It is a great wedding. An orchestra plays a drifting tune as the minister smiles and looks out upon the crowd. The weather is perfect and sunny; flowers are strewn everywhere in fragrant beauty; children are well-behaved and happy. It is the wedding of the Perfect Man and the Perfect Woman.

As the orchestra plays the famous Wagner march, the Perfect Man stands in attendance at the altar, propped up inside his coffin; for he is dead and rotting. The Perfect Woman is wheeled out on a similar cart, in her coffin, dead. The minister continues to smile as the bride is wheeled up toward her mate. It is a great wedding, a great wedding.

A savage monkey storms upon the happy event, and with horrible emphasis throws a bone upon the feet of the minister, who grows deathly pale. Suddenly the crowd all tear off their clothes in a way more mad than erotic. The orchestra has fled and in its place gorillas pound their drums. The wedding guests cannot talk; they all grunt and scream and throw food and dishes. The Perfect Man and the Perfect Woman are thrown from their coffins and are trampled upon by the mad and naked wedding guests. The minister slowly turns to a mixture of ice and stone. And the drums play on, the drums play on.

Our clothes are hair,
our bodies bare,
our drink is blood, not wine.
We pound the drum,
with souls all numb,
and on our dead we dine.

And the disorder spreads like an impurity in a place meant to be sterile, spreading from the wedding at the center of the universe, going out in waves, till the whole world is filled with savage primate beasts who cannot speak or reason; the entire universe a crazy jungle of mean beasts and anarchic madness.

And I traveled the savage universe from the outer rings, traveling in spirals inward, till I came to the happy honeymoon suite of the Perfect Man and Perfect Woman, who lay there dead upon the bed, the core of the universe rotting in death.