{"id":4597,"date":"2010-08-25T16:19:29","date_gmt":"2010-08-25T16:19:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/?p=4597"},"modified":"2010-08-25T16:19:29","modified_gmt":"2010-08-25T16:19:29","slug":"kali-claude-yug-pelieu-express-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/kali-claude-yug-pelieu-express-3\/","title":{"rendered":"Kali Claude Yug P\u00e9lieu Express 3"},"content":{"rendered":"

Claude P\u00e9lieu : KALI YUG EXPRESS<\/span><\/h2>\n

Translated by Mary Beach<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/strong>
\n(continued\u2026)<\/p>\n

HOT LEAD IN THE HEDGE OF STARS<\/h3>\n

Horizons, arrows, flexible clouds, silent gestures describing the generation that was sitting on the electrified fence, clouds broken by the light breeze, electronic music flattening the wheat, screams poured into the Echo-Death dossier. The primroses and the forget-me-nots have disappeared. Must we tell you that nothing happens just like\u00a0 that, simply? Memories set on fire. Fairyland over Cielo Drive, Highway 1, Route 66, East Side & West Side Highways, New Jersey Turnpike, Spaghetti Junction, and further up SKYLAB, the firmament, and the wind that always chooses silence, like the dead flowers torn from the melodious soil. You can\u2019t survive with someone else\u2019s screams, you can\u2019t survive with the tics and yellow laughter of a generation, you can\u2019t survive with a single ideology or ideas, you can\u2019t survive with a panoply of words, images and sounds.
\nBack to speed, collage, cut\/up, image after image, word for word, sound against sound, a cut\/up in the anemic night wrapped in nylon, a poll of false news that fly from mouth to mouth, while silence with a damp cloth wipes away what\u2019s left of the 60s, that\u2019s to say nothing.
\nSweet Jane water murmurs and carries comix away, flames follow eyes, and in the wind scattered doodles, in the heart of solitude that advances like an egg in the grey sky \u2014 on the back seat of a cloud an angel strums an electric guitar \u2014 the wild music germinates around an endless morning.
\nHorses gallop in alfalfa fields. Blue and green hills hurtle down a silvery trail with white clouds under a black sky. And on the shelf of oblivion Speedway Road, dimly in the rain. The landscape makes its bed in a whirlwind of whispers \u2014 under a thin layer of clouds the star studded polygon in the vein tree \u2014 solitude smokes in the darkness, lilacs lose themselves. A mint leaf tells me that I\u2019m still alive.<\/p>\n

\n

\n

THE
\nSILENCE
\nCRACKS
\nA
\nDANCER
\nPLACES
\nA
\nKISS
\nON
\nTHE
\nJUKEBOX<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Electric Rainbow Hill, 5 am, the purple fog. 5 am, great cold in fire\u2019s deserted
\nbed. The gold of the rising sun sinks into the pine forest. The frozen pond will be incapable of predicting the future.
\nThe future? Is Today Tomorrow? Ray Johnson wrote this to Ruth Szowie: I
\nwore my pink wig today? The future? Poetry should be sold like Coca-Cola \u2014 the boiling tea steams up the night\u2019s shelter \u2014 the purple fog fills my heart. Sinister information, horrible events, light ravages the dying night. Raw winter\u2019s silent spasms, grass flakes on the window panes.
\nColors stream, the white cliffs close the march \u2014 frost bombards dawn \u2014 a parade of trucks shimmer on the highway. Sounds stifled into sandwiches and a few flames straddle the blue spray.
\nVitamin C pills address Sweet Williams familiarly. Ann\u2019s here to pick flowers (between two planes) without giving them names.
\nSKYLAB is saved, the astronauts have returned after 28 days, a spectacular rescue. And during that time the Nixons struggled in the nuclear cramp basin. We chase butterflies, we pick roses, we\u2019re happy in this basket of hair, June\u2019s breezes chew on reality.
\nRumors. Vacationed carcasses. Released skeletons. A marmalade of bodies. Allen will be here next week.
\nDoctor Leary says that the Universe\u2019s perfect, and I think the world\u2019s sordid, to high heaven… we live with or without masks, on the fringe of institutions, and we sometimes speak beside nature, near reality \u2014 but, nevertheless we speak a \u2018social language\u2019 in the heart of explosions of violence, dominated by our own media, by our own myths, we speak our time, laminated by the most repressive structures. We\u2019re suffocating. It\u2019s \u2018this & that\u2019 say some \u2014 let\u2019s send them back to back into the old suffocating film \u2014 the control machine has become more and more discrete and efficient.
\n\u201cI\u2019m going to get a tan on your tombs\u201d, murmured James Bond to Dick Tracy and Modesty Blaise, while Tito Vulvo masturbates in the bourgeois columns of The Social Vise.
\nOur dynamic structures, laden with eternal and alienating values that obsess the sexual proletariat.
\nNeuron panic.<\/p>\n

\n

THE COMPUTER LOST IN THE ELECTRONIC HEART OF AN ENGLISH TIBET<\/h3>\n

\n

Anguish reinforces the consumer\u2019s vanity which is chemically poisoned.
\nEvil gadgets, flashes, technological conjuring tricks, etc. Time-eaters come from the School-that-Stinks, and tirelessly repeats the Space Opera, sponsored by a brand of soap. We\u2019re on the fringe of profound debility and we\u2019re in space. We\u2019re committed to nothing, and nothing disengages us. We\u2019re the accelerations of\u00a0 conflict. We get all the messages. We are the MESS-AGE \u2014 cattle doze in mud, total spectacle \u2014 \u2018The Flipped Out In The Middle Of Nowhere\u2019, who will smash our last illusions?
\nCorny meditations, manipulations, provocations, etc. Robots are using their heads. Flesh cracks. The teeth of our minds are chattering. The rest collapses. It ain\u2019t by chance if the infirm are agitated. It ain\u2019t by chance that there are so many sick violent people. We\u2019re entering the Era of Disappearance. And for those who have atomized their brains there isn\u2019t much left of their cerebral crust not even an Electronic Tibet, all that\u2019s left is a message of flickering pain in the grey film of the daily grind. Memory recall tells us that there is only one life, that there is only one world.
\nA voice in tears, and beyond the reality of freckles calibrated by Springtime, tell us that the Brain Police has no visions.
\nA spectacle-landscape in the herbarium is in my heart, the bestiary in my head. Supernatural pink silhouettes and the sounds of water \u2014 how to describe the white hot rings that sleep in the river\u2019s bed? \u2014 words mustn\u2019t complicate the lives of images.
\nRobots\u2019 syntax is frozen in heavy metal. Mulberry trees hate thistles. Hills invaded by gorse, by blue-bell lamps, by moon flowers \u2014 the thousand wonders of fair weather, voluptuous waves, and the songs sinking into our solitude.
\nI can\u2019t seem to answer such questions.
\nA claw against the livid sky. An ageless fog. Someone is going to pull his hair out again. Who wants to have his head on his shoulders? We\u2019re rich in laughter, we should be rich in everything, even dollars.
\nA collision of all the suns \u2014 good and bad news \u2014 A secret fire, in my image, the Universe is partying, and there are still people who, with weapons in their hands, etc, etc., \u2014 those fluorescent morons haven\u2019t yet understood that life gets its source in the bare lips of space. They\u2019re not the only ones.
\nThe episode Vietnam Parking Lot Blues is over, erased. The snows have melted and wander around alone. Fair weather will persist.
\nWe breath in the center of electric mosaics. The film, will be unpleasant, at times, frightening, unbearable.
\nForget-me-not telegrams in the hobo\u2019s pocket, realities stripped by ashes and hazes \u2014 pearls flow, drip, explode and mix with butterfly wings \u2014 everything lives and relives intently, like the sexy telegrams in the wind\u2019s pocket.<\/p>\n

VIA SATELLITE<\/h3>\n

A star dives into the sky\u2019s fur — who dares to write on my back? \u2014 the wrong side of a word? The skin of a sob?
\nWhat is there to say? (your applause is taped by death TV, The Big Cosmic Pancake). Yesterday, on the beach, a loud scream, followed by a black flame, announced that night will not submit to neon.
\nNeon beheading the shadow\u2019s spire \u2014 time\u2019s traces die on the screen \u2014 THE
\nSKY\u2019S HOWL.
\nAnd just at the corner of night, trees in flames shed their skin, colors breathe,
\nthe moon rips the boisterous silk of a pale sky \u2014 we start to drink and smoke, we fall asleep beaming, we awaken sick \u2014 ultraviolet in flesh and bones drags neon onto the beach. Rainbows meet just on the corner of night. Shadow and light mosaics.
\nThe landscape makes its bed in the watershed of reality. Music. Savage embraces. Shipwrecks. Clouds are unaware of rumors and clamors, good and bad news, the clouds put to sea. Pine cones explode in the fire, laughter crackles in the chimney.
\nDay is breaking, turbulent. A world glitters in the cry of a seagull, every subject is rolled by slow waters.
\nPoetry, worlds and erasures, and on the arm of the sun, in one fell swoop, dawn\u2019s golden mouth.
\nInstant, reality, comix, Polaroid scenery.<\/p>\n

In front of my TVs I open my eyes on what I\u2019ve forgotten since 1970. We\u2019re on the tracks of the Villains of Space. We dream between our walls. We know that there are billions of galaxies in the Universe, and that all the living mechanisms , from the infinitely small to the infinitely large, pass from inanimate to animate. We know that God is the witness to that will. Men created Heaven and Earth.
\nWhat are our technical skills?
\nWe are feeble astronomers, and what is left of our good sense remains in suspense, near a planet I used to call NOT TO BE DOUBTED.
\nPoets are all like their fellow creatures, consumers, dominated by the Brain Police and Sexual Bureaucracy.
\nPollution and overpopulation will be stuck in the nuclear cramp basins. For a long time, the password was: NERVOUS DEPRESSION FOREVER. We should be wary of that defect, of disease, of old artistic concepts, of feelings of equality, and properly fix the operation: IT\u2019S ALWAYS SUNDAY.
\nPolaroid hamburgers over cucumber-cities.
\nThe integral transformation of citizens above suspicion. A pre-selection of ordinary and simple-minded people on the electronic keyboard. The electronic memory of all the televised deaths. Operation FOR MEN WHO ARE MEN \u2014 a light touch on social troubles and the psychodramas that ravage the Western paranoid nations \u2014 troubles unmaliciously caused by the retarded who haven\u2019t entered the twentieth century emotionally. Operation LET US FINISH OUR DAYS AT EASE.
\nEquality feelings, the end of prejudice, the abolition of money, fans & pop stars smoke brawn, operation SWEET MAMA \u2014 we hold our loved ones dear, don\u2019t we? \u2014 We have nerves of steel and the pills that help, our personal objects and\u00a0 instantaneous memories only survive by electronic impulse. Our power (I cannot find another word) doesn\u2019t depend on a minority. Operation SEX DISPLAYED. Under the Florida sky, operation WE\u2019VE GOT CHUTZPAH, and nothing underneath, except for an old sprawling city, unaware of love and hate. A stencil-city saturated with neon, skyscrapers and purple fog. The electronic news on Watermelon Street disappears behind the blond mist that rise from the black streets and along the skyway the headlights of a million cars twinkle. On the side I think that those robots were maybe happy teenagers, high and unthinking.\u00a0 Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn\u2019t matter.
\nKwammMM! KAPOW! Zonk! Ouch! Zzzziing!
\nHabit? A murmur? A napkin? A finger-bowl? A pink flesh taxi?
\nFreak & Funky, inky-dinky parlez-vous…\u00a0 In the purple fog of Metropolis, or in the blue fog of Gun Hill, the last electrified minutes explode one after another… it was yesterday (but what does today mean?), nothing, I guess, absolutely nothing \u2014\u00a0 the global village changes at the speed of light \u2014 we\u2019re here, we\u2019re elsewhere, we\u2019re there, we\u2019re not there, we keep silent together.
\nThey talk about Nixon\u2019s genetic characteristics, Kissinger-Folamour & Mao\u2019s chromosome anomalies as well as speed freak Hitler\u2019s as well as the Pentagon and the Kremlin monsters who all came into the world with a pair of abnormal chromosomes. (Like the Villains of Space, like loathsome Beings. And there are many of them. I will introduce you to a few.
\nThe Masked Cucumber, the Venusian Banana, Stinking-Cloud, the Ravaged Nippon, Red Charlotte, the Mad Anti-Semite, the Recycled Wog, Zorba the Schmuck, Hamburger Fart, the Catatonic Hippy, Jew Fart, Jose Bravo, Chopstick Charlie, the Masked lobster, Shit-On-A-Stick, the one-legged Negro, Tinker-toy Papa, the Dumb Structuralism, the Venerable Prick, the poxed Truffle, Johnny Guitar, the Talented Aborigine, the Sophisticated Prole, the Spatial Drawer, the Blue Monkey, the Musical Sleeping-Bag, James Bond, Modesty Blaise, Flesh Gordon, Henry Slap, Lady Punk Queen, the SS in Skirts, the Flying Mama, the Committed Waitress, the Introverted Terrorist, the Shitty Galaxy, the Cosmic Hooker, the Asthmatic Panther,\u00a0 Absolute Gratitude or the Courageous Publisher, the Conclusion Card Shark, Modes Et\u00a0 Travelos, and many others who have crossed the border of ugliness and filled your ashtrays.<\/p>\n

Operation CASH FOR TRASH.<\/p>\n

TIP OFF THE >CREEP=
\nOR EAT MY LUNCH CAPTAIN AMERICA
\nSO WHO OWNS DEATH TV?<\/p>\n

Richard Nixon\u2019s cronies are not the heroes of the American conscience. Seen from afar or near those incidents must not recur too often. That\u2019s the opinion of the DICK TRACY TV brain trust.
\nWith the erosion of the dollar, the great counter-revolutionary peace and the Watergate affair, soybean flies away. Bad business for the US that assures 90% of it on the worldwide market. Since then the environmental politics have changed, and only the leftist side of the public believes in the good intentions of one or the other.
\nWatergate? \u2014 a tragedy for Richard Mulhouse Nixon \u2014 a catastrophe for the Industrial Military complex. Nixonoids and napalmicans debunked by Congress and the Senate. The future for the republicans is erased for several decades. But is that really a tragedy?
\nCould it be a scenario imagined by the Villains of Space?
\nCould it be a bit of science (political) fiction?
\nCould it be a conspiracy at the service of demoniacal forces of the control powers, of sex and blood?
\nCould it be the terrorist universe that inspired Televised Death?
\nWatergate? Could it be a puberty-reaction of Margaret Mitchell\u2019s?
\nCould it be…
\n:By God! Kill those Commies! Smash these gooks! Knock out the fags! Fuck the goddamn Blacks!\u201d… We\u2019re on the edge of the precipice.
\nHow can we depopulate the planet?
\nCan we intervene where the real dangers are shown?
\nCan we take sides?
\nNixon and Brezhnev measure the power of flux and reflux.
\nA new world. A new peace. A risk to run \u2014 a great risk if we dance \u2014 businessmen plugged into the dwarfs of space no longer have any visiting cards.\u00a0 You will see them in Palm Beach, on the Champs Elys\u00e9es and Sunset Strip. You can meet them at Joe Banana\u2019s, at Max\u2019s Kansas City, on Madison Avenue and Withoutjoy Street, you may meet them in the corridors of the Pentagon and the Snow Subway, bump into them here and there, talk to them, touch them, and you\u2019ll notice that they will reveal their scornful audacity.<\/p>\n

Operation \u201cLISTEN TO EACH OTHER I AM THE STATE\u201d, or \u201cTHE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO YOUR NEIGHBORS\u201d… meanwhile the SKYLAB guys photograph fields of stars, they are expected back tomorrow, Friday afternoon… I think that all this is logical and admirable.
\nDon\u2019t hang up if you have no collective importance. If you are merely an individual it\u2019s not good form to be listened to.
\nWatch out! \u2014 the Brain Police has read THE GREY AND INVISIBLE GENERATION \u2014 operation \u201cMINIMIZE AND SUBDIVIDE…\u201dThe agents and dealers of the CIA have also read the invisible generation by inspector Lee of the Nova Police… spy cameras in the video library of the Universe work well. Doctor Leary was the first victim of the MITCHELL-HALDEMAN-DEAN-McCORD-LIDDY & Co. computer … we\u2019ll find them again in the JUKEBOX-TV special edition that has no economic future… thus Nixon takes an additional dimension.
\nSecret agents, unemployed spies, psychopaths, policemen and agitators prevent the events from being known.
\nElectronic cameras create a psychological shock that disconcert the voters, ordinary citizens and feeble militants, those cameras erase the sexy message.
\nSTATION ORANGE doesn\u2019t answer anymore.
\nSuper Kool doesn\u2019t have a particular position to defend. Neither does Doctor Strangelove. Sergeant Pepper has taken the Chinese in charge. Captain American is frightened by the cost of operation \u201cWHITE TRASH\u201d, thought up by the members of CREEP. John Dean has promised to tell all next week.
\nThe growth of police power on our planet won\u2019t be interrupted by a new orientation of the US, USSR and Red China, even less by a revolution… there will be no revolution… thinkers and researchers that manipulate nations and masses are liberal, the sexual proletariat, the middle classes and the silent majorities are totalitarian… a few photos, a flash on the screen, turn the page, come in, leave… in eleven years 1984… a new mythology… Apocalypse… John Wayne is surely one of them. And if we don\u2019t watch out we will (consciously or unconsciously) be obliged to obey their suggestions. Children born that day, \u201cthe Watergate Generation\u201d, will soon be victims of accidents on the road, legal overdoses and political attacks.
\n\u201cHail to anarchy!\u201d cried Senator Cheap. The effect was slimy.
\nThe new way of seeing and hearing has the floor. Now listen to what the Blockade Planet has to say.<\/p>\n

The \u201cTRAUMA\u201d team (dissident faction of \u201cModes Et Travelos\u201d) has infiltrated the sewers of the White House. Jet of infrasonic sperm in the Washington sky. (Dick Gregory writes to Nixon, congratulating him for not having a single Black man in his\u00a0 German Administration.)The President and Perry Mason are going to examine the bi-lateral problems with lasers.
\nAnd no flowers for the shit-eating Chinks, Kissinger… you haven\u2019t understood Henry, is that clear?\u201d
\n\u201cJawohl, Herr Nixon! Very clear, chief!\u201d
\nHenry Tinkerer is a flexible person, intelligent, tricky, alert. It\u2019s undeniable…
\n\u201cToo bad that Bob Dylan and Golda aren\u2019t in on it\u201d, murmured the Medieval Groupie to Modesty Blaise who was distractedly masturbating a catatonic hippie.
\n\u201cHow can we get Doctor Leary out of that shithole?\u201d
\n\u201cUh… you know, uh… the tab will be sizable…\u201d<\/p>\n

Operation \u201cFLAMBOYANT DEATH\u201d \u2014 Nixon and Brezhnev at Camp David, with a few hundred fags in uniform and thousands of call girls in heat \u2014 Operation \u201cSalt Peanuts\u201d… Nixon is learning how to use a samovar, after having licked Mao\u2019s twat with chopsticks, nothing could be easier… Brezhnev is impressed, he distributes false passports to all the Jews he bumps into in Disneyland, and Chopstick Charlie becomes a pollster… Pat Nixon smeared with vaginal salve is transferred from one body to the next regardless of American traditions.
\nLivid Europe (between the pear and the cheese) pursues the hallucinating operation \u201cLETS FLOAT ALONG TOGETHER\u201d.
\nSince she has been shut in John Mitchell\u2019s gelatin, Martha Muffburger has become schizophrenic. Who wouldn\u2019t be if we take into account what she has been forced to endure. John, Rat-Prick was his false name when he gave the green light to the CREEP conspirators.<\/p>\n

The US assures 90% of the views on the science of blood.
\nIs it some kind of reaction?
\n\u201cKill those lousy Commies!\u201d… they\u2019re known, classified, registered… a new world of businessmen in the halls of scorn.
\nThey will, of course be obliged to die.
\nNEIGHBORS?
\nIMPERIAL POLICE… Fiction-Police… supplementary dimension of the Nova Police SUBDIVIDED by electronic cameras.
\nORANGE ANSWERS STATION STRANGELOVE.
\nTRASH frightened people a long time ago.
\nTotalitarian development.
\nWill surely be obliged to die, like most of the poor children. We\u2019re on the same page.
\n\u201cViva TRAUMA!\u201d… a new way of being in the sky… \u201cand no flowers! Is that clear?\u201d… jack-off tab and fictitious name impressing the hallucinating left winger.
\nSoy and dollars fly away… the villains of space and the nixonoids haven\u2019t changed… Could it be… Sex and Power?… a great risk in dancing \u2014 devilish visiting cards \u2014\u00a0 Televised Death reveals its unimportant audaciousness in the middle of those fields of stars. INSPECTOR UNIVERSE\u2019S GOSPEL… From now on Lee will sort out events and sexy messages.
\nSTATION WHITE is to be defended, that\u2019s obvious. Promises to tell all. New orientation. The prolratprick was in on it?
\n1984… on our guard.
\nRoad accidents.
\nWhite-House overdoses.
\nLegal attacks.
\nChinese smiles between the shoulders.
\nPlanet-Blockade has the floor.<\/p>\n

Bilateral jets of sperm have you understood me, \u201cToo bad that Bob and Blaise weren\u2019t at Camp David\u201d… \u201cand Leary?\u201d… SALT PEANUTS… Nix-Mao from one body to the other, livid, swallowing my breakfast with chopsticks. An environmental matter, catastrophe, scenario imagined by the force of death. Mitchell started it all.
\nThe Americans watch. We\u2019re on the edge of perhaps…
\nBrezhnev, a great risk.
\nOne and the other, grey, invisible. They photograph you as you speak.
\n\u201cSo, what about the future for the grey and invisible generation?\u201d
\n\u201cRat-Prick won\u2019t change the face of the world…\u201d
\nAgitators won\u2019t erase my particular position.
\nOperation \u201cCREEP\u201d, John Dean interrupts me through my pages, we will parachute him into the W. C. Fields= Museum… in eleven years John Wayne will have expired, a victim of his own slimy effects.
\nNow, listen to the White House.
\nWe\u2019re going to examine Kissinger\u2019s shit. Henry Tinkerer is a flamboyant groupie, \u201cFashion And Call Girls\u201d… it was a matter of kidnaping extremist leaders and to sequester the clowns of the Democratic Convention \u201cSUCK MIAMI\u2019S TWAT\u201d. Martha, Pat, John and \u201cThe Screaming Faggot\u201d on the world market.
\nTIP OFF THE CREEP AND DON\u2019T BUG ME, HONEY… Milhouse Nixon in the heart of the tragedy. A terrorist universe where silence is essential.
\n\u201cSmash those gooks! Kill that dirty Black! Twice! Thrice! He\u2019s the one, by God! And he squeals a lot!\u201d
\nHow to depopulate that slimy zone?
\nA new peace imagined and programmed by the Pentagon runts. They can be heard plugged into the British asshole, operation \u201cDON\u2019T HANG UP, DON\u2019T SHAKE THE COCONUT TREE!\u201d… could anyone take sides!
\nCIA brain read the other edition.
\nHidden camera for the cops.
\nSuper Kool was tough. The cost of the operation?\u00a0 A revolution… a few photos and you obey their suggestions.
\nThe Senator fine-combs the CREEP members into the sewers of Washington. The Chinks eaters of bosses have disguised themselves into catatonic faggots, nuts up to their ears, chewing on little balls of Vietnamese opium. Chopstick Charlie imprisoned since the beginning by the conspirators who put sneezing powder in Nixon\u2019s samovar.
\nUS soybean-erosion, 90% of the sexual affair on the world market. And in full view the Nixonoids make a forced landing on Archibald Cox\u2019s table.
\nGOD BLESS AMERICA… even John Wayne who\u2019s in the sewers of heaven.
\nBig Jake, The Duke, an orange shock on the page.
\nIs it a mistake?
\nA political-fiction affair?
\nBlood here and there, is it Pentagon-audacity?
\n\u201cLISTEN TO YOUR LUCKY STARS…\u201d
\n\u201cDON\u2019T ADMIT A THING EVER…\u201d
\nTelevised Death in the special edition of SUPER KOOL.
\nEAT MY LUNCH, TIP OFF THE BRAIN POLICE, LISTEN TO YOUR NEIGHBORS.
\nA great risk in running. The computer always retains the sexy message. The global village disappears in the green fog ventilated by New York. Sally Harmony vanishes, carried away by a jet of infrasonic sperm.<\/p>\n

\n

(to be continued…)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Claude P\u00e9lieu : KALI YUG EXPRESS Translated by Mary Beach (continued\u2026) HOT LEAD IN THE HEDGE OF STARS Horizons, arrows, flexible clouds, silent gestures describing the generation that was sitting on the electrified fence,...<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[91,96,804,1],"tags":[247,512],"class_list":["post-4597","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","category-prose","category-summer-reading","category-uncategorized","tag-claude-pelieu","tag-mary-beach"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4597","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4597"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4597\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4609,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4597\/revisions\/4609"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4597"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4597"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4597"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}