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Snaked

Ed's tug o war pliers got me shaking with images of
Nam-shot video of true-blue torture and snuff endlessly
running in the office of the head of the Carnegie Council on 
World Peace on East 64th where I was doing work.

An ex-CIAer put to pasture, Meyer sat at his desk watching
the tape, smoking, ignoring me measuring his space.

I went out to ask the manager should I come back later, she 
said no, he does that every day all day, comes at dawn leaves
at dark, doesn't talk, doesn't eat, doesn't use the toilet, his
silence terrifies me, best for you to work around him like we do.

So I continued, he didn't move from his chair, chainsmoked, 
watched the brutality. Eventually, after glancing at a few, I too 
became engrossed, stopped work, stared at the horror.

The video length was about two hours, twelve scenes, each
increasingly violent, beginning with a pleasant discussion between 
man and woman, then by degrees the pair becoming estranged,
enraged, defiant and destructive, evolving torturer, devolving victim, 
and, shockingly, alternating roles, each exchanging places with
the other, rapidly and unexpectedly, at times in mid-blow, a knife
raised, arced, then thrust into the wielder, the ex-torturer's blood 
spurting onto the naked ex-victim. 

Successive scenes segued into the following with increasing 
acceleration so that it became impossible to anticipate the action, 
to remain passive. Adrenaline overpowered reason and 
watching became participation.

I shouted to urge the two on, to horrify me, entertain me. I lunged 
at the screen, yearning for terror and art.

The show stopped, I cried for its absence.

Meyer didn't move, smoked, said, "get the fuck out the way," 
punched restart.

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Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 21:48:25 -0400
To: wire@monkey-boy.com
From: John Young <jya@pipeline.com>