Manuscripts/Mixed Material [Waterfront]
Here's a supposition, an example. Destroy all the ships, machines, everything, every industry. Then strip the laboring man to his skin. The captains and bosses, too. Strip them too. Them have am all revert to their primeval instincts. Then we'll see who survives. Why, man, we'd have a new order. One thousand top dogs workin the ass of a hundred million guys, it ain't right, runnin the factories. Why, they buy our collective ideas, that's all. Shoot, a salt water bath would give any of them blisters.
I say we need a revolution, no bloody revolution. An industrial revolution. I say give the superior brain worker the advantage, he deserves it but give him a motor car and private baths, but no surplus, for Chrissake, accumulations are stagnant, laying back that's not goin to do you or me no good ever.
If I had the dough, boy, I'd get me a freight train and put plus bottoms on the rods. Then I'd jump my own soft cushion rods and hire my own cops to put me in the cooler. My own cooler. Whhoops. Shoot. All ya needa do is stick a feather up my nose and I'm a friggin submarine. A goddam beautiful sea-jamming submarine, for Chrissake. I sound as if I was gassed up on the Embarcadero, for Chrissake. Nice girls out there, nice girls all over the world. But the biggest disappointment was Turkey, their religion is to shave the hair off the organs, a goddam bald skillet, that's all it is . . . In Pyreusp Greece, also. You couldn't give crabs to nobody. But Turkey's the rottenest place. You're comin down the street and there are the soldiers. You ask em: “Where's the house, boys? We don't know. What do you mean, you don't know? We don't know, nobody knows. Well, what do you do for your pleasure? One of the boys, he says, the women is for officers only . . . Down to your shirt you are, and what a shirt. Comes from Hong Kong, I bummed it off a guy in Frisco, one washing and it shrank up to my elbows. That's the sea for you.