THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD KISS

Some scenes from Part I of The Day The Earth Stood Kiss: A black man careens his limousine to a halt before a bunker in upstate New York one chill autumn night. The Visitors emerge—the Dandy, the Girl, Mr. Hurry-Up, and, lastly, Billy the Footsoldier and his beloved General. They are led inside the bunker by a cackling beard. Inside, they encounter— aurally, that is, from behind a steel door—The Essence. Behind another door they find, in the person of a Bat Lizard and a Pirate Dog, The Source. This last is a singular meeting for the,General and Billy the Footsoldier—perhaps more so for Billy as he goes temporarily mad. Later on, the military men are led to the Sanctum Sanctorum, the Altar, by a coy Mr. Hurry-Up, and they are suitably bedazzled. Still later, they are even more impressed when they are retrieved from there by none other than Pirate Dog Paul Stanley, whom they accompany to his secret chamber: It is in the chamber that it becomes clear that they will be creating the Document, and that, indeed, this Document is the purpose of their curious journey north. Finally the military conducts a rigorous inquisition, and together they begin the definition of .a Document.to be known as Kiss: A World Order.

(Flap, flap, squeal).

The Pirate Dog has vanished. The corridor is dark. It is the unseen embodiment of all that is unspeakably unknowable in the universe. It might be terror. With duty, with that rock-solid military sense of duty, Billy the Footsoldier and the General fend it off.

(Flap, squeal, flap).

Darkness. Darkness. Darkness. The men press on with strength and alacrity. Until—the General essays one razor-honed insight: "We are traveling in circles."

The endless, inhuman precision of the light-dark patterns has made the General aware that his unit is following a corridor which leads circularly. Further, it is dear to him, that that which leads circularly leads around something. The General's synapses rumble, and, in a moment, the gates of knowledge click open in rapid and perfectly mechanical succession. The channels

of his mind flood with pure, clear fact: They are traveling in circles around the Sanctum Sanctorum.

(Flappity-flap, whoosh, flap).

There is a way out and a way in. Out of the corridor and into the room of the Holy of Holies. The General floats his hands out into the darkness around him, turning slowly in his place. He instructs the Footsoldier to do likewise. They caress the inky air methodically. Somewhere they know there is a spectre. (Flap). From somewhere it insinuates itself into their just-pre-conscious-

ness. (Squeal). It is the only reliable intimation in the black.(Flap).

A Footsoldier screams. A General turns in the building, now deafening darkness. A Footsoldier - and steel. Stainless and of the most wonderful spun texture; Stainless spun steel hurting a Footsoldier's hand. Pain. The pain of cold steel being touched unexpectedly by a man (yes, Billy is no less than a man today) who supposes that nothing but death reaches out to shake on it in this hell. Pain mutates in the split-seconds. Pain. It is round. Pain. It is an orb. Pain. It is a doorknob. Doorknob. Knob.

It is fitting that the Footsoldier who turned and ran once should discover and twist the steel orb rightwards. It is fitting. The Footsoldier, the brave young Footsoldier has found his General a way out. And continues twisting. Continues. It is possible that the Gem eral loves this man. Twist, twist, you bastard. Only as men can love other, men. Twisting. Twist. Nothing carnal. Twist. Merely ancient souls coming together. Twisting

(Flapflapf lapflapflapflap).

It is possible that light coming into the darkest place in the universe is indescribable.

(Flap-a-flap-flap-a-flap-a...).

Then again, how does the human, the exalted animal, describe it when beyond that darkest place lies the most magnificently shining place ever beheld by mammal? What does he say when standing neck-deep in the abyss and viewing the Sanctum Sanctorum?

(...flap).

And a spectre came to rest in solid form. A ceaseless flapping and squealing ceased. A Furry and Scaly presence seated there. A Bat Lizard. There. On the Altar. There in the room of the Holy of Holies. There. In the lights on the whitest platform. There. Amidst the three-million new toaster-shine chromium. There. There.

The Rodent of Prey .

Gene Simmons, the flying Rodent of Prey, the central, inexorable chickenblood agony of Kiss, the core—stage center, prepared to perform the remainder of a Document.

Billy and the General approach. Past, oh, a thousand bolted seats. A Bat Lizard motiops them onward, permits them access to his altar/stage and a place to rest there (like he in solid form).

And so a Document begins to begin again. With a Bat Lizard who tonight perches naked (flapless) to his species. The purest light of them all.

KISS: A WORLD ORDER * (continued)

Rodent of Prey making like radio announcer: Who was that first radio voice?

"Hey, I heard some magazine answers their phone1Kiss ArmyV Which one?"

Billy the Footsoldier: That was Alan Freed.

Rodent: Alan Freed.

Billy: But he wasn't that manic. Rodent: Well, that's the deprivation and depreciation of anything that's original.

Billy: We want less than three syllables, words with less than three syllables— anything else will be struck from the record. [The Army gets tough] Rodent: OK, what's a syllable?

Billy [Seemingly ignoring last comment]: You realize that the General is the world's greatest Kiss authority? That the battle was between him and Frank Rose and that now the General has triumphed?

Rodent [to the General]: You and Frank Rose? I heard you challenged Uhelszki.

Billy: We're not talking about gossip, we're talking about meat, solid info. The General: I think Uhelszki has slipped in her Kiss responsibilities of late. Rodent: Well, Frank Rose may know stuff, but he's not sixteen years old in his mind. [Jerks head at the General]. You know people must think you're an absolute blithering idiot, yes?

The General [maintaining dignity]: Kiss people are the best people to write to in the world because you always get a big reaction.

Rodent: That's the idea: always a reaction, one way or the other...I've got to show you guys my collection of ladiesin-waiting. One of these days I'm going to try to get releases. I'm going to print a public notice in every newspaper in the States and try to work out a deal. And the notice is going to be: Herewith you are given notice that if you've had your picture taken by Gene Simmons anytime within, say, the last five years, you have a period of one week to get in touch with him if you object to the printing of that picture in a book. The book would be called Brazen Hussies or The Sexual Itinerary of Something Or Other. Stories, pictures—and you never see one beer can on the floor, no beer-can-on-the-floor pictures.

Billy: I don't get it.

Rodent: It's always just the stage and an audience—all the other stuff is just fantasy on the part of both...There is, by the way, going to be a book coming out on Kiss.,.a comic. And anything else pales by comparison because there are

gonna be something like a hundred and something panels, and since each picture's worth a thousand words... General: When is this coming out? Rodent: Soon. Basically the problem is that the comic company wants to own everything they do. But people don't own their own inventions. You've heard about the guys who created Superman? And did you know that just one guy invented Captain Marvel, Submariner, and the Human Torch?

Billy: I'd like to know who is the guy who invented the Trix rabbit.

Rodent: What I'd like to know is who the guy is who invented the bottle/ can opener. What an amazing invention! No working parts and it works every time. Everybody needs one. It never breaks down. Costs nothing to manufacture...Well, what are we talking about, guys?

General [points to red patent leather platforms with gold-plated dollar signs which adorn the Rodent's feet]: Did you wear those shoes last night when you were up here alone recording? Rodent: No.

General: Those are dress shoes...for our benefit?

Rodent: No.

General: So, alone or with people, you're always seven feet tall?

Rodent: I have no regular shoes. I have four pairs, all like this, this height. I have a black snakeskin model which I designed. There's a black leather model with dollar signs in the front. There's a sleeked-down version. And there's your basic faggy pink boots which I only put on for effect. General: So platforms do still exist... and you are carrying the torch. Rodent: You bet your sweet buppy! Because I'm living proof that New York is out of step with the time.

General: So you're waiting for the next cycle, for platforms to come back? That's what you're saying?

Rodent: I'm not waiting for anything. I'm riding this one; and I don't mean w-r-i-t-i-n-g, I mean r-i-d-i-n-g, the way we ride a bicycle. I like platforms. I don't like being six-one, I like being sixeight.

General [who is under six]: Are you six-one?

"All those people In New York who are dressing up to look like Lou Ree'd don't realize that In Gary, Indiana everybody looks like that."

Rodent: Yeah.

General: Son-of-a-bitch.

Rodent: Six-eight in my boots, son-ofa-bitch... All those people in New York who are dressing up to look like Lou Reed don't realize that in Gary, Indiana everybody looks like that. There's nothing very ethereal, very hip about some guy who looks like Lou Reed getting up on stage in Gary, Indiana. I mean, usually the audience looks better than the performer. They dress better, they handle themselves better. [By all this he means, one presumes, that in Gary everybody's hair is always as short as Lou's and, again like Lou, they all dress in the latest collegiate fashions. One Presumes.] So interesting musical bands like Television... General: Do you like them?

Rodent: Yeah. I think they're very info teresting musically. You misunderstand: I think there's a lot of interesting stuff being done out there, none of which I would put on my stereo...But the point is, I wouldn't go see it live. I want to see magic onstage, and not necessarily just Kiss.

General: But to get back to the point, you wear platforms just because you like being six-eight?

Rodent: Well, everybody puts on the stuff they feel comfortable in.

General: [points to his boot heels]: These used to be bigger. [General is seeking approval.]

Rodent: [offering the General no approval]: If it's not part of your personality, you wouldn't put it on. People are apt to put on the costume that fits them. If you were going to a masquerade party, you're not gonna pick a ballerina's outfit, unless that is really part of your personality.

General: What would you wear to a masquerade party?

Rodent: Me? Gene Simmons onstage. That's what I am. I mean, that's as much a part of...

General: Now there's millions of people out there who know what you look like onstage. So what would you wear to a masquerade party?

Rodent: Gee, that's a great question... [The Army scores.] Who would I go as...? [Thinks]

General: Or...[Laughs]...What would you go as?

Rodent: Gee, that's a hard.. .1 wouldn't go and I'd go as the Invisible Man. [Think about that one, soldiers!] General: Say you had to go.

Rodent: If I had to go...I might go as Robert Duncan.

General: That'd be a lot of fun.. .at least a lot of laughs...On another matter, would you like to be recognized as Gene Simmons even without your makeup?

Rodent: No. It's OK. I don't hide it, and I don't use different names when I'm introduced to people when I'm not in makeup—"Hi! I'm A1 Kayola!"—it's nothing like that.

Billy: Do you guys think or care about your relation to the rest of the music scene, to other bands?

Rodent: I don't get you. Do we want acceptance?

Billy: Yeah.

Rodent: Sure.

Billy: Does it bother you that you sometimes get.. .Does the press bother you?

Rodent: Oh, I love the press. The thing that really knocked my ego out was that no matter how badly somebody wants to tear us apart they have to print a picture of me. I love that. I think it's' understood that when somebody writes something it's an opinion, and a camera usually shows what it is. Tear us to bits, but print a picture. Let the people see and decide for themselves. General: I don't believe that bad press is necessarily bad for you.

Rodent: Right. Oh, it depends who likes or doesn't like you. If Lester [Bangs] doesn't like us, I don't think that's tgo good for us. But if Ben FongTorres doesn't like us, that's great! That's fabulous! That's not saying I question his musical taste or anything. It's just that every person who has a personality in their writing is a definition of what their tastes are. If I write for

Country Music and I don't like Kiss, it's understood why. If Bep Fong-Torres is a big fan of David Crosby and his anti-star mythmaking; Crosby's antianything that involves more than playing your instrument-^which Kiss is—it's understood why Ben. FongTorres doesn't like us. I think Kiss is more than just musicians; it's entertainers.

General: You said that all you wanted was for someone to run a photo. Kiss is a hugely visual act. Can Kiss then exist without any music? Can Kiss Come out and just do the show? hjave the flashpots and the fog going?

Rodent: Could be. It's possible. I think it's possible in the same way that people go to see those car rallies, those crash things. I think we're definitely entertaining visually—-but I don't think it's as interesting as the musical Kiss because you can't tap your foot to car crashes. I think car crashes are neat. And I love watching war movies where cities are blown to bits and Godzilla tramps through Tokyo.. .But if you can also tap your foot to Godzilla crushing Japan... that's great!

General: That's funny. Billy and I were talking about the movie Mothra earlier...

Rodent: OK, what's the music to

that...? [Sings] "Moth-a-ra ,."

Billy: Remember Ghidra, The ThreeHeaded Sea Monster and the summit conference of the monsters?

Rodent: Sure. I am the world's greatest living authority on horror or science fiction movies. Name a horror movie. Billy: You remember The Creature From the Black Lagoon series? Rodent: Sure. [Rattling off names and dates]

Billy: So your reptile love is wellfounded?

Rodent: Oh, sure. Want to do something hokey? I'll give you all the hokeyness you want...People have been fascinated by serpents since the creation of Eve, Before Adam there was a serpent.

Billy [who's short on his Bible]: Before Adam?

Rodent: Sure. Before Adami there was Eve and Gene Simmons. Then Adam came along.

General: Let me just clarify something: What creature is Gene Simmons? What species?

Rodent: There is none. One of a kind. [Sings "One of a Kind"]

General: I mean you have scales...So it's like in the lizard family...

Rodent: Yeah.

General: ...And you have bat wings— that counts as rodent...

Rodent: Yup.

General: ... And I don't know what the fingers are, what family they belong to —sideshow geeks?

Rodent: It's a very rare species called Ram - Em - Up - The - Ass - Um, known quite well in the deep jungles of the South... No, seriously, what species am I supposed to be? Here I am sitting around speaking English to you guys and we're trying to dissect this verbally, and it doesn't have to make any kind of sense because fantasy has no basis in fact. You're trying to label a fantasy. General: Well, I'm having fun. Rodent: No, I am too. But it's like somebody comes to a psychiatrist's office and says, "You know, doc, I dreamt I was this..."

General [interrupting]: "My wife dreamt she was a chicken."

Rodent: Yeah, or something like that... General: ...And his friend says, "So why don't you take her to a psychiatrist?"

Rodent: ...but you know...

General: ...And the first guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs!"

Rodent: ...Ha, ha, ha..."Or that I had a beak coming out of my forehead and a nose coming out of my back and what was I?" You know what I mean? If your mind conceives of you that way, that's not a fake thing. There'ssomething about your personality that's there. Just like we can be sitting here talking to each other very nicely and under different situations I could be trying to kill you—for whatever reasons—I mean, think of it. Let's say you're trying to hold me up; I'd try to flatten up, and my facial contortions would be different, my body would act differently; I wouldn't sit here cross-legged. We'd both be doing different things, making different noises. What I'm saying is that everybody's got many facets. And

" What would I wear to a masquerade party .../ might go as Robert Duncan!"

TURN TO PAGE 70.

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 49.

KISS

Gene Simmons onstage is actually Gene Simmons on a couch letting out whatever those other Genes are like. Billy: In other words, it's a fantasy when, you go onstage.

Rodent: Right.

Billy: And obviously also for the audience.

Rodent: Right. Everybody loves to see somebody go crazy . Right away when some blithering idiot comes on the streetcorner saying, "Oh, I wanna get your mother between .my legs...!", there's a crowd right awayI People are fascinated when someone lets their real insides out.

General [not to change the subject]: You said once that you wanted to be the big horror star of the '70s. Which one of the old stars was it you said you admired so much? Lon Chaney or Bela Lugosi?

Rodent: Lon Chaney. And I've written a song about him called "Man of a Thousand Faces" that I wanted to put on the new album...but [here, he makes an inside joke referring to how heavy the new album is] it was too rock 'n' roily. No, seriously, it's sort of a concept song...

General: That you'll do eventually when you take the makeup off? Rodent: Later, right. Anyway, it's a dynamite tune and the lyrics are great—it has a little more depth than "Meet me in the ladies'.room, baby"—and it goes something like: "He walks the streets by day/Doesn't know quite what to say/Doesn't matter anyway/ He's the man of a thousand faces.../ He knows not who he thinks he is/He can put on any face/You won't know him/It's no disgrace/Can you pick him out?/Can you really guejss?/Who's the man of a thousand faces...?" Everybody's for that kind of different thing. [To. Billy] You would be a completely different person with a crewcut, dark shades, and a leather jacket. It would make you act like a different person. [To the General] I bet if I dressed you up in a ballerina's tutu and you were sitting there smoking a cigarette like that, you would not feel as—well, you might be more Comfortable, I don't know...But my point is, you wouldn't be the same kind of person. You'd act differently.

General: How comfortable do you feel in your stage act?

Rodent: A lot of the time, more comfortable than I do here. Cause I don't have to explain myself. It's understood. I'm defined. Just seeing Gene Simmons onstage you don't have to talk very much about who I am or what I'm supposed to be; it's very understood. When I get offstage you can ask questions like, How do you feel? Gee, is it hot today?

General: When you look over at Paul onstage, do you ever say, "What's he doing in that makeup?"

Rodent: No. You completely immerse yourself in that thing. You don't think about doing laundry or any of that stuff or how many girls are gonna suck your head [sic] later on or whatever. What you think about is your heart pumping at a tremendous rate and you're sweating and you can smell yourself... General [not to change the subject again]: In the inner sleeve ot Kiss Alive! you wrote this note to your fans about * how you'd love to inflict pain on them with your spiked heels, etc. Are you into S&M [sadomasochism]? I am beginning to think it's the trend of the 70s.

Rodent: I agree. I suppose everybody's had their moments. What...You wanna see pictures???...[Joke.] I think everybody's always had a fascination with pain, which is why spanking and things like that have always been here and there; when you spank your little girlfriend and she cries a little and comes to Daddy and he makes it all right, that's really S&M. And that's not hurting—really.

General: It's just the ritual.

Rodent: Well, I think it's a little bit of both. But I think everybody does it without thinking about it. I think it's great to bring off anybody's fantasies and really do a thing on them...Hey, I have to ask you. I heard some magazine answers their phone, "Kiss Army!" Which one?

Billy: That's no magazine; that's the Duncan home.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆.

There is precious little to follow. What there is, like sex and death, is ultimately small. Perhaps smaller. Then again, for some things, there is on/y sex and death. (And look how they've forgotten prayer?)

But everything can be denied.

A black man with gun muzzle fingers is denying everything that went before. There is a Dandy—he exists. There is a Girl—she exists. There is a Mr. HurryUp—his molecules spin, one way and then the other, which, to be fair, is existence. There is a black man with gun muzzle fingers who drives a long copper car down a small incline, past gates and down highways which don't make a sound. Away in the final hours of the full moon from a bunker. Which is low and hard like everything. Like the highway, too, which is not soundless out of deference to the sleeping. Just soundless. Nothing left to say. Maybe a little Whirrrr. Not much. Like them.

A black man drives all this. And a military unit, too. Two, too. Kiss Army. Two. Not much. Perhaps...no...Yes, perhaps what one might call a General and a Footsoldier—

They survive.

And night. Some more. A flapping calls unsteadily from the face of the moon, from its lonesome bastard nostril. A flapping calls, not much, to no one, too: "There is a Document." To flap. To flap. To flap. To flap. To flap. Fur. Scales. And the distance.