The bespectacled scientific
malrepresentatives proclaim with all professionalism, that their spectacles are unfindable. That their sensory optical prescription
is immeasurable. Unrefractionable. Even unimaginably out of sight. The fourth dimension: officially pro-claimed to be nowhere in
the measurable light, or the sensual realm of touch, taste, hearing or sight. In or out of italics and/or parentheses. Mr. Science is
out to isolate gravity waves. Dr. Livingston is attempting to locate someone who presumes enough to find himself, and what he
emptily purports to be in search of. The Star Optometrist has con-tracted a posse with Warner Brothers to polish both lenses
on his WANTED: Dead Or Alive, remarkably misplaced (‘Head’s-up‘n Hellmutt’) spectacles.
rear view mirror with the accumulating police cars in it. Speeding - ever accel-erating - from safety at way over 31 m.p.h.
Hotfurnacing Columbia. Immolating mein children. Wokking the dogs. Jerbally Vudoing the law. Beating the devil.
Impersonating the allegory gods of hell’s fire. Skunking gravity. Offing the presupposed pigs. Yah seig. Disregarding (doing
without): the descent of free falling objects, the weight of everything; the or-biting of the planets - and all other orbits with and
without punctu-ation (and the song of an errant hubcap settling down on the asphalt all by it’s rolling and rotating self.
Disassociated from the smashed Volkswagen it or-iginated on - stuffed entirely beneath the inferno enveloped 18 wheeler that
rests on top of the crushed Volks beneath it. Containing all those 3--D stuck-fixated physicists, uniformly distributed - smoking
and throwing ominous sparks - in the front and back seats... Perished thence, while concentrating intensely on not thinking
about 4-D pachyderms. The avidly overstuffed People’s Waggen, missing a hubcap subjected to be musically and metalically
wobbling down to a final halt on the crowded, rubbernecking, Marin county roadway. Perished paSSengers auditioned &
sworn 2 BB unafraid of BBig Daddy’s driving. Full of highly compressed, explosively performing - now perfunctorily
perforated - astophysicists and their legion of lost, raggedy assed star-gazing mignons. As though George Gamow, Carl Sagen,
Edwin Hubble and Lemaitre, with the now thickly gathered, con-ceptually dominant, starry eyed Big Bang gangers, knew and
understood it all along < The free-way song of a liberated hubcap >. The lights at the ends of their mole infested , PsyWar
choked , crazymaking tunnels having all this time been an overloaded, 18 wheeler juggernaut, out of the back end of the cycle,
from the Enrico Fermi nuclear power plant in Detroit. Background theme from THE DAY AFTER. still playing on the charred,
Geiger counter gagging, V.W. factory-FM tuned, KBAY radio. ‘In the air! Everywhere!’ YOU DECORATED MY LIFE? Of
course in stereo. Naturally in & out of a NUCLEAR FREE ZONE). The inescapable sounds of gravity. Anything round and
rolling - espe-cially metal, glass and/or stone - that’s allowed to slow down, fall over, and settle, audibly oscillating and rotating
downwardly toward a quick stop on a hard surface.