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Naked Lunch is a novel by American writer William S. Burroughs, originally published in 1959. The book is structured as a series of loosely connected vignettes. Burroughs stated that the chapters are intended to be read in any order. wikipedia

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WSB reads 23 random sentences from Naked Lunch

1 “I don’t want your money, Honey: I want your Time.”

2 “And what do you conclude from that?”

3 I could hear the desk clerk and the bell boy pound-ing up the stairs. I took the self-service elevator down, walked through the empty lobby into the street.

4 “‘Step right up, Marquesses and Marks, and bring the little Marks too. Good for young and old, man and beast…. The one and only legit Son of Man will cure a young boy’s clap with one hand — by contact alone, folks — create marijuana with the other, whilst walking on water and squirting wine out his ass…. Now keep your distance, folks, you is subject to be irradiated by the sheer charge of this character.’

5 One Friday “Fats” siphoned himself into The Plaza, a translucent-grey, foetal monkey, suckers on his little soft, purple-grey hands, and a lamphrey disk mouth of cold, grey gristle lined with hollow, black, erectile teeth, feeling for the scar patterns of junk….

6 I mean not a young chick but built… “How about a fix first?”

7 Well, the fuzz has my spoon and dropper, and I know they are coming in on my frequency led by this blind pigeon known as Willy the Disk. Willy has a round, disk mouth lined with sensitive, erectile black hairs. He is blind from shooting in the eyeball, his nose and palate eaten away sniffing H, his body a mass of scar tissue hard and dry as wood. He can only eat the shit now with that mouth, sometimes sways out on a long tube of ectoplasm, feeling for the silent frequency of junk. He follows my trail all over the city into rooms I move out already, and the fuzz walks in some newlyweds from Sioux Falls.


9 A. J.: “Ingrates! Every one of them ingrates! Take it from an old queen.”

10 This is Revelation and Prophecy of what I can pick up without FM on my 1920 crystal set with antennae of jissom…. Gentle reader, we see God through our assholes in the Hash bulb of orgasm…. Through these orifices transmute your body…. The way OUT is the way IN….

11 Mark drop on one knee, pulling Johnny across his back by one arm. He stand up and throw him six feet onto the bed. Johnny land on his back and bounce. Mark jump up and grab Johnny’s ankles, throw his legs over his head. Mark’s lips are drawn back in a tight snarl. “All right, Johnny boy.” He contracts his body, slow and steady as an oiled machine, push his cock up Johnny’s ass. Johnny give a great sigh, squirming in ecstasy. Mark hitches his hands behind Johnny’s shoulders, pulling him down onto his cock which is buried to the hilt in Johnny’s ass. Great whistles through his teeth. Johnny screams like a bird. Mark is rubbing his face against Johnny’s, snarl gone, face innocent and boyish as his whole liquid being spurt into Johnny’s quivering body.

12 I began to wonder if there was an Anglo-Saxon name left in the Department….

13 A.J. turns to the guests. “Cunts, pricks, fence strad-dlers, tonight I give you — that international-known im-pressario of blue movies and short-wave TV, the one, the only, The Great Slashtubitch!”

14 The commandante taps the table with one finger and hums “Coming Through the Rye.” Far away, then urgently near like a foghorn a split second before the grinding crash.

15 Boys by the hundred plummet through the roof, quivering and kicking at the end of ropes. The boys hang at different levels, some near the ceiling and oth-ers a few inches off the floor. Exquisite Balinese and Malays, Mexican Indians with fierce innocent faces and bright red gums. Negroes ( teeth, fingers, toe nails and pubic hair gilded), Japanese boys smooth and white as China, Titian-haired Venetian lads, Americans with blond or black curls falling across the forehead (the guests tenderly shove it back), sulky blond Pol-lacks with animal brown eyes, Arab and Spanish street boys, Austrian boys pink and delicate with a faint shadow of blond pubic hair, sneering German youths with bright blue eyes scream “Heil Hitler!” as the trap falls under them. Sollubis shit and whimper.

16 “‘Nah! I had to go relieve myself.’

17 “You sure it’s here?”

18 “No, I’ll wash it.”

19 He said aloud: “It is a catarro de los pulmones.”

20 I squirted a thin jet of alcohol, whipping it across his eyes with a sideways shake of the syringe. He let out a bellow of pain. I could see him pawing at his eyes with the left hand like he was tearing off an invisible bandage as I dropped to the floor on one knee, reaching for my suitcase. I pushed the suitcase open, and my left hand closed over the gun butt — I am righthanded but I shoot with my left hand. I felt the concussion of Hauser’s shot before I heard it. His slug slammed into the wall behind me. Shooting from the floor, I snapped two quick shots into Hauser’s belly where his vest had pulled up showing an inch of white shirt. He grunted in a way I could feel and doubled forward. Stiff with panic, O’Brien’s hand was tearing at the gun in his shoulder holster. I clamped my other hand around my gun wrist to steady it for the long pull — this gun has the hammer Bled off round so you can only use it double action — and shot him in the middle of his red forehead about two inches below the silver hairline. His hair had been grey the last time I saw him. That was about 15 years ago. My first arrest. His eyes went out. He fell off the chair onto his face. My hands were already reaching for what I needed, sweeping my notebooks into a brief-case with my works, junk, and a box of shells. I stuck the gun into my belt, and stepped out into the corridor putting on my coat.

21 Read the metastasis with blind fingers.

22 Over the hills and far away to Blue Grass…. Across the bone meal of lawn to the frozen pond where suspended goldfish wait for the spring Squaw Man.

23 NURSE: “I can’t find her pulse, doctor.”