The audience reaction or aesthetic-shock produced by Poetic Terrorism ought to be at least as strong as the emotion of terror-- powerful disgust, sexual arousal, superstitious awe, sudden intuitive breakthrough, dada-esque angst--no matter whether the PT is aimed at one person or many, no matter whether it is "signed" or anonymous, if it does not change someone's life (aside from the artist) it fails.

PT is an act in a Theater of Cruelty which has no stage, no rows of seats, no tickets & no walls. In order to work at all, PT must categorically be divorced from all conventional structures for art consumption (galleries, publications, media). Even the guerilla Situationist tactics of street theater areperhaps too well known & expected now.

An exquisite seduction carried out not only in the cause of mutual satisfaction but also as a conscious act in a deliberately beautiful life -- may be the ultimate PT. The PTerrorist behaves like a confidence-trickster whose aim is not money but CHANGE.

Don't do PT for other artists, do it for people who will not realize (at least for a few moments) that what you have done is art. Avoid recognizable art-categories, avoid politics, don't stick around to  argue, don't be sentimental; be ruthless, take risks, vandalize only what must be defaced, do something children will remember all their lives--but don't be spontaneous unless the PT Muse has possessed you.

Dress up. Leave a false name. Be legendary. The best PT is against the law, but don't get caught. Art as crime; crime as art. ¹

^{A viable legend might be manifested by one person, or it might arise, so to speak, out of "group-dreaming" -- but in any case it will not be produced by the rational lineal process of fictional narrative. One does not write scripture; scripture is written. Or better: the legend pre-exists its realization as text, so that the "writer" acts rather as a "treasure finder" than an "author" -- oneiric and visionary texts partake in their extreme subjectivity of the "objectivity" of that "subconscious"wherein (according to Taoism) the Gods reside, and which hypostatizes in the most gripping andinspiring ritual art. Such art may not meet the aesthetic criteria of the academic critic, for whom it will appear either as mumbo-jumbo or as agitprop. But it will light fire in the minds of certain hearers, precisely those for whom the legend crystallized out of the noosphere in the first place. The Tong will be nothing without the actions which it will carry out. But before the actions come the intentions. The link between the intentions and the actions is the text, the legend and the cause it represents. The text draws out the actions from the sea of potential energy and gives them their specific shape, their "style" -- just as the Moon was once thought to shape, color, and draw up pearls from the ocean by its attractive rays.}
 

^{These legends will be the greatest poems of the most unknown poets of our age. Like magic incantations they will sing new realities into being, as the shaman sings rain, or health, or abundant game from potentiality to actuality. These poems will be meaningless without the actions they invoke, and will therefore achieve either the highest goal of poetry, or else nothing at all. The City of Willows is not merely an "imaginary city" but an Imaginal City, a dream-space which will be manifested more and more clearly until finally the Ming is restored -- and yet the City of Willows is also a poem. The legend of our Tong is nothing but a text, true -- but it will call a world into being --even if only for a few moments -- in which our desires are not only articulated but satisfied.} 

^{You never see positive drugs stories on the news, do ya. Isn't that weird cos most of the experiences I've had on drugs, were rrreal fucking positive.}

^{Er. Who are these morons they're finding that's what I wanna know? I used to want to call the news,}

^{"Come over to our house! Watch Tommy's, he's a pig, film him!"}

^{"Oink oink."}

^{"Hee hee, he's been doing that for hours. He's killing us. You getting all that?"}

^{You know what I mean. Always that same LSD story, you've all seen it.}

^{"Young man on acid, thought he could fly, jumped out of a building. What a tragedy."}

^{What a dick, fuck him!}

^{He's an idiot. If he thought he could fly, why didn't he take off from the ground first? Check it out.}

^{You don't see ducks lining up to catch elevators to fly South. They fly from the ground, you moron. Quit ruining it for everybody. He's a moron, he's dead, good. We lost a moron, fucking celebrate.}

^{Boy, I just felt the world get lighter - we lost a moron.}

^{Put on the Hammer album, I'm ready to dance!}

^[dances]

^{"We lost a moron." I don't mean to sound cold or cruel or vicious, but I am so that's the way it comes out. Professional help is being sought.}

^{How about a positive LSD story? Wouldn't that be news-worthy, just the once? To base your decision on information rather than scare tactics and superstition and lies? I think it would be news-worthy.}

^{[switches to an exaggerated 'news announcer' voice]}

^{"Today, a young man on acid realised that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration. That we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There is no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we're the imagination of ourselves."}

^{"Here's Tom with the weather."}

^{[switches back to normal voice]}

^{You've been fantastic and I hope you enjoyed it. There is a point; is there a point to all of this? Let's find a point. Is there a point to my act? I would say there is.}

^{I have to.}

^{The world is like a ride in an amusement park. And when
you choose to go on it, you think it's real because that's
how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and
down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and
it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun,
for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long
time and they begin to question, is this real, or is this just
a ride? And other people have remembered, and they
come back to us, they say, "hey - don't worry, don't be
afraid, ever, because, this is just a ride..."}

^{And we...kill those people.}

^{Ha ha.}

^{"Shut him up."}

^{"We have a lot invested in this ride. Shut him up. Look at my furrows of worry. Look at my big bank account and my family. This just has to be real."}
 

^{Just a ride. But we always kill those good guys who try
and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons
run amok. But it doesn't matter because: It's just a ride.
And we can change it anytime we want. It's only a choice.
No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money. A
choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear
want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns,
close yourself off. The eyes of love, instead, see all of us
as one. Here's what we can do to change the world, right
now, to a better ride. Take all that money that we spend
on weapons and defences each year and instead spend it
feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world,
which it would many times over, not one human being
excluded, and we could explore space, together, both
inner and outer, forever, in peace.}

^{Thank you very much, you've been great.}

^[Applause]

^{I hope you enjoyed it. London, you were fantastic, thank you, thank you very much.}

^[bow]

^[bow]

^{[three shots ring out - Bill crumples to the ground]3}