After Thanksgiving Sunday Services

Murder
Richard "Lord" Buckley, 1906-1960
M'Lords and M'Ladies of the Royal Court,
we should like to do for you a portrait
on the wildest most fantastic emotion
since the first turn of the wheel on the axle.

Ah, this emotion is so frantic and so crazy
and so insane and such a narcotic
that they get huge groups of people
to play this game together.
An emotion so strong, so wild --
this whole thing is a portrait of Man's
inability to completely control . . .
WOMAN.

This wild, wild, crazy, insane, far-out mother,
non-stop, screamin' crazy mad emotion --
and this emotion is... Murder!
MURDER!!

Murder...very expensive...murder.

For there is no man --
no man --
who has lived who has not said to himself
at one time or another:
"That woman. That woman. What is she doing to me?
Lying to me. I know it. I know it. Cheating on me.
Yes, yes, yes...
Talking while I'm talking.
Leading me around by my nose...
SPENDING MY MONEY!!!

"Ohhhh, I'll murder her."

The scene is a walk-up flat in Greenwich Village.
There are two characters in the scene.
One is a man...and the other...a woman.

The woman's head...ohhh, ahhh...is not on her body.

In the man's hand is a long, lean, mean, keen...bloody knife...
with the blood -- ahhhh, ahh, ahh, ah -- not yet congealed --
ohhhhh ahhhh ohhhhh --
just dripping, dripping, dripping, ripping...
lightly...lightly...lightly...lightly...

The man's conscience speaks first:
"Ahhh! Hoo! Hay! Oh! Oh! Ah, you brilliant mind!
You great super-egotist genius.
Look what you have done!
Look at her lying there.
Her head cut from her beautiful body.
I know what you're thinking.
You have plans. You have money.
Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run!
They'll pursue you. They'll bring you back.
They'll put you under those hot lights.
They will ask of you: the motive.
And you best have the motive.
The police want the motive.
The papers want the motive.
What is the motive?"

The man, himself, speaks:
"So, they'll want a motive, eh?
Well, I'll give them a motive.
And I swear to you that I can see the look
on their stupid, sweaty, sadistic faces
staring down into mine when I tell them
that I killed her because . . .
I LOVED HER.
Oh! Oh! Ohhh! Oh God help me I loved her.
Everything she did.
The way she walked.
The way she talked -- everything.
I loved her so much I could think of nothing else.
Day in day out. Year in year out.
Oh God I loved her.
Oh! When I tried to seek escape in sleep
she'd come into my subconscious mind
like she had a secret trap door.
Come in like a little girl --
like a tall one, like a thin girl.
Oh God.

"And the...and the...and the...
and the rotten, vicious, monstrous things
she did were to me...beautiful.
Beautiful! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. . .

"I loved her. I loved her.
I loved her so -- ahh ahh ahh ahh ...
I can still feel the -- ahh ahh --
exquisite pressure on my wrist
when I grabbed her beautiful neck
with a knife and the blood --
Ohhh! Woah! Woah! Woah!
Ha ha ha ha ha -- the rich, red blood.
Oh God! I did it! I did it. I'd do it again.
I'd do it a thousand times.
I told her. . .she wouldn't listen. . .I did it.

"Cut her up. Slice her up into little pieces.
Cut her up. Slice her up -- chop up her fingers.
Ship her away. Ship her away. Ship her out.
Put her in the car.
Ship her, ship her, ship her.
Cut her up.
I told her...I'll do it a thousand times.
Not he, not they -- Me! Me! Me!
I'll do it again. I'll do it again.
I'll fix her. She can't show me.
I'll show her -- you bet your life.
I'll do it again. . ."

"Henry?"

"I'll do it again."

"Henry?"

"Yes, yes, yes . . ."

"Henry."

"Huh?"

"Henry, I want you to go out out to the hen house
and feed the hens before breakfast dear."

"Ah, oh, ahh yes dear...I was just taking five."



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From Parabolic REVELATIONS of the Late Lord Buckley: A Collection of Six Lessons by the "Hip Messiah", Pye Records/Nonesuch, 1963