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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
WSB reads 23 random sentences from Naked Lunch
1 “Need a tube now, Fats.”
2 He kisses the D.S.‘s hand thrusting his fingers into his mouth (the D.S. must feel his toothless gums) complaining he has lost his teeth “inna thervith.” “Please Boss Man. I’ll wipe your ass, I’ll wash out your dirty condoms, I’ll polish your shoes with the oil on my nose….
3 DR. BENWAY: “Very likely but there’s no time.” He sits on the suction cup like a cane seat watching his assistant make the incision…. “You young squirts couldn’t lance a pimple without an electric vibrating scalpel with automatic drain and suture…. Soon we’ll be operating by remote control on patients we never see…. We’ll be nothing but button pushers. All the skill is going out of surgery…. All the know-how and make-do… Did I ever tell you about the time I performed an appendectomy with a rusty sardine can? And once I was caught short without instrument one and removed a uterine tumor with my teeth. That was in the Upper Effendi, and besides…”
4 Later the boy is sitting in a Waldorf with two colleagues dunking pound cake. “Most distasteful thing I ever stand still for,” he says. “Some way he make himself all soft like a blob of jelly and surround me so nasty. Then he gets wet all over like with green slime. So I guess he come to some kinda awful climax…. I come near wigging with that green stuff all over me, and he stink like a old rotten cantaloupe.”
5 To which A. J. replied: “Up yours with Interzone K.Y.” The reference is to the K.Y. scandal which was still in a larval state at that time. A. J.‘s repartee often refers to future events. He is a master of the delayed squelch.
6 Broken images exploded softly in Carl’s head, and he was moving out of himself in a silent swoop. Clear and sharp from a great distance he saw himself sitting in a lunchroom. Overdose of H. His old lady shaking him and holding hot coffee under his nose.
7 “Some funny stuff we’re getting lately. It’s not weak exactly…. I don’t know…. It’s different. Maybe they’re putting some synthetic shit in it…. Dollies or something….”
8 Writers talk about the sweet-sick smell of death whereas any junky can tell you that death has no smell
9 “Hollywood, Siam.”
10 The Vigilante copped out as a schizo possession case:
11 From the roof of the R.C. we survey a scene of un-paralleled horror. IND’s stand around in front of the cafe tables, long streamers of saliva hanging off their chins, stomachs noisily churning, others ejaculate at the sight of women. Latahs imitate the passersby with monkey-like obscenity. Junkies have looted the drugstores and fix on every street corner…. Catatonics decorate the parks…. Agitated schizophrenics rush through the streets with mangled, inhuman cries. A group of P.R.‘s — Partially Reconditioned — have surrounded some homosexual tourists with horrible knowing smiles showing the Nordic skull beneath in double exposure.
12 NURSE: “I can’t find her pulse, doctor.”
13 “So this elegant faggot comes to New York from Cunt Lick, Texas, and he is the most piss elegant fag of them all. He is taken up by old women of the type batten on young fags, toothless old predators too weak and too slow to run down other prey. Old moth-eaten tigress shit sure turn into a fag eater…. So this citizen, being an arty and crafty fag, begins making costume jewelry and jewelry sets. Every rich old gash in Greater New York wants he should do her sets, and he is making money, 21, El Morocco, Stork, but no time for sex, and all the time worrying about his rep…, He begins playing the horses, supposed to be something manly about gambling God knows why, and he figures it will build him up to be seen at the track. Not many fags play the horses, and those that play lose more than the others, they are lousy gamblers plunge in a losing streak and hedge when they win… which being the pattern of their lives…. Now every child knows there is one law of gambling: winning and losing come in streaks. Plunge when you win, fold when you lose. ( I once knew a fag dip into the till — not the whole two thousand at once on the nose win or Sing Sing. Not our Gertie… Oh no a deuce at a time… )
14 “This citizen have a Latah he import from Indo-China. He figure to hang the Latah and send a Xmas TV short to his friends. So he fix up two ropes — one gimmicked to stretch, the other the real McCoy. But that Latah get up in feud state and put on his Santa Claus suit and make with the switcheroo. Come the dawning. The citizen put one rope on and the Latah, going along the way Latahs will, put on the other. When the traps are down the citizen hang for real and the Latah stand with the carny-rubber stretch rope. Well, the Latah imitate every twitch and spasm. Come three times.
15 He was walking across the room towards the door. He had been walking a long time. A creeping numbness dragged his legs. The door seemed to recede.
16 “Barefoot boy, check thy bullheads with the ma-dame.”
17 ” ‘I’ll have one more, Gus. Then, by Allah, I will go home and receive a Surah…. Wait’ll the morning edition hits the souks. I am blasting Amalgamated Images wide open.’
18 “Well, you talk right sensible for a city feller…. Find out what he wants and take care of him…. He’s a good ol’ boy.”
19 Carl stared back at a homosexual American tourist who dropped his eyes and fumbled with the light filters of his Leica….
20 Benway (irritably): “None of us can…. Never smelled anything remotely like it…. Where was I? Oh yes, what would be result of administering curare plus iron lung during acute mania? Possibly the subject, un-able to discharge his tensions in motor activity, would succumb on the spot like a jungle rat. Interesting cause of death, what?”
21 The boy cuts himself down with a switch-blade, chases a screaming fag down the midway. The faggot dives through the glass of a penny arcade peep-show and rims a grinning Negro. Fadeout.
22 “You holding, man? I got the bread….”
23 Finally, they impound his suitcase; and he staggers out of the shed with a fifty pound bale of documents.