
In Naked Lunch, William S. Burroughs revealed his genius. In The Soft Machine he begins an adventure that will take us even further into the dark recesses of his imagination, a region where nothing is sacred, nothing taboo. Continuing his ferocious verbal assault on hatred, hype, poverty, war, bureaucracy, and addiction in all its forms, Burroughs gives us a surreal space odyssey through the wounded galaxies in a book only he could create.
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Jag gillar den surrealistiska Burroughs väldigt mycket, och Soft Machine slås bara av Naked Lunch.
Jag har gjort en illustration av följande stycke:
"UNIT III: GREEN: 'Loosen up a bit.' Black finger dips into green jelly. The finger turns green in rusty limestone with a slow circular pull- Green boy of flexible green amber, bright lizards and beetles incrusted here and there, twist sighs out in jungle sound of frogs and bird calls and howler monkeys /.../ Vines twist through the boy smell of mud flats where sting rays bask in shallow canals brown with excrement sewage and coal gas swamps under orange gas flares and grey metal fallout."
(nej, det här är inte en recension, men det går inte att länka i kommentarsrutorna)