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Copyright 1990 by Mu KrakenPreface
All schoolchildren here in the 90th century are familiar with the many folktales and legends associated with our Original Ancestor, Father Pye Ramis. In the past, these stories have been frowned upon by serious scholars. They were even banned, during the reign of Ampress Leipo Zukk Chunn, as being "apochryphal, heretical, and inspired by the Enemy of Humankind, Demon Cracy." More recently, they have been cheerfully tolerated as children's tales to be enjoyed by the unlettered. However, the unearthing of Amperor Aster VI's Palace near the sere piers and dessicated docking modules of the extinct port of Winonamis on the desert planet Earth One in the year 8914 changed all that. Disks of hyperionyx discovered deep in a storage vault there were found to be records of Our Ancestor that included versions of these stories that dated back to the fourth millenium AD. While this does not, of course, validate the truth of the tales, it does push their date of origin back several thousand years earlier than we had previously supposed. According to the Testimony of Peggi, chambermaid to Amperor Aster Dom Drakeo VI, the disks were copies of earlier ones discovered hidden in a secret compartment of a statue in the Temple of Hedonis. Thus, they were considered ancient even at the time of Aster VI, some five thousand years ago. Aster, recognizing them as artifacts related to Holy Writ, had them copied onto disks of hyperionyx and placed in the Sacred Archives. Except for this one vault deep underground, the Sacred Archives were obliterated by dessica rays fired by Duke Fido's troops during the Third War of the Magnolias. As protected as they were, the disks were still somewhat damaged by the attack. The modern methods of kirlian analysis and content extrapolation were applied to these damaged disks to transcribe them into a readable format. Many of the terms therein are strange to us, and we cannot be completely certain that they have been extrapolated with perfect accuracy. This does not detract from the charm of the tales, though, and in any event we believe that the overall meaning persists despite any unavoidable errors in transcription. We hope the reader will enjoy these little fables from the remote childhood of humanity, the twentieth century.
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THE QUEST FOR THE CLIMAXIMAL COSMIC JA ZISMO
Disk I: Pa Pyramis and Heebie Part One: THE VISION OF THE COSMIC JAZZMA 'Twas thrice upon delearya and all thru the South, crosses burned marrily while minorities hung charily from ev'ry tree. Christmasses were rarely white, and restrooms were white only or colored only. LBJ provided corn whole to the poor and excalibrated peoplation control in Vietnam, executing a police action to make the world safe for the welfare and prosperity of polling popularity ninnies. 'Twas mellark and the owsley doves Thai dyed and rambold misbehaved; Awe zendose were the bohemoes, And the om rants outraved -- Mainwheel, beckon the snakes, Sanfrisky's Hashberry replaced Ny's Grinwitch Village as the nexus bohemidas copitall of the wowed and wooly-boojie Sexease. Pye Ramis, a youth of some seventeen summers (having been born at the midpoint of the Erupting Neonate Generation), see(zing!)these signs, took them for a potion. He patted the pixies from his raggaedy jeans, tugged on his jungboots, donned beaded dragonskin Inca Hoots, combed mummified soup from his beard, buttoned up his ansich hoovercoat, then wrapped his ego and eros in a fondbrown paperback tied with golden bow. Now rhetty, really raddy, he synchronized his pocket sundial with the chimes of the morning spheres and set out in search of the coveted Cosmic Jazzma. I took my one-eyed Jack in hand, Laing tome the bunsome bough I seeked, Then some odd day by a bodhi tree I sat and shat and thinked. And as he perched with opposable digital inserted deep upthru the Irislike muscle, Heebie Frieby came swanging thru the park: Saxfeels Paris eyes and tooloose heart, recorder twirling like a merrimake sceptre, quoting Plato and toting Othello, python thighs in cossack slacks lithely prancing in a goatkin skip. And Pye ball the while taking note. A rover bred, a libertime, a look avers, And thou betide me, winging indus wandermist, Aboard some slip of verbiage tossed Word salad brings the prophet to the lass! (Should I but get her gams uncrossed, Then wilderwrest her pairodomes & arce!) Then our hero grew wily and cleaned his thumb. "A titillating trick," he thought and sought the proper snare. "The Jazzma has taken on an unconscionably nubile manifeastation, by Haunt and Aught!" Calculating quick, he devised a clever lure, the which to enwrap this existentially anxious young goddess-like maddonation. He leaped to his feet and swooped her path, hands folded fakir fashion, thumbs at sternum, bowed low before her and, elbows exalted, said, "O daughter of Gaia, Shakespeare is dead!" A doubty look, a potient sigh, and then -- harp beyond hope -- a mona loa smile. "The Bard is dead!" she said. "Gonged is the Bardo!" Then, striking him light with willow wand, "I duck thee, wight, fun fellow!" and, "Thou may rose and kismet hand." We meet in disquire and part underleaven. We tantrisolder a long several seasons. A group there was at Bigtown High (in the Land of Grace at Weis Himmel soft by the citydell of Mome Fish Tan Essene) of rethinkers, oddphilos in that state where men were mud, women were secondary rib, and all the children were above nigrage. They were a cool and cognish assortment of intellectual Indus criminals: the Hermit Bear, lanky Jaime Stuart, Lord Withy of Windle, Sheafer Dali, Curt Netter, Ferny Mu Kraken, the Mark Eddy Said, The Monkey Bastille, Foo Dear, Princess Luluwa, Kim Chitao, et all -- And every so avon when thai 'foon was mull, or it vexed or it veined -- or if (as on alternative Tues) it grinchisled like cheesefire chat, making perisbleus -- they met in No Oos Park to talk the talk that couldn't be talked in the cashrooms of the free and the brave and the polltaxed poolcats: Nyet Sidhe and Saur Trace, Bard Rune Russell and Fronds Coffeecar, Sacral Teas and Eris Tootle, Tao Ting Thomas and Mahavirile, Geo Zeus and Moan Row, Marcelle and Lenny, add infinity -- Pye brought his ladylove into their sorcel. With them the Breath she spoke, divine she think. On many an antstrewn blanket they spiced and spliced. And many a gnostickbread broke, much gouda sliced, and many a dollop of verse libra to chase it. And her scent and her taste and her turn of tongue when she murmured his name -- Her flivaysious brogue (not to mention Chef Mario's home-brewed hearty burgundy) brought him blissblind to the brink of Sunover Beach, on a windargo sea where Fleebus prayed and Sal Via spun. O wad some flower and deftly knead -- thus! To seed our elves -- a zephyrous sidhe dust! Twatfroth manicking thunder freed us, And shamless joietee! Came the grapeless times and Pye, pinning an SDS button to his hemphung digger, took a stand before the grotissories, Heebie chimmerang by his side. They stood and smiled before the miles of spitzin, cudzin, gun clinchin, axhandlin, loco yoquails -- smiled all for to show solidarity with that faeraway and hormeless folk, Seashore Chevy's lawridden nigrant laborers. Sludge aparthate as they'd never dreamed broke out and spilled over the ashfault porking lots. But ere it was over (wonder past wander!) they'd won the goal! Now Seashore Chevy's folk could have outhouses! "Amazing!" said Heebie. "After all their bluster, how easy it was to grin them down!" Pye was pious about it. "Give thanks to St. Davy!" he said. Tempus fugued, as it always does. Now Pye's and Heebie's thoughts twirled to a new light rising in the Dame West. For everyone's friend Sheafer Dali had returned from a New Orleans ashram, wearing an OIA amorelet on his chest and a Bodhisala beehive atop his cranial shell. 'Twas soft by the moon of Sleeptimbre, And the greenleaves were neither withered nor sere, When weaven ley heather, hinduin sumer, Sheafer Dali brought the sheenlight there. We gazed, boy, we sniffed, the three then, At the verdentine scrolls so clear. Years prickled, heckles raised, we ate them, And awaited the traume to appear. "This phase it is nowhere," quoth Sheafer, As the gungho rainbows proceed to advance. "Let us hejira the local cinema, Where St. Walt is condoozing a trance." So into Pye's steedless star chariot they climbed and flew to the Temple of Images in Caucasian Haven. They were subjected to a short subject before the feature. It was "Blood of the Beast", a whale of a tale on tallying whales, which in those days was done with a harpoon gun which drove the point home thru the dorsal bones. (Look not so shook, o chilldrains dear! Remember, there was no Greenpeace then, at least not as far as anyone noticed. Only a few nature-crazed hippies and an oddball Cousteau-head or two even noticed there might be an absence of whales in Mother Gaia's future! And the Establishment, now known as Babylon, could've cared less.) As the drachmas unfolded before them (along with the cetacean's eonlong entrails) they witnessed the witless sacrifice of Leviathon for to distill sweet smellum for high fashion ladies to conceal the odors they picked up in the kitchen during a hot day of setting the servants straight. The jolt from that cosmetic butchering sent Pye's mind abounding down the tunnel vision matrices of societal morays, causing him to wonder if maybe somewhen someone had blundered: Couldn't the projector operator tell by his psychedelic aura that he was in the midst of his first acid trip? Besides, there were children in the audience! Had Hollywood no shame? "But alas," he said to himself, "mine not to question why, of those that are older than we, of many far wiser than we, most especially in this thaifoon of halluminations!" So he kept his lapper zipped while his mind was hauled out with the guts. Mercifully, the feature began, an old St. Dizzy cartoon named "Pitar Pain". By this time, tho, Pye's mindframe was fracted beyond all recountability. "Disney," he realized, "was not only a genius but also a downright prestidigitator. Else how did he project Frank Zappa into these antebellum animotions as chief antagonist? And look! Profundity within prefoon ditty! Check out the cute li'l Goldie Hawn with snake doctor wings!" And that was his last semicoherent thought for the next two hours. Pixies and pirates reverberated back and forth in parabolic pandemonia across the silver scream, reticulating off the fifty corners of the interior chambers of his skullbone wall- to-well. At storysend he knew not whether to stay or flee, could only follow Sheafer as he led them into a whitewater tide of chairripping kiddos chirping like fortypound sparrows. Hipdeep in the river of rugrats, whose hoots and squeals he could now see linked in multipull audial imagery like a ribbon of sound lollicking thru the lobby, Pye withdrew into a rainbow funk of paranoia. He knew he stuck out like a soarbum. He was afraid to talk, certain that whatever he might intend to say would come out, "Hey, you munchy kids sure look like electric gnomes when I'm tripping!" They triptrekked home gulping sunshower, rode her recorder deep into night. Then he and Heebie, leaving Sheafer behinder, strode the high road's torrend loonlight. Whenas the quiet was hennascent, Astir miles haunted forlorn. At a bend in our minds a quintassent And fabulous fluster was formed, Ishtar steed thrice lunarescent Allumined her eye zone their porn. And I said, "This is better than nutmeg! More peaceful than paragoric! Twice wand'rous and thrice bucolic! We rolled then about in the paw-paw, Till our skins they were scoured and raw-raw, Our pelts they were scathered and raw. At the end of our floundering frolic A sintillate lustair I saw! But Heebie, uplifting her figure From the paw-paws and straightening her skirts, Said, "Sadly, I must now renigure On the promise I made at the first, For my pubis has gone into stricture, I'm sleepy, and my back hurts. "I reeeely do gotta go home now; I've strayed far too wrong for one night; I haven't the strangeth to roam now, And my panties are full of stick-tights!" Then I parsifelt Heebie and bussed her, Attended her preening and grooming, Pachoulied her breast, combed her mussed hair, Discounted her bitching and glooming, Then with constant caress cured her flustair. Said I, "This omen is gloamin', beseeming; Let us on ere dawn and greet the day Elbows high, heels a-clacking, Third eyes gleaming, joints a-crackling! We connaught but reach Paraguay!" But we noticed not the wormfarm of Faubus, Nor the wistful lid-legion of tears, Round by the hearthbrake of August, In that most praetertorial meer, Nor noted the serpentwine augurs That by then had crept writher near. Then the daemon of sloth overtook us And deadened our scryebells with drowse; A leadened unwareness did hook us, And the bliss in our hearts turned to grouze; The dourdims grim undersnook us; We flail into a slummering slouse. Eventually and eventually they wound down back astriding the firmer breesties of Mother Gaia. Pye dropped Heebie off at her Mammon's house and sailed back to his dorm room, bouyed by the babbling percolations of allnight blues on his Fode Mavrack's AM. It was a rite to remember. Part Two: THE COMING OF RAZZTUS 'Twas many and moany a yearn agone, when a kingpin bought the See, in a madding maelsturm of torque and blow, that Pye lost his dolling Heebie. In thens and nows, in truant falls, in strainjeer vortices, On flamingo-impaled lawns, on cop-spangled quads, Or eye'll rake the highland, and yule snake the lawman, The crystal Earth astride tortoise mind And the grainfest sax tease -- But ere she maid like a Pastoria and got the hojas outa Sibundoy, she first introduced Pye to her old Thespian friend Razztus. "Vast hast Gourd wrought!" Pye thought to himself. "Never in my life have I seen a feller so ugly!" Then his better judgement got the best of him. "Well, maybe not all that ugly. Certainly no more so than that illustration of Grendel in The Children's Book of Knowledge. And I should take into account that I'm biased on this account. On account of-- By Vole! She's hugging that cunning linguist right in front of my very face!" Razztus the meanwhile was having inner taunts of his own. "Yump Anemone! Where did she find this green-eyed fool? Geeze, it's just a friendly hug! Is he really as paranoid as he looks? Like he's got a bug up his ass over whether or not Heeb and I are getting it on behind his back! Not that that's such a bad idea," he thought. "And furthermore, how did such a syrupy sap latch onto my boxhome friend Heebie? This bugeyed feller must have a willy the like to ply a mammoth poose key! Yeah, that's the ticket! The nerd's a Priapus cat!" Razztus the phonetician, a wordwright head, "Fergus the Clown" among the girls, with egypsy schpiells, randy prophet fonding lust -- (Corrine and Dorsie Licked his boney wayscars, hot caroused and feltmeld) Porpoised off stages, ovidsage, handloose, Centauring the girlshule --) Zentoil orgy! You, On yawhoop tickly freeling lickly Wendie Woose, Corncider Razztus wooed wishwand, winsome, and frolickiss floose -- Come one purple Tuesday, Razztus sent a message to Pye via Heebie. So she, licking the poe boy's earlobe, said, "Now winter's nigh and a new semester bagsin. You, my haute hornitongue, and friend Razztus will like attend. He has no knowns hereabouts and asks me if you will teach him the hows, the whose, the whaley goose and the herwine no-oos of bohemish endeavor. Baylike the mundo to sexspan, the Jazzma to obtain, and vex sauray the Pew King's finks -- "I play thee, boy, by St. Khayyam and St. Lennon, dig him underwig, set him face to faze. Let him be proud to be a hippy from Misipi, and I shall be ethereally geatfull." "And my wordage so wise he'll well markheed?" he sade. "Of course, Ben Oit!" "Is gate meer god! I'll tuit!" "Yew well at two?" "See! You have low anguish!" "Grace as amiable ego! Grace! Grace!" "Kama Ishtar your steed!" And so it twat. And saudi mat, the junger Razztus Jazzfeather and the elder Papa Pye Ramis. Pye took Razztus on as protojoy and taught him all that he knew, a briefing that was brief in the extreme. "Now step, Loki, and lichen!" said pensive Pye to listly Razztus. "Your first lesson in traveling the Bohemian Roud is to dump them fruity delugeon briefs in yon carrion can! No self-refracting freek would be caught deadahead in that kind of fashionist garmenture, wove of plant fibers picked a dullard a daze by pissontree who anyhow should be here in the city begatting the friend cheese, daemon-straiting and peck-ating, voidcutting, and preparing to board the shift of state!" "But Brother Pye, Hi-Young-Boo, that gate more gross!" Razztus reprised, "and maketh mine wangler to curl in fright, like unto the skritch of plioscenic puma claws on cliffedge slate in the pithecine night! I mean, won't the zipper chafe my delicate pud gear?" "Shamwrack, beslack, and a bed chigroe! You get ewes do it! Makes ya tough, mon ami! If we gonna deflate the fashion itchies, we gotta take a few sacral git-chas! "Now for Biminian lexion number two: Never carryon anythins you cain't swallow. Remember, you cain't be busted for being mellow, only for what you got on you, fellow." And so it twirled, as Pye teached and Razztus squirreled. Till bimeby their tutelary relationship inverged. Now Razztus would lead the way down the bonnie path to faer Eyeland, now Pye. First wand, then the utter, then slide by tide they made their rays thru the green jafest saxdays. As it rotated out, their broaderhoot endured long after Pye's Heebie and Razztus' Sal had split the scene. And this is the song that Razztus sang: "In balmy Gilead, where epopts flow Between the rosy quarks to quads (Those marketplaces!), in Indra's skrye There lurks believely sinners' cry, Scared, herding, mid-fencing, lay-lowed. "These arbites diners whore daze -- agog, They breed meltdowns, awe jetset show, Craven war crave, the gnawing lie Anlanderers feel: "'Bake up both barrells of pithy woe For Jew, Viet, and oppity Negro: The trenchmount years, the hunger'n eye; If he break wind or raise an I, He shall be shot between the thighs And slanders feel.'" The sunsheen wurm, the feels grew vertigant. Casswish were rumpin' and the coitune was heigh-ho! Razztus and Pye the grin gassy soma, chasing lacey legs in the faer racy tanktop pi-air of stirry nights and mornlit dames, of stare-eyed wights and moonlish domes. It was the best of times; it was the best of tomes.
Cosmic Jazzma: Ozlandish Pop Festival
Cosmic Jazzma: East Arden Commune
Baba Ku the Masochismo Revenant
