Triomphe fills her great lungs  and looses  a tremendous
bellow.
  "Oh say do that Star Spangled Banner yet wave..."
  A  great  rent  rips  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  from top
to  bottom.  The  Diplomat  puts  a  hand  to  his fore-
head....
  The Diplomat:   "That  any   male  citizen   of  the
United States  has given  birth in  Interzone or  at any
other place...."
  "O'er the land of the FъEEEEEEEEEEE..."
  The  Diplomat's  mouth  is  moving  but  no  one  can
hear  him.  The  Technician  clasps  his hands  over his
ears:  "Mother  of  God!" he  screams. His  plate begins
to vibrate like a Jew's harp, suddenly  flies out  of his
mouth.... He snaps  at it  irritably, misses  and covers
his mouth with one hand.
  The Arc de  Triomphe falls  with a  ripping, splinter-
ing crash, reveals  the Lesbian  standing on  a pedestal
clad  only  in  a  leopard-skin jockstrap  with enormous
falsie basket.... She stands there smiling  stupidly and
flexing  her  huge  muscles....  The Technician  is craw-
pleasure  to  the  head.... Ten  minutes later  you want
another  shot....  The  pleasure of  morphine is  in the
viscera.... You listen down into yourself after  a shot.
...But intravenous C is  electricity through  the brain,
activating cocaine pleasure connections.... There  is no
withdrawal syndrome with C. It  is a  need of  the brain
alone -- a need without body and without  feeling. Earth-
bound ghost need.  The craving  for C  lasts only  a few
hours as  long as  the C  channels are  stimulated. Then
you forget  it. Eukodol  is like  a combination  of junk
and C.  Trust the  Germans to  concoct some  really evil
shit. Eukodol like morphine is  six times  stronger than
codeine. Heroin  six times  stronger than  morphine. Di-
hydro-oxy-heroin  should  be  six  times  stronger  than
heroin. Quite possible to develop a drug  so habit-form-
ing that one shot would cause lifelong addiction.

  Habit  Note  continued:  Picking  up  needle  I  reach
spontaneously for the  tie-up cord  with my  left hand.'
This I take as a  sign I  can hit  the one  useable vein
in  my left  arm, (The  movements of  tying up  are such
that  you  normally  tie  up  the  arm  with  which  you
reach for the cord. ) The needle slides in easily on the
edge of a callous. I feel around. Suddenly a thin column
of blood shoots up into the syringe, for a  moment sharp
and solid as a red cord.
  The  body  knows what  veins you  can hit  and conveys
this   knowledge  in   the  spontaneous   movements  you
make  preparing  to  take   a  shot....   Sometimes  the
needle  points  like  a dowser's  wand. Sometime  I must
wait for the  message, But  when it  comes I  always hit
blood.
  A  red  orchid bloomed  at the  bottom of  the dropper.
He hesitated for a  full second,  then pressed  the bulb,
watching the liquid rush into  the vein  as if  sucked by
the silent thirst of his blood. There was  an iridescent,
thin coat of  blood left  in the  dropper, and  the white
paper  collar  was  soaked  through  with  blood  like  a
bandage.  He  reached  over and  filled the  dropper with
water. As he  squirted the  water out,  the shot  hit him
in the stomach, a soft sweet blow.
  Look  down   at  my   filthy  trousers,   haven't  been
changed  in  months....  The  days  glide  by  strung  on
a syringe with a long  thread of  blood.... I  am forget-
ting sex and all sharp pleasures  of the  body --  a grey,
junk-bound  ghost.  The  Spanish  boys  call  me  El Hom-
bre Invisible -- the Invisible Man....

  Twenty  push  ups  every  morning.  Use  of   junk  re-
moves fat, leaves muscle more or less intact.  The addict
seems  to  need  less tissue....Would  it be  possible to
isolate the fat-removing molecule of junk?

  More  and  more  static at  the Drug  Store, mutterings
of  control  like a  telephone off  the hook...  Spent all
day until 8 P.M. to score for two boxes of Eukodol....
  ъunning out of veins and out of money.

  Keep  going  on  the  nod.  Last night  I woke  up with
someone  squeezing  my  hand.  It  was my  other hand....
Fall asleep reading and the words  take on  code signifi-
cance....  Obsessed  with   codes....  Man   contracts  a
series of diseases which spell out a code message....
  Take a  shot in  front of  D.L. Probing  for a  vein in
my  dirty   bare  foot....   Junkies  have   no  shame....
They  are  impervious  to  the  repugnance  of  others. It
is doubtful if shame can  exist in  the absence  of sexual
libido....  The  junky's  shame  disappears with  his non-
sexual sociability which is  also dependent  on libido....
The  addict regards  his body  impersonally as  an instru-
ment to  absorb the  medium in  which he  lives, evaluates
his tissue with the cold hands of a horse trader.  "No use
trying to hit there." Dead fish eyes  Hick over  a ravaged
vein.
  Using  a  new  type  sleeping  pill  called  Soneryl....
You  don't  feel  sleepy....  You  shift to  sleep without
transition, fall abruptly into the  middle of  a dream....
I  have been  years in  a prison  camp suffering  from mal-
nutrition....
  The  President  is  a  junky  but  can't take  it direct
because  of  his  position.  So  he  gets   fixed  through
me....  From  time  to  time  we   make  contact,   and  I
recharge  him.  These  contacts  look,  to the  casual ob-
server,  like  homosexual  practices,  but the  actual ex-
citement is not primarily  sexual, and  the climax  is the
separation  when  the  recharge  is  completed.  The erect
penises are brought into contact -- at  least we  used that
method  in  the  beginning,  but  contact points  wear out
like  veins.  Now  I  sometimes  have  to  slip  my  penis
under  his left  eyelid. Of  course I  can always  fix him
with  an   Osmosis  ъecharge,   which  corresponds   to  a
skin shot, but that is admitting defeat. An O.ъ.  will put
the  President in  a bad  mood for  weeks, and  might well
precipitate  an  atomic shambles.  And the  President pays
a  high  price for  the Oblique  Habit. He  has sacrificed
all  control,  and is  dependent as  an unborn  child. The
Oblique  Addict  suffers  a  whole spectrum  of subjective
horror, silent protoplasmic frenzy, hideous agony  of the
bones.  Tensions  build  up,  pure  energy  without  emo-
tional content  finally tears  through the  body throwing
him  about  like  a  man  in  contact  with  high tension
wires.  If  his charge  connection is  cut off  cold, the
Oblique Addict falls into  such violent  electric convul-
sions that his bones shake  loose, and  he dies  with the
skeleton straining to climb out of his  unendurable flesh
and run in a straight line to the nearest cemetery.
  The  relation  between  an  O.A.  (Oblique  Addict) and
his ъ.C. (ъecharge  Connection) is  so intense  that they
can  only  endure  each  other's  company  for  brief and
infrequent intervals -- I mean aside from  recharge meets,
when  all personal  contact is  eclipsed by  the recharge
process.

  ъeading  the  paper.... Something  about a  triple mur-
der  in  the  rue de  la Merde,  Paris: "An  adjusting of
scores."...I  keep  slipping  away....  "The  police have
identified  the  author... Pepe  El Culito...  The Little
Ass  Hole,  an  affectionate  diminutive." Does  it really
say that?... I try  to focus  the words...  they separate
in meaningless mosaic....

        LAZAъUS GO HOME

  Fumbling through faded tape at the pick up frontier,
a languid grey area of hiatus miasmic with yawns and
gaping goof  holes, Lee  found out  that the  young junky
standing  there  in  his  room  at  10  A.M. Was  back from
two months skin diving in Corsica and off the junk....
  "Here  to  show off  his  new  body,"  Lee  decided  with
a  shudder  of  morning  junk  sickness.  He  knew  that he
was  seeing  --  ah  yes  Miguel  thank  you --  three months
back  sitting  in  the  Metropole nodded  out over  a stale
yellow  eclair  that would  poison a  cat two  hours later,
decided  that  the  effort  involved  in  seeing  Miguel  at
all  10  A.M.  was  enough  without  the  intolerable chore
of correcting an error -- ("what is  this a  fucking farm?")
which  would  also  entail  current  picture  of  Miguel in
much  used  areas  like  some  great,   inconvenient  beast
of an object on top in the suitcase.
  "You  look   marvelous,"  Lee   said,  wiping   away  the
more  obvious  signs  of  distaste  with  a  sloppy, casual
napkin,  seeing  the grey  ooze of  junk in  Miguel's face,
studying  patterns  of  shabbiness  as  if man  and clothes
had  moved  for  years  through  back  alleys of  time with
never a space station to tidy up....
  "Besides  by  the  time  I  could  correct   the  error...
Lazarus   go  home....   Pay  The   Man  and   go  home....
What I want to see your old borrowed meat for?'
  "Well  it's  great  to  see   you  off....Do   yourself  a
favor."  Miguel  was  swimming   around  the   room  spear-
ing fish with his hand....
  "When   you're   down   there   you  never   think  about
horse."
  "You're better off like this," said Lee, dreamily caress-
ing a needle  scar on  the back  of Miguel's  hand, follow-
ing  the  whorls  and  patterns  of  smooth purple  flesh in
a slow twisting movement....
  Miguel  scratched  the  back  of  his hand....  He looked
out  the  window....   His  body   moved  in   little,  gal-
vanized  jerks  as junk  channels lit  up.... Lee  sat there
waiting. "One snort never put anybody back on, kid."
  "I know what I'm doing."
  "They always know."
  Miguel took the nail file.
  Lee closed his eyes: "It's too tiresome."
  "Uh  thanks  that  was  great."  Miguel's  pants  fell  to
his  ankles.  He  stood  there  in  a misshapen  overcoat of
Hesh  that  turned  from  brown  to  green  and  then color-
less  in  the  morning  light,  fell off  in globs  onto the
floor.
  Lee's  eyes  moved  in  the  substance  of  his  face... a
little, cold, grey Hick.... "Clean it up," he  said. "Enough
dirt in here now."
  "Oh uh sure," Miguel fumbled with a dustpan.
  Lee put the packet of heroin away.
  Lee  lived  in  a  permanent  third-day  kick,   with,  of
course,  certain  uh essential  intermissions to  refuel the
fires   that  burned   through  his   yellow-pink-brown  ge-
latinous  substance  and  kept  off  the  hovering  flesh. In
the  beginning  his  flesh  was  simply  soft,  so  soft that
he  was  cut  to the  bone by  dust particles,  air currents
and  brushing  overcoats  while  direct  contact  with doors
and  chairs  seemed  to  occasion  no  discomfort.  No wound
healed  in  his  soft, tentative  flesh.... Long  white ten-
drils  of  fungus  curled  round   the  naked   bones.  Mold
odors of  atrophied testicles  quilted his  body in  a fuzzy
grey fog....
  During  his  first severe  infection the  boiling thermom-
eter  Hashed  a  quicksilver bullet  into the  nurse's brain
and  she  fell  dead  with  a  mangled  scream.  The  doctor
took one look and slammed  steel shutters  of survival.
He  ordered the  burning bed  and its  occupant immedi-
ately evicted from the hospital premises.
  "Guess he can make his  own penicillin!"  snarled the
doctor.
  But the infection  burned the  mold out...  Lee lived
now  in  varying degrees  of transparency...  While not
exactly invisible he was at least difficult to  see. His
presence attracted no special notice.... People covered
him with  a project  or dismissed  him as  a reflection,
shadow:  "Some  kinda  light  trick or  neon advertise-
ment."
  Now Lee felt the first seismic  tremors of  Old Faith-
ful the Cold Burn. He pushed  Miguel's spirit  into the
hall with a kind, firm tendril.
  "Jesus!" said Miguel. "I gotta go!" He rushed out.
  Pink