HELL: The Musical (1st draft libretto excerpts)

To cut and 

paste in this tiny 

place calls for fingers sharp and 

long. I'd say that is

Perfect for this Hell; 

I'd say they 

Belong.

And now, so too

do little you, so don't 

fret; what we have you will get and having had you'll

Get & get & get…

No matter the number,  

high or much

humbler, I ain't seen

an end coming yet…. 

You swore to one 

God. Well, He is 

Here, complete with rod!

(at times it's a prod)

And as far as I know 

The old rules still 

Hold. So, as long as 

There's God,

He's all you need to while away  

Eternity, a-twitch to 

Please His Lordly 

Likes and His 

Somewhat more

Diabolically deviant variations  

On "play."

So,

While you sleep, stare or read I churn out fresh text for you to see a mad mind in mid-dream 'tween two hexes, midst

damned duplexes stuffed

mit dimensional 

multiplexes.… Should you 

ever feel you're beginning 

to get it, lose that thought 

or you'll regret it!

Okay:

What we

Appear to have here 

Is a set for a Hell.

It is still in need of some 

Hellish sounds,

The foulest of smells; 

Only the beastliest best!!

We are here building a

Truly heavenly Hell…

Don't worry the cost;

Most we order from 

Heaven and they write it

off as a loss.

It is, after all,

Mystification 

And we have all the 

Room that we'll need,

Meaning for every

Vocation, and any of those in any

location. See, I call, "Run

the numbers!" A few 

second's of 

thunder and "Poof"

We drown in accountants! After

all it's Hell's doing 

Earth is pestered by

numbers. All those 

digit crunchers would 

be jobless without us and so, given it's 

Hell, still, number 

crunchers do reasonably well, but 

that's a perk all in 

fun. What the fuck! I hate math myself (I can't count 

and you'd better not 

tell--as I said this IS

Hell…) Well we'll chat 

sometime later; I got me a hobby. I really hate fake French headwaiters

so I skin 'em alive

when I find 'em, then put 'em on the 

Moon to dig those big 

craters! Dumb science blames 

asteroids! Ha, ha, ha! Asteroids, my

ass!! Be better to blame fucking bad

adenoids, worse French and, of course the dumb rule

that calls for craters. Hey! It's Hell,

The Spiritual Home of Bureaucracy but 

I'd be willing to bet 

that even in Heaven 

nobody really likes those 

pointy-headed dicks so even 

there a bureaucrat is kept in a cell. Upside they do reasonably 

well. For now. I put a billion accountants to combing files for a 

legend. Some say there's somewhere a loophole, others sneer, "fools gold".

All be cool, I got time (so do you, by

the way. Can you believe it? Some don't conceive it!! Makes my head spin! You're already in Hell. What did you think? You already died. Not many die twice. I could rear-end you. Put a thousand frogs and you in a blender. It'd feel like a supernova up your butt but it ain't gonna kill you. So what to worry?) We ain't gonna kill ya. You ain't gettin out. You're here forever: a fucking long time!! Do the math. "Crunch the numbers." You're here for all time! Anyway I eye it, you fucks are all mine! So suck it up for the long run! Hey! (Who's got the time? Ha, ha, got you!)

Eat me! What you expect? This is Hell 'n' Hell ain't  

S'posed to be funny! Yeah, we got weather but it just ain't getting sunny. One thing about Hell: it stings like fuck and believe me, if it didn't, you'd go bugfuck from boredom. Don't know if you had your afternoon filled but now you're with ME. What I say, I mean & I most always do, unless I don't (stay on your toes!). Hey! What say we blow off some steam and kill us some time? This time we'll go crazy, work up to wild and then off on a spree of truly hienous and fine, deadly, diabolical crime!!!

It's meant to be funny!! Black humour of course. Should be as obvious as a whale's dick

on a donkey. And you'll never guess: got a million on order, a quarter are here. We're gonna get the rest of the donkeys and about 9 zillion beers and on the way back, we try out the whale-equipped donkeys and terrorize queers!!

       ••••••••••••••••••••••••••

What? Is it "safe?" I don't see any real danger; you don't do much. Don't fuck. Don't sleep. Don't eat. Don't walk. Smoke cigarettes, drink cheap beer. Nobody calls. Nobody plays. Imagination's dead (all that is 'cept mine.) So, listen up kids, here's how it works--you care for you and me care for me--everybody is cared for--we are all free! There is still the fact that we are all in Hell--but it IS what we ordered so...what the…Hell? (Hehehehee! You fit like an onion does its skin. Now, where to begin?)

Some Enchanted Dysentery >

Ooh! Look what I found 

'Neath the dust of the ground:

I believe it's the sound 

Of Time grinding down…. 

If it's not then it's worse

And I hope that your purse

Can handle the hire

Of a celestial hearse!

(As)

Phoebus-Apollo, he rides,

Cloak a-flame, with blazing eyes,

Racing RA 'cross the skies, their

Tandem chariots full laden 

With sparks pyrotechnic.

(So)

Now, to ignite the horizon they

Release the snake-dancing 

Flame to writhe on the pyre

Of all the pure and unholy

Who'd attracted the ire

Of the eye of the sire

Of all gods and all men

Of water, earth, air and fire.

(Yea)

All dross beneath heaven,

Judged and found wanting, 

Now piled, stacked and waiting: 

For true transformation> 

For ion exchanges> 

For some explanation> 

For a fission of sages.>>>>>

Too learnèd by half and 

Soon to be humbled, the mortal

Mettle cast to be tested,

Twice blessed by the fiery

Promethean gift, clad in

Cloth-of-gold irony.

(But)

This just conflagration 

Compromising Night's station

Will later be balanced 

By the extended entrance

Of all that is dark, still and

Meet for the cooling of

The post-purification. 

Night's ice offers soothing.

A frigid libation 'pon the 

Still glowing embers of the 

Charred Terran sacrifice.

(And) 

Note, this near-total destruction 

Was not due to friction 'twixt 

Ideologic constructions.

But instead did result from 

Deities dear, dabbling at dice.

New Teeth For And Old Saw

(One note or tone or homophone, all on its own, requiring neither rock nor stone, is all one needs to splinter, crack and shatter the of-glass built shacks and mansions which your passage passes. Pretty, fragile, crystalline, standing mute and useless with used-up time. 'Tis said toss not that rock while you're within but if you truly do in glass reside, then spin on heal and briskly stride quick-time until you're on such structure's outer and much saner side. To prevent repeat imprisonment inside of such a suicidal jail that but awaits some passing hail to aid what Pride remains to wash what witless wonders were beguiled to stay inside and die beneath a flail of hail, then a mass slash of slivers 'till at last the screams subside and naught but the thrum of rain a river raises, stained briefly with life's last remains, a flood to which some few fools lend their final gasps then die as liars, having pilfered one moment’s faux-heroic incarnadine.)