Keep your fingers out of my eye.

While I write I like to glance at the butterflies in glass that are all around
the walls. The people in memory are pinned to events I can't recall too well,
but I'm putting one down to watch him break up, decompose and feed another sort
of life. The one in question is all fully biodegradable material and
categorised as 'Rael'. Rael hates me, I like Rael, - yes, even ostriches have
feelings, but our relationship is something both of us are learning to live with.
Rael likes a good time, I like a good rhyme, but you won't see me directly
anymore - he hates my being around. So if his story doesn't stand, I might lend
a hand, you understand? (ie. the rhyme is planned, dummies).

The flickering needle jumps into red. New York crawls out of its bed.


And the lamb lies down on Broadway.

Early morning Manhattan,
Ocean winds blow on the land.


The weary guests are asked to leave the warmth of the all-night theater, having
slept on pictures others only dream on.


Movie-Palace is now undone,
The all-night watchmen have had their fun.
Sleeping cheaply on the midnight show,
It's the same old ending - time to go.
Get out!
It seems they cannot leave their dream.


The un-paid extras disturb the Sleeping Broadway. WALK to the left DON'T WALK to
the right: on Broadway, directions don't look so bright. Autoghosts keep the pace
for the cabman's early mobile race.


There's something moving in the sidewalk steam,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.

Nightime's flyers feel their pains.
Drugstore take down the chains.
Metal motion comes in bursts,
The gas station can quench that thirst.
Suspension cracked on unmade road
The trucker's eyes read 'Overload'


Enough of this - our hero is moving up the subway stairs into day- light. Beneath
his leather jacket he holds a spray gun which has left the message R-A-E-L in big
letters on the wall leading underground. It may not mean much to you but to Rael
it is part of the process going towards 'making a name for yourself.' When you're
not even a pure-bred Puerto Rican the going gets tough and the tough gets going.


And out on the subway,
Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid
Exits into daylight, spraygun hid,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.


With casual sideways glances along the wet street, he checks the motion in the steam
to look for potential obstruction. Seeing none, he strides along the sidewalk, past
the drugstore with iron guard being removed to reveal the smile of the toothpaste
girl, past the nightladies and past Patrolman Frank Leonowich (48, married, two kids)
who stands in the doorway of the wig-store. Patrolman Leonowich looks at Rael in much
the same way that other Patrolmen look at him, and Rael only just hides that he is
hiding something. Meanwhile from out of the steam a lamb lies down. This lamb has
nothing whatsoever to do with Rael, or any other lamb - it just lies down on Broadway.


The lamb seems right out of place,
Yet the Broadway street scene finds a focus in its face.
Somehow it's lying there,
Brings a stillness to the air.
Though man-made light, at night is very bright,
There's no whitewash victim,
As the neons dim, to the coat of white.
Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid
Wipes his gun - he's forgotten what he did,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.

Suzanne tired her work all done,
Thinks money - honey - be on - neon.
Cabman's velvet glove sounds the horn
And the sawdust king spits out his scorn.
Wonder women you can draw your blind!
Don't look at me! I'm not your kind.
I'm Rael!
Something inside me has just begun,
Lord knows what I have done,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
On Broadway -
They say the lights are always bright on Broadway.
They say there's always magic in the air.

The sky is overcast and as Rael looks back a dark cloud is descending
like a balloon into Times Square. It rests on the ground and shapes
itself into a hard edged flat surface, which solidifies and extends
itself all the way East and West along 47th Street and reaching up to
the dark sky. As the wall takes up its tension it becomes a screen
showing what had existed in three dimensions, on the other side just
a moment before. The image flickers and then cracks like painted clay
and the wall silently moves forward, absorbing everything in its path.
The unsuspecting New Yorkers are apparently blind to what is going on.


There's something solid forming in the air,
And the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No-one seems to care,
They carry on as if nothing was there.


Rael starts to run away towards Columbus Circle. Each time he dares to
take a look, the wall has moved another block. At the moment when he
thinks he's maintaining his distance from the wall, the wind blows hard
and cold slowing down his speed. The wind increases, dries the wet street
and picks up the dust off the surface, throwing it into Rael's face.
More and more dirt is blown up and it begins to settle on Rael's skin
and clothes, making a solid layered coat that brings him gradually to a
terrified stillness. A sitting duck.


The wind is blowing harder now,
Blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
Making a crust I cannot move in
And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway.

The moment of impact bursts through the silence and in a roar of sound,
the final second is prolonged in a world of echoes as if the concrete
and clay of Broadway itself was reliving its memories. The last great
march past. Newsman stands limp as a whimper as audience and event are
locked as one. Bing Crosby coos "You don't have to feel pain to sing
the blues, you don't have to holla - you don't feel a thing in your
dollar collar." Martin Luther King cries "Everybody Sing!" and rings
the grand old liberty bell. Leary, weary of his prison cell, walks on
heaven, talks on hell. J.F.K. gives the O.K. to shoot us, sipping Orange
Julius and Lemon Brutus. Bare breasted cowboy double decks the triple
champion. Who needs Medicare and the 35c flat rate fare, when Fred
Astaire and Ginger Rogers are dancing through the air? From Broadway
Melody stereotypes the band returns to 'Stars and Stripes' bringing
a tear to the moonshiner, who's been pouring out his spirit from the
illegal still. The pawn broker clears the noisy till and clutches his
lucky dollar bill.


Echoes of the Broadway Everglades,
With her mythical madonnas still walking in their shades:
Lenny Bruce, declares a truce and plays his other hand.
Marshall Mcluhan, casual viewin', head buried in the sand.
Sirens on the rooftops wailing, but there's no ship sailing.
Groucho, with his movies trailing, stands alone with his punchline
failing.
Klu Klux Klan serve hot soul food and the band plays 'In the Mood'
The cheerleader waves her cyanide wand, there's a smell of
                      peach blossom and bitter almonde.
Caryl Chessman sniffs the air and leads the parade, he knows
                     in a scent, you can bottle all you made.
There's Howard Hughes in blue suede shoes, smiling at the
               majorettes smoking Winston Cigarettes.
And as the song and dance begins, the children play at home
                           with needles; needles and pins.


Then the blackout.

Rael regains consciousness in some musky half-light. He is warmly
wrapped in some sort of cocoon. The only sound he can hear is
dripping water which appears to be the source of a pale flickering
light. He guesses he must be in some sort of cave - or kooky tomb,
or catacomb, or eggshell waiting to drop from the bone of the womb.


Wrapped up in some powdered wool - I guess I'm losing touch.
Don't tell me this is dying, 'cos I ain't changed that much.
The only sound is water drops, I wonder where the hell I am,
Some kind of jam?
Cuckoo Cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?

There's nothing I can recognise; this is nowhere that I've known.
With no sign of life at all, I guess that I'm alone,
And I feel so secure that I know this can't be real
                                  but I feel good.
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?

I wonder if I'm a prisoner locked in some Brooklyn jail
- or some sort of Jonah shut up inside the whale.
No - I'm still Rael and I'm stuck in some kind of cave.
what could've saved me?
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?


Resigning himself to the unknown he drifts off into sleep.

got sunshine in my stomach
Like I just rocked my baby to sleep.
I got sunshine in my stomach
But I can't keep me from creeping sleep,
Sleep, deep in the deep.


He wakes in a cold sweat with a strong urge to vomit. There's no sign
of the cocoon and he can see more of the cave about him. There is much
more of the glowing water dripping from the roof and stalactites and
stalagmites are forming and decomposing at an alarming rate all around him.


Rockface moves to press my skin
White liquid turn sour within
Turn fast - turn sour
Turn sweat - turn sour.
Must tell myself that I'm not here.
I'm drowning in a liquid fear.
Bottled in a strong compression,
My distortion shows obsession
In the cave.
Get me out of this cave!


As fear and shock register, he assures himself that self-control will
provide some security, but this thought is abandoned as the stalactites
and stalagmites lock into a fixed position, forming a cage whose bars
are moving in towards him.


If I keep my self-control,
I'll be safe in my soul.
And the childhood belief
Brings a moment's relief,
But my cynic soon returns
And the lifeboat burns.
My spirit just never learns.

Stalactites, stalagmites
Shut me in, lock me tight.
Lips are dry, throat is dry.
Feel like burning, stomach churning,
I'm dressed up in a white costume
Padding out leftover room.
Body stretching, feel the wretching
In the cage
Get me out of the cage!


At one moment there is a flash of light and he sees an infinite network
of cages all strung together by a ropelike material.


In the glare of a light,
I see a strange kind of sight;
Of cages joined to form a star
Each person can't go very far;
All tied to their things
They're netted by their strings,
Free to flutter in memories of their wasted wings.


As the rocky bars press in on Rael's body, he sees his brother John outside,
looking in. John's face is motionless despite screams for help, but in his
vacant expression a tear of blood forms and trickles down his cheek. Then
he calmly walks away leaving Rael to face the pains which are beginning to
sweep through his body.


Outside the cage I see my Brother John,
He turns his head so slowly round.
I cry out Help! before he can be gone,
And he looks at me without a sound.
And I shout out 'John please help me!'
But he does not even want to try to speak.
I'm helpless in my violent rage
And a silent tear of blood dribbles down his cheek,
And I watch him turn away and leave the cage.
My little runaway.

(Raindrops keep failing on my head, they keep falling on my...)

In a trap, feel a strap
Holding still. Pinned for kill.
Chances narrow that I'll make it,
In the cushioned straight-jacket.
Just like 22nd Street,
They got me by my neck and feet.
Pressures building, can't take more.
My headaches charge, earaches roar.
In this pain
Get me out of this pain.

If I could change to liquid,
I could fill the cracks up in the rocks.
I know that I am solid
And I am my own bad luck.


However, just as John walks out of sight, the cage dissolves and Rael
is left spinning like a top.


Outside John disappears, my cage dissolves,
without any reason my body revolves.

Keep on turning,
Keep on turning,
Turning around,
spinning around.

(round, round, round, round...)

When all this revolution is over, he sits down on a highly polished floor while his
dizziness fades away. It is an empty modern hallway and the dreamdoll saleslady
sits at the reception desk. Without prompting she goes into her rap: "This is the
Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, those you are about to see are all in for
servicing, except for a small quantity of our new product, in the second gallery.
It is all the stock required to cover the existing arrangements of the enterprise.
Different batches are distributed to area operators, and there are plenty of
opportunities for the large investor. They stretch from the costly care-conditioned
to the most reasonable mal-nutritioned. We find here that everyone's looks become
them. Except for the low market mal-nutritioned, each is provided with a guarantee
for a successful birth and trouble free infancy. There is however only a small
amount of variable choice potential - not too far from the mean differential.
You see, the roof has predetermined the limits of action of any group of packages,
but individuals may move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by
others."


"It's the last great adventure left to mankind"
- Screams a drooping lady
offering her dreamdolls at less than extortionate prices,
and as the notes and coins are taken out
I'm taken in, to the factory floor.

for the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.

Got people stocked in every shade,
Must be doing well with trade.
Stamped, addressed, in odd fatality.
That evens out their personality.
With profit potential marked by a sign,
I can recognise some of the production line,
No bite at all in labour bondage,
Just wrinkled wrappers or human bandage.

Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.


As he wanders along the line of packages, Rael notices a familiarity in some of
their faces. He finally comes upon some of the members of his old gang and worries
about his own safety. Running out through the factory floor, he catches sight of
his brother John with a number 9 stamped on his forehead.


The hall runs like clockwork
Their hands mark out the time;
Empty in their fullness
Like a frozen pantomime.
Everyone's a sales representative
Wearing slogans in their shrine.
Dishing out failsafe superlative,
Brother John is No. 9.

it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.

The decor on the ceiling
has planned out their future day
I see no sign of free will,
so I guess I have to pay,
pay my way,
for the Grand Parade...
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.

No-one seems to take up the chase, and with the familiar faces fresh
in his mind he moves into a reconstruction of his old life, above
ground - Too much time was one thing he didn't need, so he used to
cut through it with a little speed. He was better off dead, than
slow in the head. His momma and poppa had taken a ride on his back,
so he left very quickly to join The Pack.


I see faces and traces of home back in New York City -
So you think I'm a tough kid? Is that what you heard?
Well I like to see some action and it gets into my blood.
The call me the trail blazer - Rael - electric razor
I'm the pitcher in the chain gang, we don't believe in pain
'cos we're only as strong, yes we're only as strong,
as the weakest link in the chain.


Only after a spell in Pontiac reformatory was he given any respect in
the gang.


Let me out of Pontiac when I was just seventeen,
I had to get it out of me, if you know what I mean, what I mean.

You say I must be crazy, 'cos I don't care who I hit, who I hit.
But I know it's me that's hitting out and I'm, I'm not full of shit.
I don't care who I hurt, I don't care who I do wrong.
This is your mess I'm stuck in, I really don't belong.
When I take out my bottle, filled up high with gasoline,
You can tell by the night fires where Rael has been, has been.


Now, walking back home after a raid, he was cuddling a sleeping porcupine.

That night he pictured the removal of his hairy heart and to the accompaniment
of very romantic music he watched it being shaved smooth by an anonymous
stainless steel razor.


As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair,
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
Off we go...

Your sitting in your comfort you don't believe I'm real,
You cannot buy protection from the way that I feel.
Your progressive hypocrites hand out their trash,
But it was mine in the first place, so I'll burn it to ash.
And I've tasted all the strongest meats,
And laid them down in coloured sheets (laid them down in coloured
sheets).
Who needs illusion of love and affection
When you're out walking the streets with your mainline connection?
connection.

As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair.
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!

That night he pictured the removal of his hairy heart and to the
accompaniment of very
romantic music he watched it being shaved smooth by an anonymous
stainless steel razor.

The palpitating cherry-red organ was returned to its rightful place and began
to beat faster as it led our hero, counting out time, through his first
romantic encounter.


I'm counting out time,
Got the whole thing down by numbers.
All those numbers!
Give me guidance!
O Lord I need that now.

The day of judgement's come,
And you can bet that I've been resting,
for this testing,
Digesting every word the experts say.
Erogenous zones I love you.
Without you, what would a poor boy do?

Found a girl I wanted to date,
Thought I'd better get it straight.
Went to buy a book before it's too late.
Don't leave nothing to fate.
I studied every line, every page in the book,
Now, I've got the real thing here, I'm gonna take a look, take a look.

This is Rael!

I'm counting out time, hoping it goes like I planned it,
'cos I understand it. Look! I've found the hotspots, Figs 1-9.
- still counting out time, got my finger on the button,
"Don't say nuttin - just lie there still
And I'll get you turned on just fine."
Erogenous zones I love you.
Without you, what would a poor boy do?

Touch and go with 1-6.
Bit of trouble in zone No. 7.
Gotta remember all of my tricks.
There's heaven ahead in No. 11!
Getting crucial responses, dilation of the pupils.
"Honey get hip! It's time to unzip, to unzip, zip, zip-a-zip-a-zip.
Whipee!"
(Take it away Mr. Guitar)
- Move over Casanova -

I'm counting out time, reaction none to happy,
Please don't slap me,
I'm a red blooded male and the book said I could not fail.
I'm counting out time, I got unexpected distress from my mistress,
I'll get my money back from the bookstore right away.
Erongenous zones I question you -
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Without you, mankind handkinds thru' the blues.

He returns from his mixed-up memories to the passage he was previously
stuck in. This time he discovers a long carpeted corridor.

There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
- gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping they'll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
There's no hiding in my memory.
There's no room to avoid.


The walls are painted in red ochre and are marked by strange insignia,
some looking like a bulls-eye, others of birds and boats. Further down
the corridor, he can see some people; all kneeling. With broken sighs
and murmurs they struggle, in their slow motion to move towards a
wooden door at the end. Having seen only the inanimate bodies in the
Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, Rael rushes to talk to them.


The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than before.
They're moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needle's eye is winking, closing in on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out."


"What's going on?" he cries to a muttering monk, who conceals a yawn and
replies "It's a long time yet before the dawn." A sphinx-like crawler
calls his name saying "Don't ask him, the monk is drunk. Each one of us
is trying to reach the top of the stairs, a way out will await us there."
Not asking how he can move freely, our hero goes boldly through the door.
Behind a table loaded with food, is a spiral staircase going up into the
ceiling.


There's only one direction in the faces that I see;
It's upward to the ceiling, where the chamber's said to be.
Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree.
They are pulled up by the magnet, believing they're free.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out."

Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite,
And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing
bright.
Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlelight;
It's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sight.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out."

The porcelain mannikin with shattered skin fears attack.
The eager pack lift up their pitchers - they carry all they lack.
The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack,
And the tickler takes his stickleback.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out."

At the top of the stairs he finds a chamber. It is almost a hemisphere with a
great many doors all the way round its circumference. There is a large crowd,
huddled in various groups. From the shouting, Rael learns that there are 32
doors, but only one that leads out. Their voices get louder and louder until
Rael screams "Shut up!" There is a momentary silence and then Rael finds
himself the focus as they direct their advice and commands to their new found
recruit. Bred on trash, fed on ash the jigsaw master has got to move faster.
Rael sees a quiet corner and rushes to it.


At the top of the stairs, there's hundreds of people,
running around to all the doors.
They try to find, find themselves an audience;
their deductions need applause.

The rich man stands in front of me,
The poor man behind my back.
They believe they can control the game,
but the juggler holds another pack.

I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.

I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman,
You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can,
He'll smile through his guard,
Survival trains hard.
I'd rather trust a man who works with his hands,
He looks at you once, you know he understands,
Don't need any shield,
When you're out in the field.

But down here,
I'm so alone with my fear,
With everything that I hear.
And every single door, that I've walked through
Brings me back here again,
I've got to find my own way.

The priest and the magician,
Singing all the chants that they have ever heard;
and they're all calling out my name,
Even academics, searching printed word.

My father to the left of me,
My mother to the right,
Like everyone else they're pointing
But nowhere feels quite right.

And I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.

I'd rather trust a man who doesn't shout what he's found,
There's no need to sell if you're homeward bound.
If I choose a side,
He won't take me for a ride.

Back inside
This chamber of so many doors;
I've nowhere, nowhere to hide.
I'd give you all of my dreams, if you'd help me,
Find a door
That doesn't lead me back again
- take me away.