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William Burroughs sagte über sein Buch Naked Lunch, die Kapitel darin seien in zufälliger Reihenfolge zu lesen. Auf 23.disturbance.ninja gibt's eine digitale Version davon, jeder Reload spuckt 23 zufällige Sätze des Buches aus und dazu gibt es eine Audiocollage mit 23 zufälligen Samples aus einer Lesung von Burroughs. The ticket explodes again each time you load the page. Bild oben: Collage von William S.Burroughs und Brion Gysin, 1965. (via Dangerous Minds)
1 (The Stomach Tuck is surgical intervention to re-move stomach fat at the same time making a tuck in the abdominal wall, thus creating a flesh corset, which is, however, subject to break and spurt your horrible old guts across the Boor…. The slim and shapely F.C. models are, of course, the most dangerous. In fact, some extreme models are known as O.N.S.— One Night Stands — in the industry.
2 ‘You’re trying to fuck me out of my commission!”
3 “He says yes.”
4 Shoot your way to freedom.
5 “But that’s only one angle. Mescaline, LSD6, deteriorated adrenaline, harmaline can produce an approximat~ schizophrenia. The best stuff is extracted from the blood of schizos; so schizophrenia is likely a drug psychosis. They got a metabolic connection, a Man Within you might say. ( Interested readers are referred to Appendix. )
6 “Carl, when you were doing your military service… There must have been… in fact there were long periods when you found yourself deprived of the uh con-solations and uh facilities of the fair sex. During these no doubt trying and difficult periods you had perhaps a pin up girl? Or more likely a pin up harem? Heh heh heh…”
7 The date palms have died of meet lack, the well filled with dried shit and mosaic of a thousand newspapers: “Russia denies… The Home Secretary views with pathic alarm… The trap was sprung at 12:02. At 12:30 the doctor went out to eat oysters, returned at 2:00 to clap the hanged man jovially on the back. ‘what? Aren’t you dead yet? Guess I’ll have to pull your leg. Haw Haw! Can’t let you choke at this rate — I’d get a warning from the President. And what a disgrace if the dead wagon cart you out alive. My balls would drop off with the shame of it and I apprenticed myself to an experienced ox. One two three pull.’ “
8 Provident junkies, known as squirrels, keep stashes against a bust. Every time I take a shot I let a few drops fall into my vest pocket, the lining is stiff with stuff. I had a plastic dropper in my shoe and a safety-pin stuck in my belt. You know how this pin and dropper routine is put down: “She seized a safety pin caked with blood and rust, gouged a great hole in her leg which seemed to hang open like an obscene, festering mouth waiting for unspeakable congress with the dropper which she now plunged out of sight into the gaping wound. But her hideous galvanized need (hunger of insects in dry places) has broken the dropper off deep in the flesh of her ravaged thigh (looking rather like a poster on soil erosion). But what does she care? She does not even bother to remove the splintered glass, looking down at her bloody haunch with the cold blank eyes of a meat trader. What does she care for the atom bomb, the bed bugs, the cancer rent, Friendly Finance waiting to repossess her delinquent flesh…. Sweet dreams, Pantopon Rose.”
9 (Note: Rang-utot, literally, “attempting to get up and groaning…” Death occurring in the course of a nightmare… The condition occurs in males of S.E. Asiatic extraction…. In Manila about twelve cases of death by Bang-utot are recorded each year.
10 “My furniture.” The commandante’s face burned like metal in the Hash bulb of urgency. His eyes went out. A whif of ozone drifted through the room. The “novia” muttered over her candles and altars in one corner.
11 ‘The French. The Colonial bastards who is sucking your live corpuscles.”
12 We are walking down a long white hall. Benway’s voice drifts into my consciousness from no particular place… a disembodied voice that is sometimes loud and clear, sometimes barely audible like music down a windy street.
13 “Too much smoke in the eyes, I guess.”
14 “Well, this rumble in the operating room, ‘this unspeakable occurrence’ as the Super called it, you might say was the blow off. The wolf pack was closing for the kill. A crucifixion, that’s the only word for it. Of course I’d made a few ‘dumheits’ here and there. Who hasn’t? There was the time me and the anesthetist drank up all the ether and the patient came up on us, and I was accused of cutting the cocaine with Sanifiush. Violet did it actually. Had to protect her of course….
15 “So they disconnect my own mother, the sainted old gash, and she swell up and turn black and the whole souk stink of piss and the neighbors beef to the Board of Health and my father say: ‘It’s the will of Allah. She won’t piss any more of my loot down the drain.’
16 Hauser turned to me abruptly. “You through yet?” he snarled. “You’d better not try to shit us on Marty.” The words came out so ugly he surprised and shocked himself.
17 Breathing rhythm of old cardiac, bumps of a belly dancer, put put put of a motorboat across oily water. The waiter lets fall a drop of martini of the Man in the Grey Flannel Suit, who lams for the 6:12 knowing that he has been spotted. Junkies climb out the lavatory window of the chop suey joint as the El rumbles past. The Gimp, cowboyed in the Waldorf, gives birth to a litter of rats. (Cowboy: New York hood talk means kill the mother fucker wherever you find him. A rat is a rat is a rat is a rat. Is an informer. ) Foolish virgins heed the English colonel who rides by brandishing a screaming on his lance. The elegant fag patronizes his bar to receive a bulletin from Dead lives on in synapses and will evoke the exciting Beater. Boys jacking off in the school toilet know other as agents from Galaxy X, adjourn to a night spot where they sit shabby and por-drinking wine vinegar and eating lemons to the tenor sax, a hip Arab in blue glasses sus-to be Enemy Sender. The world network of junkies, on a cord of rancid jissom… tying up in fur-rooms… shivering in the sick morning… Old Pete men suck the Black Smoke in a Chink laun-back room. Melancholy Baby dies from an overdose Time or cold turkey withdrawal of breath — in Arabia Paris — Mexico City — New York — New Orleans — ) The and the dead… in sickness or on the nod… or kicked or hooked again… come in on the beam and The Connection is eating Chop Suey Dolores Street… dunking pound cake in Bickfords . . chased up Exchange Place by a baying pack of Malarials of the world bundle in shivering Fear seals the turd message with a cunei-account. Giggling rioters copulate to the screams a burning Nigra. Lonely librarians unite in soul kiss halitosis. That grippy feeling, brother? Sore throat and disquieting as the hot afternoon wind? to the International Syphilis Lodge — “Meth-Epithcopal God damn ith” (phrase used to test speech impairment typical of paresis ) or the first touch of chancre makes you a member in good The vibrating soundless hum of deep forest orgone accumulators, the sudden silence of cities when the junky cops and even the Commuter buzzes clogged lines of cholesterol for contact. Signal flares of orgasm burst over the world. A tea head leaps up screaming “I got the fear!” and runs into Mexican night bringing down backbrains of the world. The Execu-tioner shits in terror at sight of the condemned man. The Torturer screams in the ear of his implacable victim. Knife fighters embrace in adrenalin. Cancer is at the door with a Singing Telegram….
18 “This way please….” The nurse opened the door into a bare white walled cubicle. She handed him a jar.
19 “He wants a shot,” said Hauser.
20 You always smell it and give it out for others to smell during junk withdrawal…. A kicking junky can make a whole apartment unlivable with his death smell… but a good airing will stink the place up again so a body can breathe…. You also smell it during one of those oil burner habits that suddenly starts jumping geometric like a topping forest fire….
21 Doctor Benway pauses at the door and looks back at the IND’s. “Our failures,” he says. “Well, it’s all in the day’s work.”
22 “Many subjects are vulnerable to sexual humiliation. Nakedness, stimulation with aphrodisiacs, constant su-pervision to embarrass subject and prevent relief of masturbation (erections during sleep automatically turn on an enormous vibrating electric buzzer that throws the subject out of bed into cold water, thus reducing the incidence of wet dreams to a minimum). Kicks to hyp-notize a priest and tell him he is about to consummate a hypostatic union with the Lamb — then steer a randy old sheep up his ass. After that the Interrogator can gain complete hypnotic control — the subject will come at his whistle, shit on the floor if he but say Open Sesame. Needless to say, the sex humiliation angle is contraindicated for overt homosexuals. ( I mean let’s keep our eye on the ball here and remember the old party line… never know who’s listening in.) I recall this one kid, I condition to shit at sight of me. Then I wash his ass and screw him. It was real tasty. And he was a lovely fellah too. And some times a subject will burst into boyish tears because he can’t keep from ejaculate when you screw him. Well, as you can plainly see, the possibilities are endless like meandering paths in a great big beautiful garden. I was just scratching that lovely surface when I am purged by Party Poops. …Well, ‘son cosas de la vida.’ “
23 The mentalist guides them to whatever the man wishes to hide: a tube of vaseline, an enema, a handkerchief with come on it, a weapon, unlicensed alcohol. And they always submitted the suspect to the most humiliating search of his naked person on which they make sneering and derogatory comments. Many a latent homosexual was carried out in a straitjacket when they planted vaseline in his ass. Or they pounce on any object. A pen wiper or a shoe tree.