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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 “Fats” Terminal has organized a purple-assed baboon stick from motorcycles.
2 “Do you often doze off like that?P in the middle of a conversation… P”
3 The centipede nuzzles the iron door rusted to thin black paper by the urine of a million fairies….
4 The Sailor leapt into sharp, junky focus. He turned back his coat lapel, showing a brass hypo needle covered with mold and verdigris. “Retired for the good of the service…. Sit down and have a blueberry crumb pie on the expense account. Your monkey loves it…. Make his coat glossy.”
5 “The old oaken bucket, the gold oaken bucket
6 “That one should stand in an aquarium,” says the arresting officer.
7 Gilt and red plush. Rococo bar backed by pink shell. The air is cloyed with a sweet evil substance like decayed honey. Men and women in evening dress sip pousse-cafes through alabaster tubes. A Near East Mugwump sits naked on a bar stool covered in pink silk. He licks warm honey from a crystal goblet with a long black tongue. His genitals are perfectly formed — circumcised cock, black shiny pubic hairs. His lips are thin and purple-blue like the lips of a penis, his eyes blank with insect calm. The Mugwump has no liver, maintaining himself exclusive on sweets. Mugwump push a slender blond youth to a couch and strip him expertly.
8 “You holding, man? I got the bread….”
9 Several nearby fags raise their heads like animals scenting danger. A. J. leaps to his feet with an inarticu-late snarl.
10 In the City Market is the Meet Cafe. Followers of obsolete, unthinkable trades doodling in Etruscan, addicts of drugs not yet synthesized, pushers of souped-up Harmaline, junk reduced to pure habit offering precarious vegetable serenity, liquids to induce Latah, Tithonian longevity serums, black marketeers of World War III, excisors of telepathic sensitivity, osteopaths of the spirit, investigators of infractions denounced by bland paranoid chess players, servers of fragmentary warrants taken down in hebephrenic shorthand charging unspeakable mutilations of the spirit, bureaucrats of spectral departments, officials of unconstituted police states, a Lesbian dwarf who has perfected operation Bang-utot, the lung erection that strangles a sleeping enemy, sellers of orgone tanks and relaxing machines, brokers of exquisite dreams and memories tested on the sensi-tized cells of junk sickness and bartered for raw materials of the will, doctors skilled in the treatment of diseases dormant in the black dust of ruined cities, gathering virulence in the white blood of eyeless worms feeling slowly to the surface and the human host, maladies of the ocean floor and the stratosphere, maladies of the laboratory and atomic war…. A place where the unknown past and the emergent future meet in a vibrating soundless hum… Larval entities waiting for a Live One…
11 “The biocontrol apparatus is prototype of one-way telepathic control. The subject could be rendered sus-ceptible to the transmitter by drugs or other processing without installing any apparatus. Ultimately the Senders will use telepathic transmitting exclusively…. Ever dig the Mayan codices? I figure it like this: the priests — about one per cent of population — made with one-way telepathic broadcasts instructing the workers what to feel and when…. A telepathic sender has to send all the time. He can never receive, because if he receives that means someone else has feelings of his own could louse up his continuity. The sender has to send all the time, but he can’t ever recharge himself by contact. Sooner or later he’s got no feelings to send. You can’t have feelings alone. Not alone like the Sender is alone — and you dig there can only be one Sender at one place-time…. Finally the screen goes dead…. The Sender has turned into a huge centipede…. So the workers come in on the beam and burn the centipede and elect a new Sender by consensus of the general will…. The Mayans were limited by isolation…. Now one Sender could control the planet…. You see control can never be a means to any practical end…. It can never be a means to anything but more control…. Like junk…”
12 ” ‘I can’t stem him, boys. Sauve qui peut.’
13 “Yes. Yes.”
14 The doctor was studying the file in front of him. He spoke in a tone of slightly condescending amusement:
15 “Hold on…. I’ll connect you with Alcibiades.”
16 In Cuernavaca or was it Taxco? Jane meets a pimp trombone player and disappears in a cloud of tea smoke. The pimp is one of these vibration and dietary artists — which is a means he degrades the female sex by forcing his chicks to swallow all this shit. He was continually enlarging his theories… he would quiz a chick and threaten to walk out if she hadn’t memorized every nuance of his latest assault on logic and the human image.
17 Salvador, known as Sally to his friends — he always keeps a few “friends” around and pays them by the hour — got cured in the slunk business in World War II. (To get cured means to get rich. Expression used by Texas oil men.) The Pure Food and Drug Department have his picture in their files, a heavy faced man with an embalmed look as if paraffin had been injected under the skin which is smooth, shiny and poreless. One eye is dead grey color, round as a marble, with flaws and opaque spots. The other is black and shiny, an old undreaming insect eye.
18 BERGER: “Apply triplicate…. Form 6090.”
19 The post of President is always forced on some particularly noxious and unpopular citizen. To be elected President is the greatest misfortune and disgrace that can befall an Islander. The humiliations and ignominy are such that few Presidents live out their full term of office, usually dying of a broken spirit after a year or two. The Expeditor had once been President and served the full five years of his term. Subsequently he changed his name and underwent plastic surgery, to blot out, as far as possible, the memory of his disgrace.
20 I sat down at a counter and ordered coffee, and pointed to a piece of Danish pastry under a plastic cover. I washed down the stale rubbery cake with coffee, praying that just this once, please God, let him make it now, and not come back to say the man is all out and has to make a run to East Orange or Green-point.
21 “And use that alcohol,” I say slamming a spirit lamp down on the table.
22 “Gentlemen, this unspeakable and in every sense illegitimate child of Doctor Schafer’s perverted brain must not see the light…. Our duty to the human race is clear….”
23 So “Fats” learned to serve The Black Meat and grew a fat aquarium of body….