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(More than you ever needed to know, but you might find some of it interesting anyway.) [Plagiarists and Proud!] 01 - A Blizzard of Lies (Look at My Hand) This piece was a "one-take" deal. Although the tracks were recorded separately, there were no repeats of anything. The drum machine was programmed and played by the duo of Maddog and Uni. The guitar part was improvised with absolutely no idea of what would happen next. * Section I (Maddog ad lib) * * Section II (read) * We left out the line: (LIFE IS REBELLING AND RECLAIMING ITS DUES) * Section III (videotape) * Cued and controlled by the Fropman. He still hasn't reminded us where it came from. * * * * * * PERFORMERS: An Anchor (guest via videotape): The news THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, undecipherable ululation, electric guitar noodlings, BOSS DR-110 Dr. Rhythm drum machine Pazkal Uni: FX processor (Digital Nausea), DR-110 Fropman Don: TV/VCR, studio proprietor THIS WAS FOUND IN "PHOTOSTATIC" (ON ART STRIKE AT TIME OF THIS RECORDING) 911 N. DODGE ST. IOWA CITY, IA 52245 02 - WHAT IS A TOY? A Round of Questions Starting with a "2001"-like guitar riff and no more, this was another "one-take" wonder. This piece features a rare audible appearance by "The Quiet One," AKA Tai Mai-shu. Very "zen." CULTURAL SABOTAGE * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tai Mai-shu: Incessant interrogation, ninja weaponry, spraypaint Tim Maddog: Sustained electric guitar noodlings, recording engineer Pazkal Uni (& BOB): BOSS DR-110 Dr. Rhythm drum machine, FX processor (Digital Nausea) Fropman Don: Studio proprietor, instrument rentals * * * * * * 03 - The True Invisible Order - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - TAKEN FROM ARCANE TRUTHS/GNOSIS MAGAZINE P.O. BOX 14217 SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94114 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - It says, "Not immorality, you imbecile, immortality!" Not "Not immortality, you imbecile, immortality!" Can you spot the difference without listening to the performance. Well, good for you! You're probably not stoned out of your mind like several of us were on the long nights that resulted in these recordings. We like it anyway. What is this "legendary Philosopher's Stone", and why would you want to smash it to bits? What does it really mean "to be immortal, to be all powerful, to be altruistically Machiavellian"? * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, electric guitar noodlings (lead & rhythm) Pazkal Uni: Obstreperous verbosity, FX processor (Digital Nausea) Fropman Don: Studio proprietor 04 - AN AIRPLANE WITH FIVE HOLES (THIS IS GARBAGE) -BY BLAZE BROWN Blaze was so obsessed with recycling that he spewed forth this rant with barely a pause to breathe. You've gotta hand it to him! At one point, when he did breathe, Uni took the time to insert a question: (Why don't you tell 'em about all your plastic milk cartons?) This led to the screeching: "'17 cents for all your m.c.'s, sir.' I'd spent literally HOURS cutting up m.c.'s. '17 cents, sir.'" section. Blaze did make an aluminum pentagram on the kitchen floor, and the house was full of black cats. He must've provided the munchies that night: Doritos and salsa. He might have even made the salsa, if I recall correctly. (Now we can stick the microphone up our ass!) We didn't actually do that. The microphone is still trembling in anticipation of such an experience. (End of track right there!) * * * * * * PERFORMERS: Mike Dukakis: Garbage THE SEDITION COMMISSION Blaze Brown: Accentuated ranting, aluminum pentagram, chips and dips Tim Maddog: Electric guitar noodlings, Casio SK-1, BOSS DR-110 Dr. Rhythm drum machine, suppository devices, recording engineer Pazkal Uni: FX processor (Digital Nausea), background directions Fropman Don: Studio proprietor, aluminum provider 05 - The Ultimate Irony -by Mephisto This one was penned in blood(-red ink) by the Fropman during a spell of demonic possession. Mahvelous! It was also written under the senior Bush's presidency following on the heels of the Reagan-Bush plunderfest and the first Iraq was (AKA "Desert Storm"). "So go out and cheer on those brave fools parading throughout the country who fought your last war, because they'll probably be returning to the desert sands very soon to fight another one. Why? Because your president wants to play a little more golf and sail around in his gas-guzzling boat while he watches his popularity soar once more in the polls, because he wants to give you four more years of the same!!" How could he possibly have known that Junior Chimpboy would do exactly that -- more than a decade before it happened?! Simple. He pays close attention to the man behind the curtain. Don's blowgun -- yes, an actual device for blowing poison darts into the necks of unsuspecting individuals -- provided some of the unreproduceable sounds on this piece. The whole gang joined in for the evil laugh: "HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !" * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Fropman Don: Literary utterances, blowgun, kitchen utensils, multiple personalities, studio proprietor Mephisto: Speech writer Blaze Brown: Heater vent Tai Mai-shu: Briefcase, ninja weaponry Pazkal Uni: Mardi Gras cups, FX processor (Digital Nausea) Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, car keys 06 - Start Praying to a New God -by Bob Mustang "This show's satellite feed, via satellite. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" It was actually via a videotape, but do you really care? "And you know what babies eat, don't ya? They eat pabulum You know, that stuff that really isn't anything, it's just pabulum? That's what TV is -- pabulum" Do you know what "pabulum" is? Do you wanna know? "30, 30, 30, count 'em 30 Frames per second, coming at you!" The rate of image change on television, drug of the nation, breeding ignorance and feeding radiation We originally tried (and failed miserably) to do a "rap" of a comic book piece. The guitar track was out of tune, so Tim Maddog re-did it at his remote-ish "Cozmik Chaos Studios," including a special Eddie Van Halen technique which goes like this: On the 3rd string, pull off 7--5--0 (4 times) while moving the outer edge of the right hand palm along the string over the pickups, starting closer to the bridge and moving toward the fretboard. Most of the guitar is doubled exactly in 2 tracks which are panned opposite each other, but there are parts which sort of "move in opposite directions," making for a nice effect, especially when listening through headphones. * * * * * * PERFORMERS: Bob Mustang: Ramblings (via videotape feed) THE SEDITION COMMISSION Fropman Don: TV/VCR, studio proprietor Pazkal Uni: BOSS DR-110 Dr. Rhythm drum machine (programming and playing), FX processor (Digital Nausea) Tim Maddog: GguUIitTAarRSs, recording engineer - - - MUCH CONSTRUCTION STILL REQUIRED BELOW THIS POINT - - - 07 - THE STORY OF SAM FROM THE ALBUM P.E.A.C.E. SAM WAS A NICE MAN. SAM OWNED A SMALL FARM NEAR ST. GEORGE, UTAH. HE WORKED VERY HARD ON HIS FARM AND MADE A DECENT LIVING. SAM WAS A GOOD AMERICAN. HE ALWAYS PAID HIS TAXES. HE WOULD FIGURE OUT WHAT HE OWED AND MAIL IT PROMPTLY TO THE GOVERNMENT. AND THE GOVERNMENT USED SAM'S MONEY TO IMPROVE ITS NUCLEAR BOMBS. ... WHICH IT TESTED NOT FAR AWAY FROM ST. GEORGE. AND SAM KEPT PAYING HIS TAXES. OH, EVERY NOW AND THEN THE HOUSE SHOOK AND THAT CLOUD WENT BY. THEN SAM GOT SICK. LEUKEMIA THEY SAID. FROM RADIOACTIVITY, MAYBE, THEY SAID. SAM DIED. AMERICA THANKS YOU, SAM. [THANK YOU, SAM.] * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Fropman Don: Country guitar rhythm, vegetable matter, studio proprietor Pazkal Uni: FX processor (Digital Nausea), slippery guitar stylings Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, undecipherable ululation 08 - To Talk About Neoism... To write about Neoism?! is the easiest thing in the world because you can say just anything (ANYTHING) and it will fit well the concept. Just like our stickers Neoism?! sticks to anything. You can copy the immortal wisdom of Neoist?! conspirators, and, or course you can use your own stupid ideas as well. The purpose of our propaganda is not to convince but to confuse. Linear progression is an illusion simulated by the writers of history. In Akademgorod everything exist (sic) at the same time. It's always 6 o'clock. 6 o'clock is not a time zone but a term for our Anachro-neoism?! utopian ideals. Never believe in history books, never trust writers and publishers. History books are serving the security of oppressing systems. Publishing means censorship, elimination of reality, mutilation of ideas. The makers of history are the owners of the press. The vocabulary and style of insulting letters is always amazing. Behind the insults there is a much more important great value. What we really want is to get energy out of our personal drama for the benefit of Neoism?! If the straight world understood all this Neoist?! shit it would render us impotent, because understanding is the first step to control and control is the secret to our extinction. This reluctance to define ourselves gives us glorious freedom in which to fuck with the system. So what the hell are we doing, you ask? We are dynamiting brain cells. We are putting people through changes. We invite you to bring you day environment into a different reality, a series of action uncontrolled by time. Where the theater of Neoism?! creates the new revolution. We are a pain in the ass to this world because we cannot be explained. We are alienated. We are existential lovers in a plastic society. I do not even understand myself. Riots -- environmental, political, social or psychological -- are Holy. So don't screw around with explanations. Applause, boos, analysts, critics are irrelevant. Those that respond to criticism are politicians. The want everyone to love them. To any question a hundred different answers could be given, forcing the questioner to make up his own answers: to distort. Distortion thus becomes the life-blood of the Neoists?! Accept contradictions, that's what life is all about. The ability to withstand frustration is what keeps us alive. Guns alone will never change the system. You don't use a gun on an IBM computer. Just pull the plug out. We will end Neoism?! in a huge orgasm of destruction atop a giant media altar. Neoism?! is an extremely over-eclectic movement that has borrowed from such disparate sources as Brecht, Garibaldi, Ady, Kant, Nietzsche, Abbie Hoffman, Lenin, Hitler, the beat generation, Bakunin, Louis Lingg, buddhism, communism, dada, punk, and everything else. Neoists?! are always regarded as traitors to their country, to their culture. Their aim is to remind the world that there are independent men and women -- beyond war, nationalism, business -- who live for other ideals. Neoists?! are specialist (sic) in revolt, scandals, cooking, bread making, jokes, insults, traveling, debts, haircutting, etc. An independent movement as Neoism?! is not susceptible to the ordinary process of logic. Neoism?! is not an ideology but a complementary system of living. We recycle! Neoists?! affirm that until now philosophers have only interpreted the world. Now it is a question of recreating it. There never were any Neoists?! and there never will be. Neoism?! is only a name and that name is what it's all about. Neoism?! is the biggest put-on of all time. If you believe Neoists?! existed, you are nothing but a sheep. The Neoist?! Network is changing continually. Extends, shrinks, falls apart, grows, gets mutilated, becomes a giant, declares its end, starts again, stops communicating, creates media events, goes underground, gets separated, joins other networks, etc. The Neoist?! Network is a BIOCOSMIC (biological-social-machine) instrument for research, training and execution. You can become a member or Neoism?! by having an orgasm at 6 o'clock. In Akademgorod it's always 6 o'clock but unfortunately there are only two 6 o'clocks a day everywhere else in the world. Make sure that your orgasm comes exactly at 6 of your local time. Masturbation, couple sex or group sex, or any other sort of manipulation that creates an orgasm can be used. For more than a decade the Monty Cantsin open-pop-star project has been one of the principal commitments of Neoism?! Anyone could become a Neoist?! by doing everything in the name of Neoism?! and by using the name Monty Cantsin?. This era is over. You can keep signing your name Monty Cantsin? or a Monty Cantsin? but you have to put a question mark after the name. Neoism?! is to be added with a question mark and an exclamation mark. This change means that you won't become a Neoist?! just by using these names. You also have to become a question mark and an exclamation mark. Try Neoism?! You'll last longer. [Monty Cantsin 6 P.O. BOX 227, IOWA CITY, IA 52244 * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: FX processor (Digital Nausea), POV (pitch-shifting obstreperous verbosity) Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, electric guitar noodlings, spray can Fropman Don: Studio proprietor GUEST PRODUCER Robo Studios: Pitch-shifter 09 - Paradise Lost -by M. Estep So I'm crossin the street and this guy he's goin': "YO BABY. I GOT THE GOODS, I GOT THE RAMBO. OPEN AND SMOKIN'. YO BABY YOU WANT IT OR WHAT--he say: YO BABY OR I GOT THE CRACK I GOT THAT TOO YOU WANT IT I GOT IT." And I say: "NO DUDE. I DON'T WANT YOUR CRACK. DON'T WANT YOUR RAMBO. I WANT SOME CHEESE. SOME SHARP CHEDDAR CHEESE. THAT'S ALL I WANT. I WANT NEW YORK EXTRA SHARP CHEDDAR CHEESE. RIGHT. YOU GOT IT? THAT'S WHAT I WANT." "RAMBO RAMBO. OUT OF CONTROL. POISON. CRACK." "I DON'T WANT IT. I WANT TO GO INTO THIS BODEGA. I WANT YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP. I WANT EGGS I WANT OMELETTES I WANT CHEDDAR I WANT BIGFOOT IN BONDAGE ZEUS PISSING CHAMPAGNE. I WANT LOUIS THE FOURTEENTHS (sic) REIGN I WANNA PULL THE REINS I WANT MILK AND FLAILING CHEESECAKE QUEENS IN COMBAT BOOTS SINGING BLUEGRASS RENDITIONS OF NUSERY RHYMES TO POST PUNK HOLISTIC ZOMBIE KIDS WITH TRI-COLORED HAIRED (sic) I WANNA WIPE THE GLARE I WANT WINDEX AND WINDOWS OPEN ON A BLASTING BLUE SKY I WANT THE SKY I WANNA KISS THE SKY I WANT JIMI HENDRIX JANE'S ADDICTION LYLE LOVETT JOHNNY CASH I WANT SOME CASH I WANNA WRING THE WET TOWEL OF MY SOUL DRY AS DRY I WANT SAFEWAY SAFE SEX A BOMBED OUT CINEMA MULTIPLEX." So by now the guy's goin': "OKAY BABY BUT I GOT THE CRACK IF YOU WANT IT. CRACK CRACK CRACK. OPEN N SMOKIN'. STEP RIGH UP AND GET YOUR SLICE O' DEATH. GET IT HERE. HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN. PARADISE LOST." And I say: "DIDN'T I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR? MY PARADISE IS LOST DUDE BUT I DON'T WANT THE RAMBO RAMBO RAMBO CRACK CRACK SMACK. I WANT THE NEW YOUR EXTRA SHARP CHEDDAR CHEDDAR CHEDDAR. THAT'S ALL I WANT." * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: FX processor (Digital Nausea), Mardi Gras cups Tim Maddog: Bodega babble, pizza production, stolen cola, BOSS DR-110 Dr. Rhythm button-pushing, recording engineer "GOD": Drum machine programming Fropman Don: Blowgun, studio proprietor 10 - I'm The Man / Over 5 Billion Conspiracies Sold I'M THE man and Jesus Christ that the late President John F. Kennedy referred to by shouting out loud that "We have control of the mind," shaking all over, at the end of a press conference in January 1961. In 1953, I separated a round, gold soul from my head which was going around in a circle from left to right, stared me in the face a few seconds and disappeared to become the infinite Cosmos in five minutes like my "cosmic mind." In 1959 I had an electro-shock treatment to my head which electrified my mind and body and sent my "cosmic mind" from my head out into the Cosmos where it has been monitored by orbiting satellites and computers. A dosimeter showed I was 200 Roentgens radio-active and my ratemeter showed showed I was 25 Roentgens per hour radio-active. Both dosimeter and ratemeter measured neutron radiation. I raised the dead into eternal Heaven or Paradise on July 5, 1989. Ashwander is a Jewish name. In January, 1961, the CIA flashed through my "cosmic mind." Albert Einstein spitting in my face, Jesus Christ being crucified on a cross and John Foster Dulles smiling. I created myself from the Eternal Spirit into the womb of my dear mother and was born 2-6-34. Because I'm Jesus Christ and healed many people over 2,000 years ago. I will heal you of your sicknesses and reward you in Heaven if you write. A love offering appreciated: Dan Ashwander, 308 East Azalea Avenue, Foley, AL 36535 ------------------------------ THE ULTIMATE CONSPIRACY THEORY by Sheldon der Wehr BE WARY OF MEN WHO TRY TO TELL YOU ABOUT ANY ONE CONSPIRACY! It's a distraction! When you start worrying about Conspiracy A, then other conspiracies can work behind your back without worrying about being seen by you. Then when others try to tell you about Conspiracy Q, or Conspiracy X, you will ignore wha they say... maybe think that they are crazy... because only you know what's really going on, right? Wrong! You don't know what's going on... there's TOO MUCH TO KNOW! But here's a little hint: There isn't one conspiracy. There aren't two conspiracies. There aren't five, or five hundred, or five thousand conspiracies. There are, in fact, OVER FIVE BILLION CONSPIRACIES! Yes, practically every man, woman, and child on this planet is a complete, self-contained conspiracy against the rest of humanity, against all life on this planet. Some are ambitious enough to conspire against the entire universe. Don't believe it? Think about it -- don't you secretly wish that the world could be a certain way? Sure you do -- and that's what makes you a conspiracy! You don't even have to plan in secret -- your DREAMS influence your actions without your awareness. Remember the first week of your job. Remember how good you felt. Remember how well your work went. Then you started to learn what a jerk your boss really was. Before long, your coffee breaks became just a bit longer, and your sick days became just a bit more pronounced. And your work suffered. Coincidence? Hardly. All of your desires are reflected in your actions! But your DREAMS of the perfect society and the perfect lifestyle seen just a tad impossible when five billion others have their own DREAMS that may well be, by their very nature, THE VERY OPPOSITE of what you want! And so there you are, pitting YOUR conspiracy against all THEIRS. How the hell do you expect to win, eh? The obvious solution is to find others who share your DREAM, or at least share common elements of your DREAM. So you form a group, a club, a business: A LARGER CONSPIRACY. But then you wind up losing a part of your DREAM to THE COMMON CAUSE. Your hopes die just a little, as a SACRIFICE, to the "Common Good!" And you may be so enthralled by the false "benefits" of organization that you never MISS the things you lost! And that isn't all, friends! For just as individuals form small conspiracies, so do groups form larger conspiracies, each time diluting THE DREAMS into more general COMMON CAUSES. Eventually all compiracies merge to form THE CONSPIRACY, whose only COMMON CAUSE is the attainment of the COMMON CAUSE that IT diluted down to NOTHING. With that monolithic CONSPIRACY preventing any other conpiracies from working, it's no wonder why people are discontent even in the world THEY helped make. But don't give up yet! There is a way to KILL THE CONSPIRACY, and kill it dead. Give up. That's right -- give up trying to conspire against the rest of the human race! Let them know that THEY DON'T NEED A STINKING CONSPIRACY! When you stop trying to force your reality on everyone else, suddenly it becomes as easy as pie to force your reality onto YOURSELF. In fact, little force is needed AT ALL. The quest for your DREAMS becomes a dimple development and stops being a futile fight against the rest of humanity. Your perfect world is IN YOURSELF. So GET OFF YOUR ASS and LIVE IN IT. PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: Found objects (This is not a pipe) Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, electric guitar noodlings, car keys Blaze Brown: Heater vent, chips and dips Fropman Don: Literary utterances, studio proprietor 11 - Silent Observers From [Wilhelm] Reich's People in Trouble: The reality of such days and hours during the "war of the classes" differs from the description in official reports on civil and class struggles. In these reports the conflicts, according to theory, are fought out between "capitalist" (sic) and "workers." In the streets, however, people actually run, scream, shoot, and die! I saw no capitalists on the street, only thousands and thousands of workers, in and out of uniform, women, children, physicians, and spectators. The indelible impression remained that people were warring with their own kind. - It was not a riot per se, with two antagonistic factions, but simply tens of thousands of people, and groups of policemen shooting into the defenseless crowd. - I saw several policemen raise their gun barrels and shoot over the people's heads. Many, however, fired straight into the crowd, which scattered. Dozens of people lay on the ground. It was hard to tell whether they were dead, wounded, or merely trying to protect themselves. I jumped behind a tree and pulled my wife after me. - Again I had the feeling of watching " a senseless machine," nothing more. A stupid, idiotic automaton lacking reason and judgment, which sometimes goes into action and sometimes does not. - Machine men! - Some of these machine men had enough life left in them at least to be ashamed. They averted their eyes or shot over the heads of the crowd. ____________________________________________________________________ Offshoots of Orgonomy IX - 17 A HEALTHY INDIVIDUAL WHO HAS ENOUGH TO EAT DOES NOT STEAL. AN INDIVIDUAL WHO IS SEXUALLY HAPPY DOES NOT NEED AN INHIBITING "MORALITY" OR A SUPERNATURAL "RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE." * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: FX processor (Digital Nausea), asynchronous obstreperous verbosity Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, unsynched undecipherable ululation Fropman Don: Studio proprietor, kitchen utensils 12 - The Armored Org(o)nism The armored organism is essentially different from the unarmored one in that a rigid wall is erected btween its biological core, from which all natural impulses stem, and the world in which it lives and works. As a result every natural impulse, particularly the natural function and capacity for love, is impeded. The living core of the armored organism has retained its impulses, but they can no longer find free expression. In the desperate attempt "to express itself," every natural impulse is forced to penetrate or break through the wall of the armoring. The impulse must use force to reach the surface and the goal. While the impulse is trying to overcome the armoring by force, it is transformed into a destructive rage, regardless of its original nature. It does not matter what happens to this secondary rage reaction later, after passing through the armor: whether it spends itself or is inhibited, whether it turns into morbid self-pity or reaches its goal as undisguided sadism: the core of the process is the transormation of all love impulses into destructiveness while passing through the armor. To repeat: it is the effort to express itself naturally and reach its goal that converts every basic biological impulse into destructiveness. In the process, the total being of the armored person acquires a characteristic that can only be described as hardness or disharmony. The existence of the armor does not prevent the stricken organism from loving or being afraid. Its life expressions spring from all depth strata of the organism. It communicates with the world as if through gaps or holes in the armor. But since it cannot fully let itself go, its love is small, carefully measured and allotted: its concern for the child is "controlled," "taking all circumstances into account"; its accomplishment is "well-measured" and "reasoned," pointing toward meaningful and "purposeful" work; its hatred is "goal-oriented" and "circumscribed." Briefly, it never loses its head, is always "reasonable" and "composed," the way a "realistic politician" has to be. Such an organism hates the well-ordered but infinitely variable freedom of natural processes, or it fears them. Its destructive hatred is directed mainly--we would not exaggerate if we said, exclusively--against all genuine and unrestrained attitudes of the unarmored organism, against the spontaneous, pleasurable, enthusiastic, vibrating, wild and foolish things in life. Above all, it opposes what is involuntary and free in the body. In its destructive attitude toward the alive or unarmored organism, the armored organism knows no mercy. Here it loses the qualities it has otherwise raised to the level of ideal human behavior. In the guise of idealistic or hygienic attitudes, the armored organism knows how to kill every spontaneous impluse in itself and other organisms. The destructiveness or armored life against unarmored life may be observed in the relations of most educators toward newborn children. The newborn infant comes into the world without armor. Life functions in him without regard for the "demands of culture." His first utterance activates his orgonotically highly charged mouth. In our highly reputable obstetrical hospitals, infants, during their first twenty-four to forty-eight hours, are not breast-fed by their mothers, according to some iron law. It takes a threat to move a nurse or a physician to break this rule. The infants suffer and whimper. "Culture" has no ear for that. One might ask about the reason for this procedure. There is no reasonable answer, or at best one of those stereotyped replies that might come from a masked mouth. Newborn infants feel the touch of their mothers for only a few minutes during the day. Think of it: what an offense against the rules of "hygiene"! The infant, barely torn from the orgonotic contact with the warm uterus, which lasted for an uninterrupted nine months; this infant, suddenly transferred from an environment of 37° C. into one of 18 or 20° C., may not feel the mother's body. This violates the rules of hospital administration, culture and morality; it provokes the Oedipus complex, offends customs and mores, opposes the life style of the highest of all branches of medicine, represented by the academies of science, honorary doctors and honorary presidents of all universities of this universe, in which electrons and protons, side by side with neutrons and positrons, dance the St. Vitus dance of atomic explosion. It is here, precisely here and not at diplomatic conferences or anywhere else, that infants acquire their future readiness to make war. The newborn child reacts to the cold first with anxiety, then with screams, and finally with a contraction of his autonomic system, the first contraction of his life, unless a lifeless uterus has damaged his organism beforehand. This massacre of the newborn, plainly audible in the ear-splitting and heart-breaking screams in all the infant rooms of all obstetrical clinics the world over -- this massacre, as I said, has nothing to do with hygienic considerations. It is the first unconscious but drastic measure by armored organisms in the guise of physicians, administrators and parents against the living organism that confronts them, unspoiled and undistorted. Let us ponder this fact: thousands of doctors and nurses hear the screaming infants and understand nothing. They remain deaf and dumb. Add to this the ritual of covered mouths and rubber-clad hands to understand the shifting of all emphasis, the evasion of the essential, and the stress on the unessential, which are used in this battle against the newborn child. I insist that prevailing medicine and pedagogy, as they are officially taught and practiced, do not understand the living organism and do not have the vaguest idea about the most primitive life processes. I speak of life processes, and not of the number of red blood corpuscles. This confirms my rigorous dictum that the organism can perceive only what it itself expresses. The armored physician cannot hear the screams of the infants, or else he takes them for granted because he has stifled the screams inside himself and because his own organism can no longer perceive what another organism reveals to him. There are only a few, courageous islands of inchoate understanding. LOVE, WORK, AND KNOWLEDGE ARE THE WELL-SPRINGS OF LIFE. THEY SHOULD ALSO GOVERN IT. - WILHELM REICH * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: FX processor (Digital Nausea), spontaneous, pleasurable, enthusiastic, vibrating, wild and foolish funkoustic rhythm guitar Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, psycho-funkadelic harmonic minor lead guitar Fropman Don: Literary utterances, videotape samples (from one of those "women-in-prison" movies), studio proprietor Eris: Holy Mother of the Kozmik Food Fights 13 - Kop Watch - - - - - - - THE SHADOW P.O.BOX 20298 NYC, NY 10009 - - - - - - - Well, here we are again! It looks like the koppers got the riot they've been looking for on Memorial Day, but this time they got much more than they bargained for. Cop Watch predicted a kop-induced incident at the May Day concert in Tompkins Square Park that would set off a riot that could be used as the excuse the kops needed to justify closing the park, but we were a little too early! Instead of using their proven method of holding back and waiting for protests and tempers to die down, the hopelessly outnumbered kops kept trying to advance on the protestors, who in turn sent the kops running with their tails between their legs under a hail of flying bottles. ---------------------------------------------------- After the appropriately slanted mainstream media coverage portraying the kops as the victims instead of the instigators, they seized the opportunity to invade the park with hundreds of kops to evict the homeless from the park a week later and close the park indefinitely for "renovations", under a police state-style occupation. During the latest state of seige, hundreds of helmeted kops have been seen hanging out on corners, sleeping in their cars, and drinking beers while on duty. (Wasn't the riot started by a kop assaulting people for drinking?) ---------------------------------------------------- In the demonstrations and marches following the kop raid on the park, kops have taken great joy in beating female participants, just as you'd expect an invading army to do in an occupied territory. One woman arrested at Astor Place on June 7th was lucky--she was knocked unconcious (sic) so she didn't feel the beating by kops who hogtied her and lifted her by the handcuffs on her wrists into the paddy wagon. Another woman arrested on Avenue B on June 6th for standing in the street had her blouse pulled up over her head by kops, exposing her breasts!! ---------------------------------------------------- Another woman taken to the 7th precinct that day for protesting against the closing of the park received a long gash on her hand by a clumsy kop trying to remove the plastic cuffs around her wrists with a pair of scissors. ---------------------------------------------------- This terrorism has not been limited to women and men alone. Several young children marching on Avenue B with their mothers on the evening of June 7th demanding that the park be re-opened were greeted by a blockade of riot kops at the corner of 9th Street, one of whom pulled his gun out to show the kids he wasn't fooling around! The kids are still frightened everytime (sic) they see a kop, so they've learned a valuable lesson! ---------------------------------------------------- Though small parts of the park are open to kids and their guardians, kop watch has been told that many kids are too afraid to enter the park with armed kops standing by. [Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! That man has a gun!] One woman, a member of Community Board 3, sitting on a bench, saw about 30 kops occupying benches around her, with one of them smoking a joint! (Wasn't the riot started by a kop assaulting people for drinking [smoking]? ---------------------------------------------------- Four people arrested separately by plainclothes kops in the early morning hours of June 8th on their ways home, including the editor of the SHADOW, were treated to a 24 hour trip through the system after being charged with felonies. They were accused of "stomping" on a parked car. Kops told them that this was done so they would miss the next day's park demonstrations and the War Parade two days later. Inside one of the undercover cars was a pile of empty beer bottles--(wasn't the riot started by a kop assaulting people for drinking?) ---------------------------------------------------- Speaking of lawsuits, attorney Stanley Cohen is contemplating a class action suit against the police department under Section 1983 of the Civil Rights Act to stop the campaign of police harrassment (sic) and terrorism in our neighborhood, and to sue for monetary damages. If you or someone you know has been the victim of police threats, intimidation, false arrests or violence, please contact the SHADOW. All information will be passed on to be added to the suit. If you desire, confidentiality is guaranteed!! ____________________________________________________ Know Your Enemy... * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tim Maddog: Kopwatcher (paragraphs 1 and 8), space-octaver, whole-tone scales Pazkal Uni: Kopwatcher (paragraphs 2 and 7) Blaze Brown: Kopwatcher (paragraphs 3 and 6) Fropman Don: Kopwatcher (paragraphs 4 and 5), studio proprietor INTRO: Warning! This is not a test! For the duration of this tape, you will be assailed by sonic and linguistic crowbars gently prying at the seams of your conspiratorially induced belief systems. We are thieves stealing the mind to give it back to itself. The tool is diction, the goal contradiction. It is your duty to decide for yourself whether or not to believe any of this, or to believe period. We wish you luck in making it to the end. We will begin in 5 seconds. Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sed-! Sedition! Sedition Commission! Sedition! Sedition Commission! Sedition! Sedition Commission! Sedition! Sedition Commission! Sedition! Sedition Commission! Sedition! Sedition Commission! Sedition! Your life is not yours! Your life is not yours! Your life! Your life! Your life! Your life is not yours! Your life is not yours! Your life is not yours! It's a pack of lies! It's a pack of lies! It's a pack of lies! It's a pack of lies! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Use your brain! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Time to change! Big Brother is watching! Big Brother is watching! Big Brother is watching! Big Brother is watching! Big Brother is watching! Big Brother! Big Brother! Big Brother! Big Brother! Big Brother! Big Brother is watching! Sedition Commission! Sedition Com-! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission! Sedition Commission (Sedition Commission)! * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: Lurching introductory self-defense warning, industrial lazy finger-laying (rhythm guitar) Tim Maddog: E-bow key-shifting Zen axe (non-reproducible lead guitar) Fropman Don: Seditionary samples, Casio SK-1 Tai Mai-shu: Shaolin tofu, briefcase Blaze Brown: Radio Pope-in-Exile INTERLUDE: "Our 'public mind' is filled with images of an America where the vending machines are always full, the wounded always recover, and the bills never come due. We seem to prefer the comfortable lie to the uncomfortable truth, and we punish those who point out reality while rewarding those who provide us with the comfort of illusion." (from Smile #6, POB 3502, Madison, WI 53704) I walked 3 miles in the desert. I put on the mask of a thousand faces, and sung the anatomy of Siamese frogs to the blue Martians dancing on a floating tin can. The response is a resonating hydrolysis fragrant with the erotic pickle symphony. Twice it was ground, spicy with chronicles of desire melting into nomadic synthesis. They stare at me with greens, eyes red, then blue, and acorn-knuckle queens. The white horses dip flips hat trick anatomy. Floating pink hippos sparks the silver high heels. Dada manada. They chopped down the cross of Jesus, fried him in beetlejuice, cracked the icepick on Trotsky's head as a ceremony for the platypus union. Watching eyeballs looking outward -- one up, one down -- in purple wheels of flopping distortion. Inside the tissue flagellating the frozen muskrat on a stick. I got out the wet noodle and continued the whipping, yelling ex-spasm in holy blue polyester, flabby jiggers rocking blue twinkies hazy plains of ecstasy, iniquitous destruction of tweezy nicky nicky spasmodic doo-doo. I love Mexico. It's the North America that has always been in me but has never had the chance to be drawn out. I feel Montezuma -- let it live in me. Maybe it's the pollution or twilight's second coming or chill pepper swing thing. God is the second guest that wound up as the foundation of negation, to say nothing of the contradiction. Hegel's rebirthing of the enema exposure. Don't mind my fetish, get off the flabby tissue. Spinning a genetic twist, they left king and his 3-year-old snackbar honeycomb twist egg bouree gimme the gizzard. They left before the Festival of Zero Harvest. Don't give me that fucking goddamn, bloody, shit twisted, posty-toasty, fetishized wet-noodle commodity bullshit. Harvey, get the plunger, tweezers, and buttplug. I'm sick of undigested tampons. Johnny X, wife, and 2 kids rode across America. On the way they stopped at Burger Slop and Super Ameri-Cock. after 3 days of driving they arrived at an empty parking lot, got out of the car and had a picnic. They ate hot cocks with mustard, sugar putty cakes, and more Coca-Cola. Then they drove back. On the way back daddy had a flat tire. He plunged in the buttplunger, but he had sphincter problems from the hemorrhoids from the porkbutt-tripe-slime thing. It was somewhat of an aberration since they had a new car. So he plugged in the rebraining device. Then Daddy Wahwah told the 2 children to lay in front of the tires. Then he put a fuse in the gas tank and drove forward and back 3 times and lit a match. The fuse ignited the tank as a celebration of American middle-class lifestyle. This is the United States. Stop at burger-chain, grease meat, mass food, lowest common denominator death trip. Shove it in, choke, and puke. Refined flour, sugar, plastic, water, air, soylent green -- push it down with a stick. Shove it in the ear, ass, fat, sugar, twinkie, burp, fart, piss, shit on the bun. I love Mexico. It's the North America that has always been in me but has never had the chance to be drawn out. * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: Mexican-American butt-plunging love fiesta Tim Maddog: "Yes, that's a guitar," drum machine buttons, recording engineer Blaze Brown: Unintentional vocals ("We've gotta get this airplane with five holes on") Fropman Don: Studio proprietor "No defection will be tolerated. We are weeding out the traitors. We are weeding out the godless. We are winning God's fight." -from The Infinite Onion Skaters, jaywalkers, party goers, owners of cars with incorrectly tinted windows, communists, people who don't come to a complete three second stop at a stop sign, unlicensed vendors, MDC fans, heavy metal satanists, owners of illegal fireworks, flag burners, sidewalk spitters, pot smokers, flyer pasters, parking criminals, anarchists, under-age beer consumers, copiers of copyrighted tapes, purchasers of 2 Live Crew records, punks loiterers, "skinheads" at the broadmoor, you folks who make a living off recycling cans, hippies, animal rights activists, men who wear dresses and especially all you stereotype violators who we can't classify YOU ARE SOCIAL SCUM! Criminals who we will punish when we find you (and we will). We have already done away with several of you; especially you who have smoked poiltically unacceptable vegetation. We also will continue to punish those of you who still use politically uncacceptable transportation which doesn't suppport our corportate sponsors and fellow fascists. We are sick of your outrageous crimes against our system and laws which you had no part in deciding. What would Amerikka degenerate to if we would cut you criminals some slack? FREEDOM? Well, we like our authority and power and our extensive FREEDOM. We will kekep our freedom to throw intoxicated hippies in jail for acting unacceptable (sic).We will keep our freedom to beat you senseless if your vocabulary gets out of line and yes, we love the freedom to frisk and cuff suspects as we stuff them in the back of our pigmobiles. Yes, all you slimy degenerate criminal scum police rule means freedom. Especially for all you sexy, inexperienced fifteen year olds who want off the hook, you have the freedom for us to pork you in to (sic) squealing ecstasy. Well, well we are well aware that you criminals are ashamed of your filthy, disgusting and inhumane crimes so we would like to extend our hooves to all of you who would like to come on good terms with us. So when you see us on the streets harassing loiterers or busting a party at your friends (sic) home, greet us with a friendly grunt, oink, or squeal and we'll return your charity with a swift nightstick to the head. Also we can get beyond all these formalities. There is little more we hate than being addressed "officer", "police" or even "cop". Just call us Pig, Swine or call us by our common nickname: PORKY! We laugh when you fall on your face. [We are] your local PIG PATROL * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: Post-apocalyptic, postmodern lead guitar from the abyss Tim Maddog: Keyboards (Yamaha PSS-170!) from the other side of the abyss, recording engineer Fropman Don: Studio proprietor, vegetable matter, Tai Mai-shu: Spray paint, briefcase, Shaolin tofu Blaze Brown: Temporary father figure 04 - I Just Have To Get High My name is Bill. I'm a New York City bus driver. And I'd like to apologize because, like, I get really high before I drive my bus And I know I have all those people's, y'know, their, their lives in my hands But, I just can't handle it Like all the horns beeping and cars And people, like, swearing at me, and hitting the bus I just have to get high. I don't know what to do. (BEEP) Just have to get high. Just have to get high. Just have to get high. Just have to get high. I just can't handle it, like all the... I just can't handle it Just have to get high. Just have to get high. Just have to get high. I don't know what to do. (BEEP) * * * * * * PERFORMERS: Sampled voice: Bill the Bus Driver THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tim Maddog: Mass rapid drum machine, recording engineer Fropman Don: Tape dissection, subliminal bong hits, studio proprietor INTERLUDE ("The Handmaid's Tale"): "There is more than one kind of freedom. In the days of anarchy, it was 'freedom to.' Now you're being given 'freedom from.'" 95% of all the work done in this world is done for the purposes of creating more work. In other words, work has little to do with life. It doesn't create life, nor does it celebrate life. Instead, work appropriates life, our lives, and we comply, selling off time of our lives in exchange for empty things that have no meaning other than as symbols of living death. We humans have created a planetary work machine that functions according to the principle of constant growth. Like living beings, this technological and industrial machine grows by being fed. Its food is the prostituted labour of women and men. This machine has long since passed any resemblance to fulfilling human needs. In fact, this machine creates needs -- needs we never had before or even wanted. But don't let the size of this machine fool you into thinking that it's now out of our control like some berserk Frankenstein running amok. Certainly it can appear that way. Certainly the machine is more effective if you see it that way. Yet appearances are deceiving. As big as the machine has become, it still depends on the everyday labour of women and men for its continued existence and growth. Ecocide, starvation and war, as well as our own constant alienation and separation from nature and each other, cannot very well continue if this machine becomes defunct; if us men and women stop working. It's as simple as calling in sick. Everyday. [sic] Oh, sure. There's a lot to be resolved if life on this planet is going to have any real meaning for ourselves, but opting out of participation in the planetary work machine is a great way to get a head start. So when you think about changing your career, why not consider a career in desire, filled with life, joy, and poetry? Why not consider a career in total revolution? Let's move into the world where the bottom line is not economic, but ecstatic! Take your life back now! a public secret from Eleutheros Prod., an equal opportunity unemployer POB 2265, Albany, NY. 12220 * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tai Mai-shu: Rapid recitation Fropman Don: Studio proprietor, psychotronic lead guitar, BOSS DR-110 Dr. Rhythm drum machine, background vocals Pazkal Uni: Revolutionary industrial rhythm guitar Tim Maddog: Knob twiddling (recording engineer), background vocals Blaze Brown: Background vocals, temporary father figure, all-around good guy INTERLUDE: "It is not right now, as far as the White people are concerned, economically feasible to, uh, liberate Black people. And see, here's the thing..." All right, all right! Say "Ho-o"! ("Ho-o!") All right I'm Black And I'm proud For 1992 Yeah, you right And I'm back to the bizness of being loud I know y'all know what I'm talkin' about out there I could kill, yeah you know, and I will So don't try to deny what you feel in your bones You know what I'm talkin' about? I'm Black I'm bein' proud Gettin' back to the bizness of being loud You feel it in your bones You're trying, you're denying But you feel it in your bones I am Black Black I am Black Hey, I'm Black I'm bein' loud and I am killin' I am willin' Gettin' back to the bizness of being proud I am Black That's right, I'm Black So everybody, gimme a "Ho, ho" ("Ho") All right Mothafucka! You know what I'm talkin' about? Everybody in the house? We're Black! Wave your hands if you're Black Oh yeah, everybody! Black To be proud 'Cuz you're Black We're Black And I'm back PERFORMERS: GUESTS Ladysmith Blackmon Whitegirl: Pseudo-blackness Vancouver Mellencamp: Techno-(ebony&)ivories THE SEDITION COMMISSION Fropman Don: Producer Tim Maddog: Mixdown INTRODUCTORY COLLAGE: (A fighter jet zooms by as the local PBS affiliate goes off the air for the night) Chorus: "O say can you see, by the dawn's early light" Gloria Steinem: "I don't know about you, but I've had a hard time celebrating this country lately." Chorus: "What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming" GS: "I'm not proud of this administration -- this cynical, divisive, war-loving, Supreme Court-packing, AIDS-ignoring, anti-woman, homophobic, anti-civil rights, hostage-selling, presidential election-fixing, savings and loan-racketeering, literally hysterical administration." George Carlin: "We've got the only national anthem that mentions rockets and bombs in the goddam thing!" Jimi Hendrix: (First 5 notes of "The Star Spangled Banner") Sound Effects CD: (whistling mortar shell followed by an explosion) - by Tim Maddog (Inspired by life in the U$@ during the Reagan/Bush years, by American "folk music," and by other propaganda encountered everywhere.) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Yo say, can't you see all the problems in this country? Forced government is not "democracy" If you can vote for tweedledum and tweedledee, Then why the hell can't you vote for anarchy? "None of the above," that's what Im talkin' 'bout It ain't workin', get all the motherfuckers out Just open up your eyes, and you'll see It's not democracy, it's a conspiracy! Land of TV Home of the slaves PMRC Minimum wage! By the dawn's early light, the workers hit the streets Try'n' to pay the bills, workin' sixty-hour weeks I can't afford what they're sellin' on TV 'Cuz the cost of livin's high in the "land of the free" What so blindly they hail will get you thrown in jail, If you use it as a fuel, a diaper, or a veil When you have to venerate a piece of cloth, All of your supposed rights are truly lost Land of TV Home of the slaves PMRC Minimum wage! Land of TV Home of the slaves PMRC Maximum rage! The "right to silence" is the only right you've got, If you don't want to end up being beat or getting shot Rodney King's not an isolated case, It's just one of the few we've got on videotape Police brutality is not democracy, The "War on Drugs" is one more conspiracy To make us kill each other up in the streets, With war outside your door we'll never ever have peace Never, ever, no! It's a conspiracy! Land of TV Home of the slaves PMRC Minimum wage! Nothin' is free Bullies ain't brave Four twenty-five Still makes you a slave! The U.S. government invented AIDS, To commit genocide against gays They've got the cure, but they won't let it go You know they wanna kill somebody for sure I'm so scared I got a condom on the microphone When I have sex, I always have it alone How the hell can they call it "democracy"? They wanna kill me, (Pow!) It's a conspiracy! Land of TV Home of the slaves PMRC Minimum wage! Land of TV Home of the slaves PMRC Maximum rage! Columbus and the conquistadors, Tortured and killed the ones who lived here before Reservations are the remnants that remain The lies they taught us in "history" are insane! This isn't your land, it isn't my land It's "terrestrial," you wouldn't understand No government will ever give you freedom, So let's get rid of 'em all, we don't need 'em! Nothin' is free Bullies ain't brave Four twenty-five Still makes you a slave! Land of TV (It's not democracy!) Home of the slaves (It's a conspiracy!) PMRC (It's not democracy!) Maximum rage! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - * * * * * PERFORMERS: USAF Men's Chorus (?): "Patriotic" pablum ("Star Spangled Banner" samples) Gloria Steinem: Anti-celebratory pep rallying ("I don't know about you...") George Carlin: "Rockets'n'bombs R US" sample ("We've got the only...") Jimi Hendrix: Big Muffed Strat sample (Woodstock) Fun With Sound Effects CD: Whistling mortar shell, gunshot THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tim Maddog: Guild guitars, Vox bass, drum machine (Roland Drumatix TR-606), rappin' (like a mothafucka) in the audio-technica mic, recording engineer (Cosmic Chaos Studios) INTERLUDE: "They come from the bowels of hell. A transformed race of walking dead. Zombies, guided by a Master Plan for complete domination of the Earth." You have probably heard of Pat Robertson and his "700 Club." Who but the Sedition Commission could've foreseen the evil that this entity would become? Well, anyone with a brain could've seen it coming, that's who! "What's going to happen in our society if somebody doesn't say: 'No, you cannot allow absolute freedom'?" Well, maybe people would have to start taking responsibilities for their own actions? Maybe Pat wouldn't spout off about nuking the State Department or assassinating foreign presidents? If you don't have some repression On whatever animal instincts there are in human beings, If there isn't some control that goes on, Then, uh, your society breaks down into absolute anarchy. I can't endorse this! There's no use for us to keep our head buried in the sand! If there isn't some control that goes on, Then, uh, your society breaks down into absolute anarchy. It's a very natural progression, Pat Very natural progression Very natural progression, Pat Do you know what your kids are listening to? This grindcore stuff, Grindcore Grindcore Grindcore stuff They put those headphones on That thing blares into their consciousness And they don't hear anything else Huh? What's that you say? I can't hear you! You cannot allow absolute freedom! You cannot allow absolute freedom! You cannot allow absolute freedom! Anarchy leads to dictatorship! We saw it in Los Angeles: "Give us law and order, and if we give up some of our liberty, that's fine. Just restore order." He's talking about the riots after the acquittals of the police who beat Rodney King. There's no use for us to keep our head buried in the sand We've got to do something What are we going to do about it? What are we going to do about it? What are we going to do about it? There's no use for us to keep our head buried in the sand We've got to do something Do something Do something Can you say "Armageddon"? "Give us law and order" There has got to be a standard of decency, somewhere, That we buy into in society "If we give up some of our liberty, that's fine" A certain degree of sexual repression is necessary to maintain a civilized society If there isn't some control that goes on Then, uh, your society breaks down into absolute anarchy. Any sane person knows you can't just go around raping people, but that's not what I consider "repression." Talk about "not doing nuance"! I think Pat needs some serious professional help and medication. There has got to be a standard of decency, somewhere, That we buy into in society That we buy into in society That we buy into in society Just as long as Pat doesn't have to meet that standard, eh? They don't hear anything else And this stuff is coming into their spirits And you can't escape that, it's so powerful It's absorbed in their unconscious, subconscious being And you can't escape that And you can't escape that And you can't escape that This is horrendous! This is horrendous! This is horrendous! Horrendous! Horrendous! Horrendous! Horrendous! Horrendous! * * * * * * PERFORMERS: Pat Robertson: Evil fearmonger (vocal samples) Sheila Walsh: Horrendous harangues (vocal samples) The other guy: Grindcore gullibility (vocal samples) THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tim Maddog: Thumping "upright" bass, ass-backward bidirectionally reverbed 12-string guitar, Indian bells, feng ling, recording engineer (Cosmic Chaos Studios) INTERLUDE: "Okay, they got this thing in America called "sedition" -- it means that there's no free speech here. If you say something against the government, they can take you to jail. But yet, and still this country was founded on revolution. So now they still tellin' me that I can't say anything that's revolutionary. That's very contradictory to what this country was founded upon, you know what I'm saying?" written in 1992 by Tim Maddog Out of control! Out of control! Out of control! All right, listen up out there you namby-pamby wimpoids! This is not gonna be some "easy listening" bullshit! This is no goddam spoon-fed, top-40, sugar-coated toxic waste This is not some commercialized, artificially sweetened, extended play dance remix THIS IS NO MOTHERFUCKIN' "RADIO EDIT"!!! This is the underground tape distribution network We can say what we want The FCC cannot control our choice of words Record company executives cannot put a sticker on us! FUCK 'EM! WE HAVE OUR OWN STICKERS! ----------------------------------- ----------------------------------- ----------------------------------- ---------SCAN OUR STICKERS--------- ----------------------------------- PATHETIC ADVISORY - EXPLICIT TRUTHS ----------------------------------- ----------------------------------- ----------------------------------- Retail merchants can't pull us from their shelves when some ignorant asshole who never heard our tape calls for a boycott They cannot control us! Out of control! Out of control! Out of control! Fuck laws! They'll never control us! We can think for ourselves, thank you! A red light won't hold us back when no one's around just like a green light won't shove us out into oncoming traffic! (That line should have said: "... any more than a green light will...") Fuck the police, the CIA, the FBI, and the DEA! They'll kill you faster than any drug ever could, And your taxes buy the bullets! Fuck the IRS, too! Taxes are simply ransom paid to the government in hopes that they'll provide you with some sort of imaginary state of freedom! Don't pay their ransom! They cannot control us! Out of control! Out of control! Out of control! (Noize fiesta) Fuck all the news anchors! They do not set our agenda! They've lied to us since long before the "Zapruder" film! They've ignored the real issues, and they do not entertain us! Don't believe the news! Determine your own reality! Fuck the status quo! Part of the real secret is that "us" includes you! They cannot control us! They cannot control us! They cannot control us! Out of control! Out of control! Out of control! * * * * * * PERFORMERS: GUESTS Ice-T: Redacted revolution Arsenio Hall: Affirmitive grunts THE SEDITION COMMISSION Pazkal Uni: FX processor (Digital Nausea), super-duper ultra-flanged guitar-scape, drum machine programming Tim Maddog: Recording engineer, out-of-control onanistic oralities, unbent stringed things (lead), Cosmic Chaos Fropman Don: Studio proprietor, vegetable matter INTERLUDE: "See, when you're implementing fascism, you study, like, Nazi Germany, how Hitler rose to power, you don't do it all in one fell swoop, no. You've gotta, you've gotta like anesthetize people into thinking that they still have some rights to be grateful for. Y'know? So they sneak it in." while defending women's rights outside an abortion clinic (from a "comic" by the artist Spain) What is a criminal? Is a criminal an elected official who grants favors, at the people's expense, in return for a sizeable campaign contribution? No, he is not a criminal. He is a "PUBLIC SERVANT." Is a criminal a soldier who tortures and butchers civilians in war? No, he's not a criminal. He is a "WAR HERO." Is a criminal an industrialist who pours tons of disease-breeding filth into the atmosphere polluting the lungs of everyone for the short-sighted sake of his miserly profit? No, he is not a criminal. He's a "PILLAR OF SOCIETY." Nooooooooo! If you are any of these things, you are not a criminal. If, however, you choose to "pollute" your own lungs with a harmless weed, Then you... are... a "CRIMINAL." Ad lib: Burn the Bush of HYPOCRISY. Shoot the Quayles of WRETCHED IGNORANCE. They've taken it away from us! George Washington grew it. Thomas Jefferson grew it. Take back your right to GLOBAL SALVATION. Take back your right... of CANNABIS. * * * * * * PERFORMERS: THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tim Maddog: "Yes, that's a guitar, too," BOSS DR-110 Dr. Rhythm drum machine, recording engineer Blaze Brown: Vociferous invocations, "Bush/Quayle" ad libs Fropman Don: Accessory to "crime" Tai Mai-shu: Stealth bodyguard, dietary advisor INTERLUDE: "I've been proclaimed an 'enemy of the state,' and (sigh) I am, because the state's in the hands of the dictators who proclaim freedom as they force you to have daily urinalysis and blood tests, who proclaim liberty as they search your house and seize your property, who proclaim enlightenment as they censor and rewrite the news, who proclaim democracy as they buy the votes to secure their power with your money. So yeah, I am an enemy of the state, and so should you be." Entire peoples are to be swept from the face of the planet Whole populations are to be scientifically reduced Those who remain preserved only for their value as slaves Preserved only for their value as slaves Those who remain preserved only for their value as slaves For their value as slaves The world is to be subject to a new order The world is to be subject to a new order Those who remain preserved only for their value as slaves The world is to be subject to a new order Subject to a new order The world is to be subject to a new order New order The world is to be subject to a new order The world is to be subject to a new order The world is to be subject to a new order The world is to be subject to a new order Insufficient to account for such an alien phenomenon Explanation insufficient to account for such an alien phenomenon Phenomenon To account for such an alien phenomenon For such an alien phenomenon To account for such an alien phenomenon We chart the growth of a strange and terrifying creed A doctrine of national socialism A doctrine born in the world of the occult The mission of Aryan man The mystery of the blood The soul of the race These dogmas, fundamental to the Nazi vision, will lead Europe into the realms of nightmares Their symbol is the swastika QUIET CALL-TO-ACTION (Tamara Nevvanohz): You're right! This is a crucial time. We can't afford to be passive spectators. If we sit back and let them get away with this, one day we will wake up to find our freedom has passed away... like a dream (like a dream, like a dream, like a dream)! * * * * * * PERFORMERS: GUESTS Unknown: Documentary dialogue Gomer Putsch: Sound archivist (Biting Sounds from the Stolen Land) Zach Galligan: Enemy of the state, seditious speech THE SEDITION COMMISSION Tim Maddog: Editor, FX processor Fropman Don: Techno-ivories, audio surgery Tamara Nevvanohz: Outro |
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