An Evening With The Count
An Evening With The Count
1st. of September, year 2001
The Carriage House
Count Whiteberg, how are you my friend, how is your life at the present
What kind of a life does a snail lead ?
Throughout life he just gets bigger and bigger and then dies,
Only his shell is left.
A token to the reality of his existence.
The sea looks like glass
the rays of sunlight cutting through the clouds.
I am like a small particle in the water.
I started out as a trickle from a peat bog
where I was surrounded by lots and lots of other little particles.
But of course, I ran into a small stream where I was more apart from the
The situation got worse as I passed into a bigger stream, a river.
At the rate Im going, I fear that I will soon be in the ocean.
Are you saying that you are slowly but surly becoming a part of contemporary
western society ?
It is all to do with cosmetics, the people are very
cosmetic and superficial. If the outside is OK, why powder the inside ?
Just like a lot of things; high on presentation, but lacking in content,
When I walk into a room full of people who have never set eyes on me before,
I wish for them to respond to me with laughter. Then when they get to see
me more often, I wish to see the hatred in them at my mere sight.
I wish to erase my memory completely and start a fresh, experiencing the
things that I wish, with guidance from a competent master, this way I would
not be troubled by such a lot of insidious things.
I have much to say about love, life and friends. Who are the ones to love,
and why does fate cause such upset of the mind. Love should just happen
and be done with.
Life is for moving closer to the goal of master, this life is but a second
in comparison with total life. Each life should be used to bring one a step
closer to Mastery.
I am the spectator of all walks of life and what ever I have to say is as important as what I say.
My work aims to be the most daring, most advanced, most eccentric emanation
of all that has been done in music to date. I am going to make a real nuisance
of myself and not stop until all around me have declared me to be mad, incomprehensible,
Now I see that a situation is only what one makes it; if a worthless fellow,
the situation becomes worthless.
Any situation can become an illuminating experience.
But man now takes a lowly view of himself, we are supposed to be consumers
and not much else; and yet the true name of an object is so powerful that
it is almost incomprehensible. For example, there is a word which describes
me in totality if this word is ever spoken I would probably vanish without
It happened quite quickly
dance around looking at me
dance right up towards it
I couldnt ignore it
heads have made contact
lubrication is needed
saliva is running
tongues go into action
walk out of the nightclub
walk up to the station
sit upon a green bus
sets towards destination
communication is needed
pick up the receiver
Buzz Buzz goes the speaker
All I want is to meet ya.
A recital I believe of one of your infamous lyrics Count.
You are documented as saying that you do not believe your work to bare any
relation to popular music, may I ask, therefore, how you would compare your
music to that of, say, a contemporary orchestra?
The most complex orchestras boil down to four or five
types of instrument,
varying in timbre. Instruments are played by bow or plucking; by blowing
into metal or wood and by percussion.
I think that to demonstrate or perform my sound pieces to the incredulous
public would be like showing an assembly line robot to a heifer.
She ran across to meet me in
a wedding dress black and gold
it crossed my mind how slight she was
she really made my blood run cold.
The thick white vail that covered her face
a sign of her locked in state.
to crack this cold exterior
to overcome the powers of fate.
But I was certain that she was wrong as she rushed into the depths
Even though I hallowed her it was all too late.
Take this opportunity and use my confused state
I am the grass beneath you feet so do it before its too late.
Tread me down in to the dirt and use me good and true
Not wind nor rain can stop me now
I give myself to you.
Waiting for the nightfall, sat among the trees
I was trying to concentrate on the lights below.
I felt impelled to move and sit myself down on a lump of grass and move
A moth flew past across my path, but I could not communicate with the chap.
I came to some rocks and felt the heat, that feel on my face I was half
The water was tumbling down
Your head went under about to drown
and pale lit skies
shrouded in pain
we tried to cover up
but we only got stuck
and the water went inside of our brain
the trees penetrated the soil
and grew out their branches
the rain came down
I try to catch their eyes
but quickly turn away
For when I catch their eyes
I dont have anything to say
Late evenings spent
Mind drifting away
when the night is through
I dont have anything to say.
Nothing much at all
nothing much to say
But then I saw you, I did
I did have something
I did have something too say
but there were no words
there were no words
I wanted to speak
but there were no words
and there were no words so we did not speak
But we danced
and we danced
we were laughing
and then we touched...........
dance dance dance
Not satisfied with the deliberately objective view, you are responding to
your environment, allowing your actions to be expressed in the form of images.
I am confronted with art that speaks of your personal relationships and
personal world, you appear to express a need to talk about yourself
But it is not that I want to talk about myself, Indeed
I hate talking about myself. That is why my work is so difficult to understand.
The obscurity of my work gives select people a chance to learn about me
if they are interested, people like yourself.
Yes, I have discovered more about you in your work, since it is about things
that one cannot talk about. One understands, but one cannot translate.
And so you know me better than I do myself, or is it
just a me or is it something closer to my nature or indeed god.
Maybe I am wrong, Perhaps your work communicates nothing but itself.
I recall in the first year at school, a young chap
called Philip Morris. He appeared to come from a relatively poor background,
his clothes were scruffy, and he never looked clean, everyone thought that
he stank, and he did. Pupils would go and wash their hands if they accidentally
touched him. Anyhow, on one occasion during a painting and drawing class,
Philip painted a sheet of A3 paper totally black. The teacher saw this,
smacked him and sent him out of the room, Philip protested that he had painted
it as a background, at the time I couldnt help but think that Philip
Do you feel humbled by the presence of children these days?
Yes, because I know how much I have lost since my own
childhood, I have lost a close circle of friends with whom I had the freedom
to express myself, no one ever thought of me as being weird then, I was
just normal, a little boy; among my peers I was a leader; the leader of
the Divil Gang, never without a friend. Cotty, Shacky, Noggin, Chezzy, Mickey,
Sugar , Oggy, and Parry. to name but a few.
Noggin and Chezzy were my closest friends, to some extent they were both
replaced by Maitland White.
And what of the other friends, have they subsequently been replaced ?
It is difficult to say, the Noggin/Chezzy/White comparison
is the only one that stands out. Although one could equate Oggy with Pablo,
Parry with Ronnie, and Mickey with Philip. But one has to remember that
these kids were around my house every day, so it is not quite the same.
How long must I wait
to overcome the powers of fate
you know how I feel
You know my efforts are for real
wanting and giving myself to you
show me a heart who needs you
I shall go to the moors
The Standedge tunnel ventilation shaft
waiting to consume my body
it is dark and lonely
only on small step to take.
At one stage in your life you are believed to have said that you found yourself
in the midst of a social renaissance which was curiously combined with a
It begins first with interest.
One is interested in something and the next moment
one is in it , and one doesnt exist.
An Idea is a complex or abstract concept,
emotional understanding is the aim of art,
emotional feelings are best expressed in music
the language of the future,
space is the form of our sense perception
space is form
until our perception is born
complex is the abstract
wise are its followers
in and out go people
in and out of what has been born
and what has been born with no fear
This is where it all started
listening to the wind in the trees and grass
but now so many things have been spoiled by memory
so many ideas
so many beautiful concepts
ruined for ever
and so when ever means not at all
this is when all is lost
and not all at all.
I look upon success and failure with an equal eye,
you cannot insult I, only my ego, which is not I,
The I is not effected.
Count, you have been accused by many critics for being obsessed by death
I dont think when it all boils down, that I am
really into places where the bodies of the deceased lie, I think, Indeed
I know that I am more interested in beings, especially beings whom I find
I have an attraction to. As far as I can make out beings are very important;
their bodies are like an extension of the beings themselves. The body of
a being can, without a doubt, be an indication of its past. This is why
I must deeply observe the important beings outer bodies, in an attempt
to discover the being itself. And then I shall observe myself also. By far
the best way to observe a beings outer body is to make a likeness by closely
looking at the subtle facets and transferring them onto a piece of paper
with the use of an instrument which makes marks.
I look at a beings body and ask myself,what is it ?
At the same time I look within myself for this is what we shall all be doing
in the golden age.
This is why I take many light images of myself, it is another way of observation.
The hedgehog is one of the oldest existing mammals.
Grass moor mud wind cold Fresh peat
desolate frogs howl as sheep jump down
fresh winds splash the grass thrash the bogs will howl
as sure as face not here
grouse will cackle into vast emptiness
Rotting gaps in wooden smell
of damp grave for frogs,
some leaves crunch out
but soon slimy under large foot of pig
sniffing for truffles in underground worms
eat leaf litter in fading light, slugs too.
Many branches do become bare
for cold Mr. frost face as well
as door mouse snuggles warmly in dry nest.
Pot of coffee cinder path house awaiting.
Where is it what district exactly,
take her away today,
in and out of fields of grass
and stonewalls do rock
as we move with speed over broken bottles
hidden in graves yet alive with maggots
and a glass candlestick on the hearth still burns
its dim black nightshade with all yet to seek,
all yet to seek.
Music stuck in harem
under sit I stand,
cushion with sequins and pearls in high places
with sharp eyes teeth and skin in laser light
with a shimmer of moon
and all about the calm lagoon
with breeze from the east
and hot spice wine drunk lagoon
warm black water soft bushes banks
green seen but for a speck of light on the far shore.
Glistened night with smoother skin
the jingle jangle of beads and diamonds
and smoke with soft warm sensual taste
and feel well formed females
look see eyes and deep dark sense of joy,
oh take me to my harem,
soft warm incense burns
dark shadows slide in and out
the moon and stars in dark blue skies
to flicker for ever and ever
The veil will lift
worlds aware for silk moon
spirit gushes fourth
the soul in moonlight reflecting essence
feminine itself stretches uppermost boundaries
oneness divine qualities
the light the eye
of the light slips back
fountain water gushes essence itself
unity spirit moonlight
return return return
A noise in my ear
the light absorbed in walls of doom
inside outside wind
and the dirt piles up in the Everglades
where women play
in soft white frocks
and misty vision tingling bell of blue
soaks into my skin as I sit upon the warm wet grass
feel the air against my skin
Love and laughter
soft sun in the sky
the search for women with tails
what ever it takes
a tight light woman with long finger nails
hammering in the coffin nails
squeezing out of their buttocks
sucking an a licking
when I think of it I said
nothing must come from somewhere
so I draw it instead
take off your pants and lie down
tell me about your period
Can I get dressed
well but only feel why
you go quiet
the way or the word after all
there might be nothing not tonight
I think the spirit acts on the body
in itself or dead in a coffin
can it give you comfort
dont you like my body
Im a real woman too
he doesnt even know how to walk his dog
Im scared too
it doesnt happen every day
but I believe in the opposite
We are sat on the rocks, approximately 30 metres apart.
We are strangely dressed creatures, aliens from another world. Walkers pass
in ones and twos, threes an fours pretending not to notice us.
It is beyond their comprehension, for anyone to just sit there and apparently
The air is still and the sun has heat, although, it is a subtle heat as
it shines down onto us.
The river flows, the babbling brook runs into the river.
Earlier in this performance I did a shit in the open air.
The act of defecation has been removed from us in many ways. When one squats
outside one is closer to the action, one actually goes through the whole
activity of defecating. The smell is stronger and more wild, the actual
feel of it coming out, the look of it as it steams on the grass beneath
My clothing is feeling warm now in this sun. The next phase is to sleep,
and so I will.
Critics have said that you are obsessed by defecation and micturition, what
have you to say on there subjects?
Thing is, what most people dont get about me,
is that most of what I say, if not all, is always half or totally in Jest.
My problem in relating to your every day, run of the mill white middle class
fool, is that they take everything I say totally seriously, so as this goes
on more and more, I start to believe what I am saying is serious. This only
leads to misery on my part, so it is better that I keep away from most people.
There are so few people who actually know what Im about; I can not
explain myself to a normal person, because even if they understood me, it
would only be on their own intellectual level. Intellectual knowledge does
not necessarily lead to understanding.
At the end of the day it is up to me to create the inspiration myself, people
always have fanciful opinions of their friends, doesnt matter if they
are complete fools, love is blind, for those who have no love are invisible
to the herd.
It seems that you are always ready to contradict
Out of the 500 millimetres of material entering the
colon per day, about 350 millimetres is absorbed, leaving 150 grams of faeces
to be eliminated from the body each day.
The composition of faeces is:100mg h2o and 50 mg of solid material.
this includes; undigested cellulose, bilirubin, bacteria and small amounts
The main waste product is in fact bilirubin.
Contrary to popular belief, faeces is not made up of waste material from
the body, but unabsorbed food food residues and bacteria, which were never
part of the actual body.
150 grams per day equals 1.05 Kg per week equals 54.6 Kg per year.
So the average person defecates approximately his or her own body weight
In a life span of say fifteen years one evacuates approximately 800 Kg of
A tin of Tesco supreme cat food contains 150 g of a substance with similar
consistency to shit. These tins are approximately 70x70x35 mm. If one was
to can all of one's shit in this way starting from day one of ones
life; one would have 5333 tins of ones excreta. If these were placed
end to end, they would stretch 373 metres. If the tins were stacked in a
cube its volume would be 7.2 cubic metres. Alternatively the shit could
be stored in solid block form, in which case the end result after 15 years
would weigh 800kg and measure 7 cubic metres.
Such a cube would probably not support itself unless it were frozen.
The shit would be many shades of brown and one would be able to see different
layers relating to different years depending on what had been eaten.
And over the hill was revealed a valley, the valley
was deep and contained water, the water sparkled in the morning sunlight,
peaking through the grey clouds. A sheep was lame it hobbled away, with
it , last years lamb. The grass was unfriendly and did not want anyone to
walk through it, but it had to give way to the old cart track. So many people
have come and gone in this most unpopulated part of the earth, one or two
derelict ruins have been turned into dwellings, whilst some have been pillaged
for their stone, to make suburban bungalows in the village. I walk quietly
through open fields, looking from a distance, totally in place.
Chaos is external
free your mind
the bottom of the sea is still
You will find
I am loosing my mind
I am loosing my body
I am loosing my breath
I am Defecating
you can loose your breath
you can loose your mind
but you can not loose your self
Shit comes out of my ass hole
food goes in my mouth
carbon dioxide out
Ideas go in
Art comes out
At first it seemed that time was like sex,
she moved very little and sat alone in her bedroom
she was not exactly happy
her family had never involved her in the marketing facilities of the country,
and instead relied on steeling her friendships
The pressure claimed the citizen who caught the thrower in circulation
this discovery is to know the speed not the train when returned to the grade
of the Idea of the self
Have the people at last become angry at the avalanche of the stately head.
I was contemplating taking up a residence in a house
far from the reaches of the city. The house was large but shared its roof
with a public house. Contemplating which of the spacious rooms to occupy,
someone began to chase us up a steep grassy slope. He attempted to creep
inside a dry stone wall, which collapsed. He and the wall went tumbling
down the slope, he was probably crushed or had his skull smashed, but Im
The house seemed large until I realised from the intercom on the wall that
it was made up of flats. I went into the lobby and rang the bell, I was
expecting an old lady to answer; instead an orchestra began to play a fan
fair for about 30 seconds, like a funeral march. Then as the music died
down, a cold voice said who is it ? I can not remember what
I experienced but she came down in a lift. Again I was expecting a little
old woman, but instead a tall blond woman appeared in a long leather coat.
She spoke in a smooth American accent and said that we could get back in
around the corner. She took me outside and then onto a shopping mall, where
we went through a white door with a black number on it. Inside was a ladies
public toilet with female urinals. The woman stood in front of one them
but her piss spurted in the wrong direction through her legs, it appeared
yellow on the white tiled floor. I looked again and saw that she had forced
an erect penis between her legs. She said that her clitoris was massive.
There was another girl on the scene at that point, though I think that she
had been there all along. We all went to bed for a sponsored sex session.
I had intercourse with them a record 50 times each. Later I went home and
walked through all the neighbours houses to get to mine. My sister was watching
TV with her boyfriend, so I went to bed.
I entered a world which was of my own creation,
I had something to add,
a wooden post with a badly crafted point on top.
The world was heavily wooded,
I walked down an overgrown cart track,
things seemed strange
this world was alien.
I saw some white bees swarming ahead of me,
about thirty or so.
They had smooth elongated egg shaped bodies.
As I approached them,
some of them stuck to my face.
The world was a forest of tangled trees
I walked down a cart track on bended knees
Things were very strange, it was alien for sure
and yet it felt homely like Marsden moor
A swarm of bees were coming my way
smooth and white like an ant would lay
As they approached they stung like mace
they came even nearer and stuck to my face
White bee creatures stuck to my features
White bee creatures stuck to my features
within a hut
there was a shape
a human being
with obscure fate
he mumbled this
he mumbled that
he seemed real pissed
and he wore a hat
He came up to me
he looked and peered
he had a brown beard
and he looked real weird
He ripped off his shoe
shook his fist
breathed some mist
and said shit in this
I did not want
to do that deed
if I had a need
I could have peed
A girl came near
and squatting down
she did a fart
a rasping sound
Her anus bulged
and it came out
a five inch tube
a mega pout
it was a tubular ass hole
Describe for us the average day in the life of Count Whiteberg
This garment of decay
floats aimlessly in the darkness
and I can only but watch
as the misery unfolds itself
Throughout the day I sit and stare into the black death of the computer
screen, the blood red lines monotonously turn to yellow. Shapes are clicked
and dragged, orders given, and I am nothing, may intellect ceases to be
anything; I am robotic, I am a circus primate. Blackness surrounds my blackness
and cheep femininity. I wonder through dead none streets, black, hating
loathing, looking straight ahead, Imagining thoughts that dont exist
in the minds of passers by.
Hate so much, I cannot love my fellow man, only when I consume the godforsaken
liquid of Satan am I risen; able to see through the toxic black haze with
its diesel fume micro dot and airborne mercury, the blackness of sealing
I take solace in the meagre financial arrangements of a latter day surf,
living in the dwelling of a nobody.
In ridiculous jest, in a self indulgent none-entity action of interest to
no-one, I loose all have prepared for and am reduced to scattering death
among the ruins of decay. Protection from brightness disappears only to
be replaced by ridicule and the inferior.
In drunken blackness, my mind empty, I roboticly prepare for the day ahead,
its inevitability a forgone conclusion, I sold my soul for a midnight illusion.
To stay within the walls of the ivory tower, sharing the space with machinery,
never seeing day light, only radiation.
Foolish in the darkened pit of ignorance, I search relentlessly, not knowing
for a second, that the object of my search lies beneath me.
I spend an era half believing in an empty insignificance manifested in nothingness.
I damn that to hell and also the person from which it came. I am the source
of despair among those who engage me; incompatible stubborn and ignorant
I am unable to act in the way of an everyday happy human being. On my throne
I sit in nothingness with eyes closed knowing my blunder.
Wading through the complex surface of this world, entangled in thorns, sometimes
unable to move and so succumbing to sleep. Sometimes rising above the blackness,
enjoying the over view; but scared to death of an inability to see the door.
As each day passes, I renounce a little more. the more I renounce, the more
focussed I become. Eventually I will have renounced everything, my only
focus will be on God.
Just as one can wake up from a dream and understand that it was only a dream,
having been convinced that it was a reality whilst asleep. One can wake
up from the condition of waking sleep and that this too is not real, since
it is not the Self.
The hard dryness of concrete,
the Ice cold chill of relentless pumped air.
Lights flash, colours make shapes,
A splash of sea and sand
through the mist a ray of sunlight
People laughing eating dancing.
Dull lethargic spiritless movement
dust and dirt
people at work without a goal
dogs and cats are food
the sun breaks through the smog
buildings crumble and grow.
Sun directly above makes my head burn
white sand and heat
needles and cars bend
Speaks of home
a place is a place wherever
people not at work
people at play,
a mixture of language and culture
hard to be creative in a negative way
Fruit on trees
falls upon the street
mountains rule a surrealist landscape
volcanic and green.
How do you relate to contemporary culture and technology?
Technology is like soup, over the last 100 years or
so, we have been adding more ingredients and it is becoming thicker and,
more complex. However, the bowl in which the soup is served remains unchanged.
These days , middle class dowdiness stands for taste.
If I went to school to learn how to communicate, who
did I want to communicate with?
If I let my ego take control, it would seek to communicate with no one,
but in stating this who do I think I am communicating with. Am I to believe
that an attempt is being made to communicate with the self, or is it just
one aspect of ego talking to another.
May be that is it. Is that why I chose few friends and see very little of
them, because I am no longer interested in communication between two egos.
If one falls still in connection with the true self whilst communicating
by speech with another, does that other cease to be an ego ?
Being one of the un-dead and having lived for many
centuries now, I have noticed some changes in society. Ever since writing
was codified by Panini around 500 B.C., people have been tending to use
their brains less and less relying more and more on technology to do the
work. There has been a subsequent loss of profundity in all aspects of human
culture. People seem to justify their shallowness by thinking their way
of behaviour is new and refreshing, and that the old ways are politically
incorrect and archaic. For example, I remember once was a time that a man
would never go out in public without a pair of gloves on, contrast that
with the virtual nudity seen upon the streets today it is akin to watching
animals in a zoo.
But it is not so much a problem with the brain itself, rather the ego of
men is blocking out their brains, restricting access to the deeper recesses
of the mind.
Count, could you sum up your life thus far ?
My life is disappearing slowly down the plug-hole
and the bath is half empty
the water is luke warm and yellow
and the suds have died away
We are born
we get old
then we die
My life is not like that of a tree;
A tree grows up and matures and gets bigger and bigger
looking more and more magnificent every year.
My life is not like that of a motor car;
A motorcar is born bright shiny and new, as the miles build up, parts wear
out but are replaced as and when required, so as time goes on the entire
car could be replaced every 500 000 miles or so.
No, my life is like that of a dog, except that the pain lasts longer, a
dog only has to suffer for 15 years or so.
Like a dog, I like to do nothing, but unlike a dog I know that in doing
nothing I achieve nothing. But then is there really anything to achieve.
Only the ego wants to achieve things. The ego thinks, what is the point
of living if you do not achieve a thing.
Like a dog I tread water
Like a fish I swim land
Like a cat I lick dishes
Like a worm I sift sand
Like a hole I eat lug worm
Like a horse I did land
Like a fig I eat insects
Like a bog I eat land
Just as a child collects coins to count money
So a man needs the physical world to become realised.
if there is no surface, there cannot possibly be any depth
The thread is not always thicker than the needle that pulls it.
Ladies and gentlemen; Count Whiteberg
We will now have a short interval, then reconvene for any questions from