Introduction
Om, mani padmi Ku, Om mani pad mi kum,
om mani padmi kum,
Kwam, Kwam. Kwam. Kwam. Om Mani Padmi
kumm
Om. mani padmi katti kati Om. Om mani padmi
kati Me. Ka Me. Ka Me Om. Om Mani Om Mani
Love. Love. Ka. Ka Mi. Ka Ma. Ommm Kammma
Kamma Om. Ommmani padd mi kaddmi
ommm.
Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku KuOm Kap kaddda
omn.
KuoooooO. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love Kamma
Love kamma mu. Love kamma mu. Love kamma
kamma. love kamma kamma mu.
l.
don’t worry, this
won’t be some far out
instigation of madness, some
meandering words that
vanish in a sentence or
leaves us dumbfounded
and flottering on the flotilla
of irrationality,
flumfloxed by vowels and
consonants that
refuse to behave in the rise,
fall, declination
and the silences that occur
between each note
in the key of Ku.
Jazz has become excessively
addicted to rationality,
a victim of its success and
its failure to venture
into the key of Ku.
Flats? Sharps? Minor chords
that lead to a window,
an insight.
In the key of Ku the obvious
would be that there is
a Kool Olgy, mentholated of course,
since all Jazz Kats and Kitties
aspire to some degree
of hip step kool.
2. Be Bop: the Cool Bee Bop Thrill of Ku ology
The Ku of Kuology
Kool ology is something like Be bop blues
descending once to the minor
key of ku
transposed to a sixth
A… P!
Not just your ordinary sloppy pea
hanging out on the edge of your
fork waiting for the buttery comfort of
mashed potatoes:
No,
ordinary Peas in a pod nor
a podunk piddly pish tosh P:
this was one who wore a high top,
spats, tails, and did a two step
while rap tapping of the sixth suavely
opened the door to T hanging out
on the 9th of T. Curious, how a ninth to
the 3rd will leave you six more than
the 21st letter of the alphabet.
The Tautology of Tu tantalizing to
the tumescent reality of
Te Deum in the glorious swinging
of the 9th that rests so easily
to swinging on the saloon doors where
kUuuuu most easily hangs.
The Kutology of Ku wherever phoneme
enKapsulates the kwintissential
Konspiracy of love.
Bee Bop Blues
is transmuted to the sharps and
flats of love:
redemption:
fire!
In the inspiration and exhalation of love,
the minor rolling keys
Ku
Po
Tu
One, six, and nine with a fleeting scat
and rip tap thrill to the third.
Ku
Po
Tu
A periwinkle sagacious blue
sailing out to the
potent personal
tu.
Sotto voce, mi amour
Sotto voce.
Who could argue with perfection?
Kuology of Ku is a bee bop thrill
of words
dancing
in
the round resonant
kuuu esscence of Kool
Ku
Po
Tu
2. Kuba Libre
After all that hard voyaging on the seasons of love, there is nothing like a rum and coke,
drinking to the revolution, to the liberation of all sentient beings.
3. Kwanza KU
Ku A ba Ku A ba Ku
Ku a Baa Ku. Ku a Ba KU
Cante Libra
4. Kudos for the Kosmology of love
In the first and last syllable of
time, when god first
breathed and whispered to being
the infinite colors of
love
in a minor key
that will open
the soul to a more
profound loving.
4. Change of Profession: Ku to the Nth Degree of Love
Reverend’Jazz AKA Dr. Namaya has given notice that he will abandon his
homeopathic clinic, his avocation as a performance artist
and poet, tennis maven, humanitarian, vagabond, poseur, aspiring pimp, and the miscellaneous tasks associated…he is devoting all of his creative and professional talents to his new profession as a Ku-ologist.
In this nascent emerging field that Kombines kutaneous kumbustion,
constant kinetic motion that incorporates the 2nd law of Kosmetology
and its relationship to kosmology, kastor oil and Kastididitation and
personal flagillation of love unlimited. To paraphrase, reiterate and hold the mirror of the sainted first Bishop of Ku Olgy – the Hip Gan, “Dig infinity.”
“But Rev’jAz what of your parishioners? Oued Kirk? Isn’t this your chapel?
Isn’t redemption worth more than the price of bread? What of the salvation of the A minor, the comforting kind of words that leads to a narrative, and the chambered nautilus of desire?”
The Rev reported to have said, “Ïbbbidy bibbiddy bop.”
Appointments are available on request at 1 800 Ku Ology. Of course needing
to find the right band frequency of Ku is imperative. You Kan NOT, even
hope to wander in the klinik or Kuerk of Ku without some earned karma. To be an initiate in the Kingdom of Ku one must first speak some basic Ku.
One Kan not enter into the Kingdom without some kind of Klue, key or kwaint kombination of Kuessence.
Reverend jazz will abandon his profession! Dr.Namaya will fall away in the Ku essence of words and sounds:
K falling,
Ku whispering
of Kacophony
Ku Ology
The Rev and Doc will fuse to a new identity Ku as the kwintissentially Koolest KuOlogist of Love.
But Rev’what exactly is kuology and one of your verbal presdigitation?
Ku is the indefatigable derrigible that sails serenely in the face of such maddeness.
Konnaissaince? Por Que Pas! In the kingdom of Ku there are Mu and Loos, secret potties that lead to the chamber KaKaphony, where Karping Karp o philiaXs, Kopulate at noon in the Kwiet river of Kwai. It is better for kwiet when one is communing with their kolon.
I shall not walk or tumble, find my way
Don’t fraternize with the inmates! she said. I am the Queen of Ku, what ever that fool by the name of the King should decrees it is Ka Ka Kakophony. A distant sound resounding in the far circle of hell where the K mart fled. A flatulent fleeing fleecing of sanity. All the K’s are on sale, having rowed down to aisle 3, lingerie, kitchen ware, kar parts.
Aprokrophia the Memory of Love
“I was a child and she was a child there be the kingdom of the seas…”
As a voyager I am kareful to leave bread krumbs on the trail, kasual reminders where I left all the k’s the Cu’s, the reminders of love, the sheltering and shadowy images that saunter like a mistress on Place Pigalle shaking from the jones, tubercular coughing, and mascara tearing. She was a marionette with exaggerated mascara dripping from her eyes as we parted.
I paid for the visit and we stepped inside the cubicle, the size of a confessional or a koffin depending on your perspeKtive, she was a frail, but to me a holy grail, her tubercular white skin stretched like a corpse, her blue bulging veins at the temples throbbing, needing a fix in an hour or two, bonny blue eyes that dared to look eye to eye with the black Krow, her feet filthy comme une pied noire, mais cette femme habite dan les soutterain de Paris pres de catacomb. Peut etre aprez quelle que mois elle reste ca, avec les autre que reve les memoire des autre, toujoure nous avon le memoire de soleile, le memoire de vivre, le memoire respire
Yes, I am paying, and I would like you completely undressed. Mais oui, complete, pas de vestment.
She turned the lights down, but the blue muslin curtains blew back. She was a cadaver posing as a young woman. I was a vulture posing as a saint. The stained bra thickly padded fell to the floor, flat chested as a boy. Yes, the underpants, the pelvis as clear as a skeleton in an anatomy class; black tracks on the arms, behind the legs, and speckled on the pulsing blue veins. I took my undershirt ripped it in half, dipped it into the sink, and with the shard of soap washed her slowly.
Ultimate of kinky ain’t it? I was naked sitting on a stool in a room that size of a large coffin washing Marie who was sweating and shaking simply wanting to get the 50 euros and buy a fix, but she stayed and sweated while I bathed. The other girl outside the room was shouting and screaming, “Fifteen minutes. What the fuck do you think you are – A courtesan! Get out bitch!”
I threw ten Euros out to the hallway. For a day or more, we stayed, laid naked in the room, but oddly we didn’t fuck: We sweated, puked, and cold turkeyed in the cubicle. Tout le meme. Hundreds of clients who fucked on this foam thin bed, the hundreds of hits of heroin shot up here.
A child is starving in Darfur, I’m spending a 100 euros on salvation. A 9 year girl is sold as a slave in a Mumbai brothel. A six year old black boy is working in the tiniest seam of a coal mine in Brazil; the fat rich man in Hollywood dying of loneliness, the last tree in barren north Dakota chopped down: More pain on the planet that the heart can hold in an hour.
At 3 am Marie had a seizure, the bed rattled, banging on the walls, as if some demon was trying to escape, and then she died.
I left her there on the bed, covered in the white sheet, the blue pulsing veins disappearing into the alabaster skin, the face drawn like a cadaver, she was already half way to a skeleton when I met her, now a few centimeters closer to redemption
I walked through the catacombs later that day. I snorted a bag of heroin for courage, I couldn’t take the needle, it violated my privacy and her memory. I tuckedher blouse in the crevice where two skulls met: the hollow eyed sockets peered out through
Yum manni padmi. yum mani paddmi yum yum manni paddmi yum
Yum mani padmi yum many paddmi yum manni padddi manni padmi ku
Yuman Manni padd mi Kummm. Kummm mani padmi Kum
Yo mani paddi manni kadd mi yom paddni kom many pad me kom.
Duhm
Dah
Dahm
Dahm
Dahm. Mani padmie dah mani. Mum. Mooom Mooomm Mooom paddi
yum paddi yummm, paddi, mummmmmm, paddi yummmmm, dumn paddi kom,
paddit humm
Redemption. Love. Fire.
Five votive candles in each eye socket and made a pentagram on the floor. In the five points of Kardinal love – the immutability of love or desire – each placed in the corner:
Ku to the nth
Mu in a minor key of love
Tu a transparent intimacy
jAz as Murder
Ineffable: In the effable instinct is murder
The Immutability of Murder in the House of Love:
As far as I am Koncerned she said with the well flossed vowels of the Windsors
Speaking of which for a Kommerical notice: There is a Blue Light Special at K Mart. Have you noticed how strange the customers are? Not quite from Kweens or Kondordia, the Place de Koncorde, where the Kween Herself was severed from her spinal Kord, another kord of wooden souls stacked up in the shed of karmic retribution. Innocently she said, “Eat Kake,” That begat the revolution. Did she know there was no bread in the humblest of hovels. If a gateaux would it have inspired them to nibble on toes?
IN the Konstellation of Ku, light transcendent from here a million miles up the Kolon of the Universe, with none of the charm of Kologne before of the war. Do you remember the sekret alleyways in the narrow steps that lead to the inner sanctum of the Kathedral, a winding spiral step down in to the belly of church, the Navum, where the first stone was placed. A church is kryptonite to spirituality.
If a god wanted to make a True church he would say, “In this meadow: On this field of grass: All shoes removed, all soks, all Klothes: Naked as the moment of birth. Niene de Kirke. IN truest sanitorium is Oued Kirke, Neue Kirk, all the children of Babylon gather by the river to pray and ask for redemption.
` The Anti-krist in drag comes strolling in like Marlena Detreicht in the Blue Angel; not that I didn’t not love and adore Marlena: Adolf did and why can’t I. When the allied destroyed the old Kathedral of Kologne, a thousand years of prayers fell beneath the bombs. The leaded glass with the stations of the kross, the ardor of god’s love
Om, mani padmi Ku, Om mani pad mi kum,
om mani padmi kum,
Kwam, Kwam. Kwam. Kwam. Om Mani Padmi
kumm
Om. mani padmi katti kati Om. Om mani padmi
kati Me. Ka Me. Ka Me Om. Om Mani Om Mani
Love. Love. Ka. Ka Mi. Ka Ma. Ommm Kammma
Kamma Om. Ommmani padd mi kaddmi
ommm.
Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku KuOm Kap kaddda
omn.
KuoooooO. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love Kamma
Love kamma mu. Love kamma mu. Love kamma
kamma. love kamma kamma mu.
