SELECTIONS FROM THE KING'S NOTEBOOKS: FINAL PART
This might be mah last entry, August 15th, year of our Lord nineteen seventy-seven, and ah hope to set a few things straight.
The truth, such as it is, can get lost in a sea of innuendoes, particularly when the principal passes into secret sanctums. And ah feel that publically, mah position has been misrepresented somewhat. Ah need to lift a few boulders off mah chest, to release the weight on this soon-to-be celestial ribcage and this soon-to-be celestial heart.
Now first, and maybe most severe: Never let it be said that towards the end ah was a tired showman sick of tired shows; Ah was always proud to be a humble singer of songs. And just sometimes, when a particular disposition or instinct swung over on me, shining it's good light, I didn't have to grapple with the words or wrestle with the form; ah found it easy. And although later on I ascertained that certain illnesses were conflicting with my main desire, to entertain the people, never let it be said that ah lost that said desire, that it was spent like a dime; because that kind of desire cannot be spent, you toss it and it comes back threefold.
And those there other rumours y'all been hearing are all falsified information, gutter chat, tired trash. Remember what is true: I am an eighth degree blackbelt in Karate. Ah am a Federal Agent. You'll find they don't give those garlands out lightly, not to anyone stuck fast on those street-peddled narcotic creations. Any problem I ever had was my black illnesses, my gippin' heart. Any medications for my multitude ailments was always prescribed, fact.
Mah fiscaliture of the purse and of the soul was what gets me down. On mah death, notations will be cited to St.Peter, and a full report will be sent to the procurator fiscal. Oh, in mah time ah have given one two many rats to one two many snakes; and most of them are still here, just awaiting for me to suggest we get out the guns and shoot some trees, or crash some cars around the gardens. And then they'll slope off, taking their wage wth them, to entertain ladies in bars with tales of The King an' how he's gone blown it all except his voice.
For all my health complaints, I humbly note that my voice is still golden; perhaps even better than ever, drilled through with just a little pain.
But who in this crowd is mah enemy? Who is the poison? Ah look them all in their pairs of pupils an' see that they all look back true and hard. Ah have to consult with higher powers on such matters, it seems, for mah instincts are surly primates who have run away to sunnier climates.
Oh, those gathered around me, ah've always treated kind-heartedly and respectfully (unlike little Lisa-Marie, who'd threaten to fire them for having girls other than their wives sitting on their knees throwing bourbon down their collars, or for not preparing her pancake to the correct hue and texture), but they're conspiring. But ah do not blame them. They are part of a grand plan, grander than any except the Lord above. Their plan is one that will see me in mah grave, shot dead. Ah do not know who leads this ring but ah know they're a-comin.
Ah turned to the scriptures, but only found fatgued psalmists with old stories; they only tell me that ah really am a peculiarly fetid monarch, fated to squalor in mah own piss at the expense of mah child and her mother. So ah turn to mah direct line with the biggest man: Help me Lord, to know the right thing. Ah'm looking for clues everywhere; in the attic, the basement. Ah know this place is bugged. But Lord, Ah know, with your due assistance, and ah say this humbly: Ah am indestructible. The numbers say ah will die murdered on August 16th 1978, tomorrow.. But ah know I can change that. Ah can break out of this grand plan that fate has created for me, and ah will.
And I realise that for oh so long, mah instincts have been dulled, mah fancies suspicious. But I vow to stop it and take control of mah own here destinies. Ah learned of mah fate when ah was visited by mah twin Jesse during one particularly fruitfal spell of slumber; Lord, you sent mah twin to see me only last night to deliver a message. And ah saw Jesse, pretty as Christ himself, and ah listerned.
Oh Jesse, ah miss you.
But back to mah peelin' front, mah ditherin reputation: Ah stand here and ah say, mah name will not be shaken down; it is strong, four syllables, rythmic and tight. Ah will fight tonight. Natural forces must be obeyed, for sure, but when they're marshalled by those that prevail toward the Satanic quarter, well, anything other than resistance is but a coward's way. Ah stand tall and offer what 'Cilla always called mah 'Fire Eyes'.
So tonight ah will play racquetball, play mah piano songs, then retire. Ah will behave as if I suspect nothin' of those around me. Ah will wait in mah bedroom, with a selection from mah righteous gun cupboard, and ah will wait. Perhaps ah will lock mahself in mah bathroom- it has only one door through which the murderers can come a-passin. And ah'll be ready.
And if ah should be shot through the gut as mah dream announced, than ah must say: ah will not die sittin'.
Ah have computated and purtained a certain humble crystal knowledge from all of this. All of us are wire-wool-brained freaks. The modern information ages as chilled as their Ice counterparts for us breathing mammals, for sure. There's wind in the wires, a conspiratorial ether, and ah can't say ah've come close to figurin' much out in mah time, except to say that ah know now that someone is a-comin' and ah am a resistin.
Ah've had psychic cosmonauts and darn good sports, authorties and invigilators, but they're all hollow! Salt-shakers! All except mah mentor, that righteous man, the gent who could dicapitate a man with his mind, whose chops are a winning argument, whose kicks will be explodin' and supposin' to inform the unrighteous of the score in this game.
But he ain't here, not now, and ah do need his counsel. Police? The police never hear, not truly. Ah'm a certified agent of this country, in it's employ, and for mah love and effort ah do not receive gainful protection, no sir. The rich are their own country. Mah pockets are laced with silver and gold, and that is mah reward and burden. Ah'm a fire hazard. And ah'm almost done. Ah'm growing paradise flowers as preparation for my reparation with the Lord. Vile indemnifications begone. The answer has not come forth Lord, not the big answerin' answers to the big questionin' questions anyhow; Ah have spoken to The Great Postman, and seen His Immortal Sack, from which feline mewings could be heard; but he did not release the rope. In immortal heaven I might well see tyings untied, and the contents spewed forth into a swirl of giddy fun games, in which golden truth is a ball of wool for that little Tigress, freed from her bag, to chase with and unravel, leaving a trail of answers behind her. Ah that little tigress.
But I digress.
Just in case this is goodbye: Lisa Marie, mah girl, ah have a new song. You'd like it, it kicks like your favourites, and swings like a tree. The words, well, the bit that counts is this:
Your Body is a temple
And I'm Jesus Christ (the Lord)
Getting angry at the traders
Who dwell inside (on board)
Your transluscent hair ribbons, Lisa-Marie, well they stick in mah throat, metaphorically speaking. And your lips, like your Daddy's, tickled by a burn, stung by a wasp. Be good. Tell your mother ah love her. Ah Cilla, I'll say it mahself, but you know you were the one. I remember your face that day we took a trip up to Santa Monica when we got ourselves a divorce. Ah remember holding your hand throughout, in the court, and you don't think I didn't notice your alarm at my hands . y'always said mah hands were soft, and right then they were as puffy as hell. Ah noticed your face. And it made me sadder than anything since my Ma went.
Well ah've been puffy for sometime and ah'm apologetic sweetheart, right to the pit of mah stomach.
Pops? Pops, Ah'm tired. Ah love you an' Ah'm tired.
The truth, such as it is, can get lost in a sea of innuendoes, particularly when the principal passes into secret sanctums. And ah feel that publically, mah position has been misrepresented somewhat. Ah need to lift a few boulders off mah chest, to release the weight on this soon-to-be celestial ribcage and this soon-to-be celestial heart.
Now first, and maybe most severe: Never let it be said that towards the end ah was a tired showman sick of tired shows; Ah was always proud to be a humble singer of songs. And just sometimes, when a particular disposition or instinct swung over on me, shining it's good light, I didn't have to grapple with the words or wrestle with the form; ah found it easy. And although later on I ascertained that certain illnesses were conflicting with my main desire, to entertain the people, never let it be said that ah lost that said desire, that it was spent like a dime; because that kind of desire cannot be spent, you toss it and it comes back threefold.
And those there other rumours y'all been hearing are all falsified information, gutter chat, tired trash. Remember what is true: I am an eighth degree blackbelt in Karate. Ah am a Federal Agent. You'll find they don't give those garlands out lightly, not to anyone stuck fast on those street-peddled narcotic creations. Any problem I ever had was my black illnesses, my gippin' heart. Any medications for my multitude ailments was always prescribed, fact.
Mah fiscaliture of the purse and of the soul was what gets me down. On mah death, notations will be cited to St.Peter, and a full report will be sent to the procurator fiscal. Oh, in mah time ah have given one two many rats to one two many snakes; and most of them are still here, just awaiting for me to suggest we get out the guns and shoot some trees, or crash some cars around the gardens. And then they'll slope off, taking their wage wth them, to entertain ladies in bars with tales of The King an' how he's gone blown it all except his voice.
For all my health complaints, I humbly note that my voice is still golden; perhaps even better than ever, drilled through with just a little pain.
But who in this crowd is mah enemy? Who is the poison? Ah look them all in their pairs of pupils an' see that they all look back true and hard. Ah have to consult with higher powers on such matters, it seems, for mah instincts are surly primates who have run away to sunnier climates.
Oh, those gathered around me, ah've always treated kind-heartedly and respectfully (unlike little Lisa-Marie, who'd threaten to fire them for having girls other than their wives sitting on their knees throwing bourbon down their collars, or for not preparing her pancake to the correct hue and texture), but they're conspiring. But ah do not blame them. They are part of a grand plan, grander than any except the Lord above. Their plan is one that will see me in mah grave, shot dead. Ah do not know who leads this ring but ah know they're a-comin.
Ah turned to the scriptures, but only found fatgued psalmists with old stories; they only tell me that ah really am a peculiarly fetid monarch, fated to squalor in mah own piss at the expense of mah child and her mother. So ah turn to mah direct line with the biggest man: Help me Lord, to know the right thing. Ah'm looking for clues everywhere; in the attic, the basement. Ah know this place is bugged. But Lord, Ah know, with your due assistance, and ah say this humbly: Ah am indestructible. The numbers say ah will die murdered on August 16th 1978, tomorrow.. But ah know I can change that. Ah can break out of this grand plan that fate has created for me, and ah will.
And I realise that for oh so long, mah instincts have been dulled, mah fancies suspicious. But I vow to stop it and take control of mah own here destinies. Ah learned of mah fate when ah was visited by mah twin Jesse during one particularly fruitfal spell of slumber; Lord, you sent mah twin to see me only last night to deliver a message. And ah saw Jesse, pretty as Christ himself, and ah listerned.
Oh Jesse, ah miss you.
But back to mah peelin' front, mah ditherin reputation: Ah stand here and ah say, mah name will not be shaken down; it is strong, four syllables, rythmic and tight. Ah will fight tonight. Natural forces must be obeyed, for sure, but when they're marshalled by those that prevail toward the Satanic quarter, well, anything other than resistance is but a coward's way. Ah stand tall and offer what 'Cilla always called mah 'Fire Eyes'.
So tonight ah will play racquetball, play mah piano songs, then retire. Ah will behave as if I suspect nothin' of those around me. Ah will wait in mah bedroom, with a selection from mah righteous gun cupboard, and ah will wait. Perhaps ah will lock mahself in mah bathroom- it has only one door through which the murderers can come a-passin. And ah'll be ready.
And if ah should be shot through the gut as mah dream announced, than ah must say: ah will not die sittin'.
Ah have computated and purtained a certain humble crystal knowledge from all of this. All of us are wire-wool-brained freaks. The modern information ages as chilled as their Ice counterparts for us breathing mammals, for sure. There's wind in the wires, a conspiratorial ether, and ah can't say ah've come close to figurin' much out in mah time, except to say that ah know now that someone is a-comin' and ah am a resistin.
Ah've had psychic cosmonauts and darn good sports, authorties and invigilators, but they're all hollow! Salt-shakers! All except mah mentor, that righteous man, the gent who could dicapitate a man with his mind, whose chops are a winning argument, whose kicks will be explodin' and supposin' to inform the unrighteous of the score in this game.
But he ain't here, not now, and ah do need his counsel. Police? The police never hear, not truly. Ah'm a certified agent of this country, in it's employ, and for mah love and effort ah do not receive gainful protection, no sir. The rich are their own country. Mah pockets are laced with silver and gold, and that is mah reward and burden. Ah'm a fire hazard. And ah'm almost done. Ah'm growing paradise flowers as preparation for my reparation with the Lord. Vile indemnifications begone. The answer has not come forth Lord, not the big answerin' answers to the big questionin' questions anyhow; Ah have spoken to The Great Postman, and seen His Immortal Sack, from which feline mewings could be heard; but he did not release the rope. In immortal heaven I might well see tyings untied, and the contents spewed forth into a swirl of giddy fun games, in which golden truth is a ball of wool for that little Tigress, freed from her bag, to chase with and unravel, leaving a trail of answers behind her. Ah that little tigress.
But I digress.
Just in case this is goodbye: Lisa Marie, mah girl, ah have a new song. You'd like it, it kicks like your favourites, and swings like a tree. The words, well, the bit that counts is this:
Your Body is a temple
And I'm Jesus Christ (the Lord)
Getting angry at the traders
Who dwell inside (on board)
Your transluscent hair ribbons, Lisa-Marie, well they stick in mah throat, metaphorically speaking. And your lips, like your Daddy's, tickled by a burn, stung by a wasp. Be good. Tell your mother ah love her. Ah Cilla, I'll say it mahself, but you know you were the one. I remember your face that day we took a trip up to Santa Monica when we got ourselves a divorce. Ah remember holding your hand throughout, in the court, and you don't think I didn't notice your alarm at my hands . y'always said mah hands were soft, and right then they were as puffy as hell. Ah noticed your face. And it made me sadder than anything since my Ma went.
Well ah've been puffy for sometime and ah'm apologetic sweetheart, right to the pit of mah stomach.
Pops? Pops, Ah'm tired. Ah love you an' Ah'm tired.
posted by The Legendary Black Marquis at 9:44 am
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