15 Oct 2005

The Pongo Summit (a Round Table with certain world leaders in stuff)

Pongo: Ladies and Gentlemen, things are heating up and I don't just mean the polar icecaps. The time is ripe for diplomacy.

Reverend James Christsmith: The endtimes!
Terence McKenna: Maybe it's a fractal wave of fire reflecting the transdimensional object at the end of time.

Reverend James Christsmith: Silence, disciple of Satan! You're dead, you can't be in on this discussion!

Nirvana: Didn't you read the summit agreement Reverend?

Reverend James Christsmith: I skimmed it.

Nirvana: Paragraph fifty-three, fifth clause, allows the dead to participate but explicitly bars old testament spirits.

Reverend James Christsmith: Well that's no fair.

Pongo: Please guys, let's stick to the agenda. We'll discuss some things and then I'll regale you all with my soothing techno icaros as you suck the vapours from the Detroit Syndicate Club's seven-chambered hookah and forget your fears. You will remember the beauties. You don't believe in them now, you hold them to be long-evaporated hallucinations from the naiveté of childhood. You "know" this like you know how much money's in your bank accounts.

Slobodan Milosevic: I never had a naive childhood. My mother killed herself when I was five and my father became a jester at Stalin’s court.

Pongo: Sorry Mr. Milosevic. But most here have seen their ink-rendered hallucinations in the past at least, perhaps in the benign cage of the cradle. Terence still visits them with DMT. Dilato calls them "rhomboid angels". Why I'm not sure, never understood the rhombus, like anyone could, but I did write a song about it. Anyway, be they rhombus or not, they do exist. You will find that out in the musical portion of the proceedings. You all will. Now, Mr. Under, you have the chair.

Under Mination: Howdy Ponguh. Now ya know, I don't cottin ta hesitation under m'nation. When them muslims hit me with that sucker punch ah hit 'em back, hard. They's hurtin now, fuckers. How ya like that Iraqi? Pipsqueak.

Iraqi: dirka dirka jihad!

The Sacred Chao: Prokofiev isn't revolutionary enough for this glorious on nicotine-rushing future, hydroelectric tobacco tonic packaged by Faust Incorporated, a Wal-Mart subsidiary. Chinamen on the moon, doesn't it deflate your poor sore viagra-boner? But I'm really a sad old geezer like you folks over the pond and just as corrupt.

I went through every possible Kabuki melody, now I'm remixing them to Michael Jackson's beats. Beat it beat it beat it beat it! I'm a child of the twentieth century, dropped the literati in the kamikaze sea, drank the tea that was peddled to me, caffeine-free and purged of shamanry, no interesting alkaloids. I'm ruling class, a Golgafrincham with power, statehood, that's where it's at. No one's ridding the world of me old pal, I own the space ark and I'll use it when we've used up the world, not before. Stick around, it's going to be another great season of top quality entertainment, I've got a fiery coastal war lined up, just the thing you dreamed to witness (in videogame form) when you were fourteen, napalm bright mandarin orange, olfactory simulation piping in the sweet smell of burning flesh - you've got to desensitize for the coming pre-apocalypse paroxysm!

Taiwan is going to throw you aghast international onlookers for a loop when I move militarily, I don't wage forty wars a century like that Texaco Mafia man, I pick my battles. Tibet is all spiritual and the Hollywood people love that, they come all over their Buddhist belt buckles. The lesser lights, the datura delirium village, it's never what you think but there's a reason it metabolizes legend like energy through Verezzi, the madman's loop, his trip back to sanity. But they'll be no weepy string-heavy Spielberg movie about the invasion of Taiwan, it's my industrial island to yoke as I please and if you haven't noticed it's my ugly-as-a-slug asian cousin, even in ancient times she wazn't too bright, they stuck her with the struldbrugs until we found out how to kill them good and proper: 9mm slugs - the magic bullet!

Yes, it wasn't just Swift who knew of the struldbrugs, I know of them too, I read history, that's why I'm the only person in this market not being actively exploited by the pyramid scheme, pulling Pharaoh’s bricks up the eight-hundredth step to an unaffordable level I'll never attain. Like fossil fuels, I'm past peak. But we've got moon men to make. One per couple. I know the value of people. 0.17 American dollars. People is a weak currency. The Yuan dominates it easily.

I must thin the herds, reduce to 17%. I have nukes in the garage so you must take me seriously. And I am serious, this isn't one of Kim's silly movies.

Johnny Canuck: The Canadian conspiracy didn't get too far. But Pierre Trudeau is still impaled on that stake in hell (E3M7) so we can keep the forty ninth parallel. I hope you appreciate that citizens.

He's the Prometheus of our land.

El Moriscavo di Santahuasca: Hey, we got oil too and we don't need your fucking infrastructure, we'll build our own. But we'll do it differently. The continent has finally scrubbed those scabby spaniard souls off us, we are no longer latino, we were never indian, and on the mountaintop we are pure light. Up there, you've never seen things so bright!

The only thing we took from Europe was Marx. If we're going to have factories we're going to have Marx. El pueblo unido jamás será vencido! We can't have Che anymore, you ruined Che for us you pandehos of Madison Avenue, you put him in a bottle, Revolution Soda!

But Moctezuma never told you where his gold was Cortez because the gold was in the tea you never drank, the poison you said, the devil you said, the irony we said, we died laughing!

Fuck of the Mountain: I've been to the mountaintop. I make my home in the valley. I ran away from town after a pathetique incident in a barber shop. I haven’t cut my hair since. I’m grizzlier than thou! I salute the peak every morning.

Cortez: Ah, everything I touch turns to gold. Poxy gold. A pox on your gold. I lick the pox off your gold. Ah, sweet pox. We loved a good old pox back in the civilized world, it was a golden age for poxes. We fermented them, Pox-ale, we drank it and loved it. We sold it to you for your fine tobacco products. But this is a place for exorcizing demons.

This Poem is Indistinguishable's bastard child: There is no truth, just opinion. There is no good, only morals. There will never be an answer to whether it was right to invade that country. Reality is what you can get away with.

The Manhattan Hillbilly: Damnit, I FOUND that oil! I started an oil company and I ran that company successfully! I fueled the world!

Fuck of the Mountain: I know, Manhatty, I know. Believe me, I respect that. Your penis is very large, I'm awed by the size. Use it to impress large-titted women wearing thousands of dollars of cosmetic care. I think you deserve a good salary. You should be set for life. Have a big house in the country. Long Island, is there any country left there? Have that. And your family - let's give you enough money to provide well for your family and their families. But let's not stretch that too far okay? Two family extension is reasonable, I think the Tic Tac Regime has been generous with its offer. They'll give you a nice chunk of change to throw around. You can walk into your local bars and be the big spender. People will suck up to you because of your wealth. Your friends will let your rude comments slide because they shamefully know that if they're ever in financial trouble, you'll bail them out, smug in faux grudge because the stench of desperation is your favourite intoxicant.

The Manhattan Hillbilly: But why should there be any limit to the amount of money I can make? REALITY IS WHAT YOU CAN GET AWAY with, remember? And I can get away with this! You mountain types are the people who want all us elites, all those who have succeeded in something, to handicap ourselves. Your vision is a gray commie future. I'll have none of that. And what are you going to do about it? The Cayman Islands, that's my tax revolt. Under Mination was the great tax revolter, he founded a country on it. I mold myself after him.

Henry Ford: Manhattan, you ain't all that. I built cars motherfucker. What can you do with oil when there are no cars?

The Manhattan Hillbilly: Well uh... um, well you can make PLASTIC out of it and you can heat your home and - YOU CAN DO TONS OF STUFF YOU ASSHOLE! SHUT UP!

PONGO: Your comment was unwarranted Henry and will be stricken from the record.

Fuck of the Mountain: Manhatty, please co-operate. I've talked to higher ups in the Tic Tac regime (well they don't really have a hierarchy but they think they're high ups, anyway). They're good people I promise you. I swear it on the Holy Mountain. I invoke the Holy Word. I say FUCKING-A RIGHT, they're forces for good. They want to give you a good life. But they want the excess - and it is excess, let's be real - for the poor, some of whom work long hours for low pay to keep your oily infrastructure running. But the more important matter is scaling back this runaway structure that's dragged society along with it to make room for a sustainable future. If we do nothing it'll drag us right off a damn cliff.

The Manhattan Hillbilly: Now don't get all hasty, we've got a good twenty years left for silicon chips, plastic utensils, Hollywood Magic, and sweet sweet petroleum.

El Moriscavo di Santahuasca: Our staticians say ten years. That is if we assume that our oil is ours and not yours. I'm looking at you, Under.

The Sacred Chao: Gentlemen, it offends me deeply that you suggest there is something "wrong" with the chaotic unfolding of natural laws that have led us to a rapid increase in technology and resource extraction. Humanity is a part of nature and this is a natural process that we should not exhibit the arrogance to counter. I am the man that nature has chosen to be at the forefront of human leadership in the unfolding of that process at this time. Nature loves courage, I think Terence would agree with me. All your base are belong to us.

Johnny Canuck: so what are you planning on doing when we've sucked the planet dry?

The Sacred Chao: Space Ark, didn't I tell you? NASA sold off their rockets, we bought at bargain prices because Under Mination needed to pawn off supplies to fund his wars. And I didn't build them for nothing either. I built them for elites who have earned their privilege. There is room for one seventeenth of one seventeenth of one seventeenth percent - exactly the number our Calculatron arrived at when asked how much of Earth's projected population would be worthy, factoring into the equations the graph of every relevant global trend for the next three decades. This is the final act, don't you know?

King Arthur: You tycoons make me laugh. I am a king, God be praised, and I never needed a drop of oil. You talk like your modern lives are essential. You cannot IMAGINE living any other way. Well failure of imagination will not prevent reality. Reality was so ubiquitous in our day we hadn't even a word for it.

Johnny Canuck: Arthur you really need to watch this Monty Python movie. I mean seriously.

King Arthur: We had no need of movies. We had reality. The thing for which we had no name.

The Sacred Chao: You know, for a guy who says he had no word for reality, you've certainly talked about it enough.

Terence McKenna: Robert Anton Wilson said that reality's what you can get away with. I got away with some doozies. Ever heard of the Elf Dome?

Reverend James Christsmith: Heathen!

Terence McKenna: Hey, who knows? The best thing about your core mystery being a hallucination is that nobody can check the source.

PONGO: Hey, I checked the source. I did FOUR hits of DMT, I slammed it. And all I got was a void. Not that it was a bad void or anything. It was a luminous void, pretty cool as far as voids go. But I didn't get no elves. But fuck that "lesser light" bullshit, it WAS light, pure light, all light, all night, ALRIGHT! I guess that's what you get if you're not a Buddhist. I guess that's better than elves really. It's hard to remember though.

Terence McKenna: Well you can't verify MY source. My source was my brain and I've come to realize that I'm wired for those alien visuals. They don't tell me about the universe so much as they explain my wires. And some wondrous wires they are. "The Invisible Landscape" was a beautiful description of their parameters and how they perturb the pastiche of conventional hallucination we call western culture, with some of Dennis's theories worked in at appropriate alchemical junctures. But Pongo, tell me more about that void, I'm curious.

Pongo: Terence McKenna ASKING about MY experience rather than TELLING me about HIS? Has the world gone topsy-turvy?

Terence McKenna: Well, I had to have a career you know. You’ve got to make your way in the world. Sometimes it takes everything you've got. Getting a break from all your worries sure would help a lot. Wouldn't you like to get away? Sometimes you've gotta go...

Pongo: Where everybody knows your name! That's the void man, you nailed it you oblique bastard. But the void had a sound too! It was musical but it was every melody ever played. Hearing the sum was too much but I succumbed, crumpled into that sonic singularity, an implosion of audible possibility. I can't describe it really.

King Arthur: So Pongo, as chairwoman of the Tic Tac Regime, how did you launder the word "welfare"?

Pongo: That was all due to the success of my welfare for CEOs plan. Bill Gates was an early adopter. That was in his senile years of course. He was a delight. A true boddhisatva, even funnier than the bums. He woke up and remembered where he came from. Became Ambassador to Nirvana, proprietor of a buggy operating system, and richest man on the planet, crying tears from the compound eye. He knew where the music was. Which reminds me - it's time for an improv break.

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Maybe I do wanna be a sucker. Maybe it's better than a pointless sense of superiority. Miserable sense. Maybe better to get suckered in ...