Great Jones Street

"Peace-loving men everywhere deplore the English penchant for violence," the internationally known figure was quoted by a companion as having remarked, following another brief altercation inside a police vehicle moments after he was led from the 22-million-dollar jetliner, reportedly bleeding from a gash over his left eye and said to be wearing a team jersey bearing the legend Tottenham Hotspur.

Two tracks from

Amebikan war sutha

Recorded on Beeswax Records

LP 7178342

Bzzz – exclusive trademark of Beeswax Records

Patent pending

VC Sweetheart

Born in a hearse
Left foot first
Nursed on a hand-me-down nipple

Got a murder degree
From I.T.T.
Shot three holes in a cripple

To the highlands I was sent
To the highlands
Flute music playing
They're counting up the dead
Flute music playing in the highlands

Who's that out there
Edging toward the banquet of my dumb fear
Slant eyes burning in this bible bush

VC honey
With her curls and tap shoes
VC sweetheart twirling her baton

She had superdog hearing
And eyes that scanned
I loved every way she made love

Twelve years old
Tiger soul
She knew what to do with a man

Across the highlands we did go
Across the highlands
Blues music playing
They're counting up the dead
Blues music playing in the highlands

She wore black pajamas
And a blade at her hip
So soft and cool and sweet

Twelve years old
Tiger soul
She knew how to cheat and repeat

I sang to her in my own true voice
A folk song of flowers and peace:

What do we have to live for
But each other
What do we have to die for
But our love

East the vanished mountains
West the barren fields

Soccer-playing bodhisattvas
Flowing through the grass

She sang to me in her own true voice
A folk song of people and land:

You are tall lean stranger
You are word
You are Christmas tree of Easter
Shining bird

You are hunter prophet
You are lion's paw
You are angel avenger
Come to my door

Tricky little glitter
In her eyes that night
I made love like a fur-bearing beast

Twelve years old
Tiger soul
She knew how to give what was least

In the highlands we did rest
In the highlands
Jazz music playing
They're counting up the dead
Jazz music playing in the highlands

Sleeping long and deep
On a hard straw mat
I dreamed of the love of my life

Twelve years old
Tiger soul
She knew what to do with a knife

Who's that out there
Edging toward the banquet of my dumb fear
Slant eyes burning in this bible bush

VC honey
With her curls and tap shoes
VC sweetheart twirling her baton

Down the highlands I was sent
Down the highlands
Rock music playing
They're counting up the dead
Rock music playing in the highlands

Born in a hearse
Left foot first
Nursed on a hand-me-down nipple

Got back home
Minus some chrome
Women they call me a cripple

Nothing Turns

Our senses cannot hold them
Nothing turns from death so much as flesh
Oh nothing turns

Nothing turns from death so much as flesh
Untouched by aging

To be younger
Than tie children you kill

Sits the ten-star general
There he sits
Ex-vaudevillian
Honing his patter in a cancer ward

Sits the cheesefeet duchess
There she sits
Wombless lady
Cutting paper dolls of burning babes

Nothing turns from death so much as flesh
Untouched by aging

Nothing turns

To be younger than the ones you kill
And remain a velvet child
Too late their cells run wild
General and his lady

You have lost the war
Oh what a bore

You have lost the war
You have lost the war

"VC Sweetheart"

Words-and-music Wunderlick-Azarian

Copyright © 1968 Stanwash Music

All rights administered Arkmaker Music

Used by permission

"Nothing Turns"

Words-and-music Bucky Wunderlick

(Copyright © 1968 Stanwash Music

All rights administered Arkmaker Music

Used by permission

•

Excerpts from seminar conducted jointly by the senior editorial board of Chance Mainway Publications and the Issues Committee of the Permanent Symposium for the Restoration of Democratic Options.

The Committee CM Publications

Robert Fielder Sam L. Bradley

Turner Bakey Ross Holroyd

Grace Hall Aline Olmstead

Lester E. B. Niles George Porter

Walter Jencks Olmstead

Clarence B. Washington

Special Guest

Bucky Wunderlick

Mr. Fielder: Turning now to our guest at this morning's round table, I'd like to begin by taking this opportunity to welcome him, if I may, to our Chula Vista complex.

BW: Yes, you may.

Mr. Fielder: We're not accustomed so much to this kind of discussion as we are to a different level or range, for example on the freedoms, or House and Senate priorities, or the emerging issue of pleadings and writs. But no phenomenon in recent years in perhaps the whole history of what we might call popular American culture has so brought about a massing of opinion one way or the other among the men and women, and I count myself among them, as do, I'm sure, most if not all the individuals at this morning's round table, about whether or not we can profitably undertake a dialogue with the kind of young people who are at the very center of all this noise, and I hope nobody objects to that word. Please feel free to address yourself to this question in your own words because we're not, although it may seem so to you, the kind of not-with-it people, not at all, the stuffed shirts we may seem so to you, and we've heard this kind of subfamily vernacular, and even the gracious ladies present at this morning's session, I might venture to guess.

BW: Noise, right. It's the sound. Hertz and megahertz. We mash their skulls with a whole lot of watts. Electricity, right. It's a natural force. We're processing a natural force. Electricity is nature every bit as much as sex is nature. By sex, I mean fucking and the like. Electric current is everywhere. We run it through a system of wires, cables, mikes, amps and so on. It's just nature. Sometimes we put words to it. Nobody can hear the words because they get drowned out by the noise, which is only natural. Our last album we recorded live to get the people's screams in and submerge the words even more and they were gibberish words anyway. Screaming's essential to our sound now. The whole thing is nature processed through instruments and sound controls. We process nature, which I personally regard as a hideous screeching bitch of a thing, being a city boy myself.