Manson Lecture 7: Home improvements … (December 16th, 1997)

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A home someplace …

Home improvements begin with walls and feet and chainsaw dreams. You can build your home out of turnip wax and old newspaper and the shit left behind by the cops when they’re done beating those homeless people to death. You can take the bones and mark your spots and build a home. And homes need work.

If I am your carpenter of new-modes, then you can be my architect of love …

I am a builder of things and stuff.

I am your leopard king, I am the scarlet foe … if you had grapes? – I could mash them into summer wine and breed wild chickens by the road. And you talk of BIG MEN like Bugliosi? – he is the carpenter ant living in my attic. He is the forgone conclusion to a story of sadness. RID YOURSELF OF PESTS … your own measles will spread through the poorer districts, and then comes the slaughter of dolphins.

And seek lighter charm in the cottage by the coconut grove, not far from where the family buried those old hobos …

Those nice places, in good charming settings … pastoral bullshit.

I saw an ice palace when I was a boy. I saw Santa and his elves and the reindeer feeding on the carcasses of dead elk and their faces were covered in musk-smear. They shivered because their own hearts were too HOT and their skin was fragile glass. And I pulled out my gun and shot.

Some speed freak told me “Charlie, that home is too small”. And I smiled, and looked at him, and picked up a rock and bashed his face in. MY HOME is JUST BIG ENOUGH, but my heart will always be too small for you SOBs. And I tore out his heart, buried it out back.

Bathrooms

Conglimek-7 people have 4 poop holes. If you don’t take into consideration the number and location of these orifices? – you will have terrible outcomes in the bathroom zone. Sub-freaks, jack’ers, riggly-mott fiends seeking heroin hostages will do most of their cutting in the bathroom. You need smooth and hard surfaces, with the faint patina of blood …

The bathroom is where you bond with TOTAL-YOU-SAUCE … your own essence, sign, scat, is the thing that stains your heart.

IN the grit there are living ecosystems of transcendent love and expectation. There are germ colonies, meager in stature, growing to consume your toilet seat cover. There is a new sweat covering the old brandy style towel holders – and you mock the LORD TOOG?

“YOU CAN’T SEE YOUR NUMBER TWO!”, cried TOOG, as logs drifted down the river.

Backyard

I’m just trying to hunt bumpis-beast, and not die in the horkey-farms, covered in filth and grease and old gizzards from long dead lunch.

A backyard is for getting rid of problems …

You have space in your mind to expand, but the BEAST needs rest. You till the ground of your barren heart there, planting seeds of tomorrow’s ruin. In the blood times, you meet old spirits there and congregate with forbidden witches of delight. The backyard is for playing and building and drilling and cutting and burying …

Bury stuff there …

Kitchen

Kitchens should be filled with love. Every kitchen should be a Tupperware kitchen, and all food should be placed in plastic bowls. There should be garbage cans for all the spare parts, tender compartments of totalistic love-energy.

The fridge should be HUGE, with space to GROW!

You need a big ice box for leftovers, for the shady things that were hidden in yesterday’s mirth, as some solo hitchhiker is taken to the back and tied up and drained of fluids and left to be eaten by ants …

YOUR OVEN NEEDS TO BE READY …

Ready to make hot meals for cool friends, people you meet at the bus stop at 2 AM looking for some crank or crack or smack or maybe a little PCP …

Drawers with knives.

By the year 2021, everyone will eat ass-cream. Ass-cream will replace ice-cream as a cool delight … you can have an ass-cream maker, in your kitchen. People get tired of using old wooden spoons to sift the ass-cream from out of their buts.

Bedroom

Squalor …

A bedroom should be covered in old newspaper and crickets and sadness. There should be an old used up wench named Tessa that guards the bed, her eyes glazed over, body stink everywhere, a tight t-shirt and ratty underwear. She lunges at you with her fangs and claws and you wrestle her to the bed.

A bedroom should have a closet, filled with hammers …

A bedroom should have a wardrobe and a dresser and a chair to sit on.

There should be a window, and when you look out into the morning you can identify the victims of tomorrow’s schemes …

Garage

YOU HAVE AN AX COLLECTION … where ya gonna put it?

You have stuff in boxes, old boxes, covered in mold and old cat hair and they smell of grandma and the nursing home … you can stick these old boxes in the garage too.

You have conflicts, issues, with your neighbors …

You can create a little jail cell in your garage and put your neighbors in it. I’d call mine “Charlie’s Fun Time Space” … and I’d sound proof it … and I’d keep you tied up in there, for weeks, before anyone would find out.

Attic

There’s always some noise, coming from up there. A creaky old noise of some hag that was knocked out with a lead pipe and left up there, concussed and bleeding from a skull fracture … her husband dead for 20 years … kids that never visit her … just loneliness.

That’s what you do with the attic.

Basement

The basement is for time-gathering. It is a place of making wine and splaying out old corpses and celebrating dark rites in the coolness of a mold haven.

The basement should be moist and slimy and covered in green goo that glows in the dark. It should be like Lovecraft’s catacombs in The Rats in the Walls …

The basement is for old catholic school nuns and teachers that swore you’d die in a ditch someplace north of Topeka.