This posting is prompted by the thread on 'The Shooting of Dan McGrew' upon the seriousness of which I did not seek to intrude. This parody is presented simply for the joy that's in it. It is by the Jewish poet and storyteller, Mikhail Horovitz. He said that he was inspired by his performances at New Age establishments – the only venues left for his type of act. He said the circuit used to be called the 'Jewish Alps', but is now referred to as the 'Hebrew Himalayas'. He tells us he was inspired by performing for such people as 'Rasta Librarians, Demolition Dervishes, Bubulers for Buddha, Kosher Butchers for Krishna and Seventh Day Acupuncturists'. This is transcribed from a CD of a concert hosted by Happy and Artie Traum in Albany, New York, in 1992. The notes comment that 'the sound you hear in the distance is that of Robert W. Service grinning in his grave'.

I have put (?) beside a couple of references that elude me – the piece is full of puns and inside references to beat poetry, gurus, Eastern philosophy, mysticism etc. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Cheers, Stewie. ^^^ THE SHOOTING OF DAN'S GURU

A bunch of the monks was whoopin' it up in the Mantra Mute saloon
And Jimmy Wong, who whacks the gong, was boomin' an Om-time tune
Back o' the bar, in a lotus squat, sat Dangerous Dan's guru
And diggin' his light was Wilma White who used to be a Jew

(Wolf howling and whooshing sounds)
When out of the night an anchorite crept up to the ashram door
Out of the drain of the barred old plain
The dregs of a psychic war
I've ne'er seen a seeker more mouldy or weaker
A real metaphysical mouse
But his loincloth was droopy with oodles of rupi
And he called out for, 'Rice on the house!' (shouted)

Now us monks couldn't place the yogi's face
Though we searched our past lives for a clue
But we blessed this treat and the first to eat
Was Dangerous Dan's guru
'Hmm, Colonel Salamander's Calcutta fried chakras – hot diggety dogma' (almost whispered in silly falsetto)

Now there's men what somehow grip your mind and hold it like a rock
Such was he, and he looked to me like an old Zen cuckoo clock
'Seppuku, seppuku'
Kabuki hair in the crimson glare of an aura what's out of control
And was it sweat or tears of jet that he dropped in his begging bowl?
And it suddenly hit me who he was and why he was out of sorts
Watching him sup, just over her cup, was Wilma White - ne Schwartz

His eyes went rubbering round the room; they seemed to be Feldenkraised
Until they fell on the temple bell and he muttered, 'Saints be praised'
Now Jimmy Wong had left the gong and there was nobody else on the stone
So the old monk picks up the kid's boom stick and, man, did that gong groan!

{Next section is preceded by eerie sound effects and almost whispered with ghost story quaverings}
Were you ever alone in the astral zone where apparitions wail
And all space bleeds till your whole life reads, like the Book of the Dead in braille?
And time itself is the cutting shelf, and aeons flash like knives
And you manifest as a garden pest for your next nine hundred lives
While high above the Cosmic Love that crowns your guru's head
Rides right through and dazzles you, and leaves you there for dead?
And, yes, your guru cuts you loose though you chant for your very life
{Fast chanting noises – 'hummana, hummana, hummana'}
And he says, 'See you later, meditator', and he walks off with your wife (groan)

{Normal voice resumes}
Then of a sudden the booms resumed, so loud you scarce could hear
And all of the monks crept under their bunks and froze with a holy fear
As incense fumes filled up the room's vast grey and empty view
'The man's gone. Sounds like Vishnu's – well', says Dangerous Dan's guru
Well the music stopped, the gong stick dropped and clattered to the floor
Oh we trembled then like naked men on the Ganges River shore

The devotees he faced with ease, his eyes now clear and calm
But he tilted up his miso cup by a cracky (?) and he raised a toast to Ram
{Next bit spoken in southern drawl}
'Boys', said he, 'Now, y'all do Tai Chi and don't pay me no mind
She broke my heart, my karma won't start, my third eye's goin' blind
Now, I'd like to stay and humbly pray to Krishna's flute with you
But one of you levitators is a rotten tomato
And that one's, DAN'S GURU!'

The room went black. Crack, crack, crack! – two gats burned in the dark
The lights came on; their souls were gone; they both lay stiff and stark
Pitched on his side, pumped full of bad vibes, was Dangerous Dan's guru
And the anchorite lay where a double dorjay (?) had chopped all his chakras in two

Well that's the sutra, sutra yourselves, I've told you what I've seen
They say that the yogi who shot Shri Shri (?) was Dangerous Dan Levine
It seems Dan was the wag, left holding the bag, by that self same guru
And Wilma spoke through the saddlewood smoke,
'Mein guru, I gott'im you'

Author: Mikhail Horovitz

Copyright Roaring Steam Music BMI

Source: Various Artists 'Bring It On Home Vol 2' Legacy (Sony) JK 52998