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Фантастика. Фэнтези
   Зарубежная фантастика
      Вильям Берроуз. Голый завтрак (engl) -
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to him? He knows I'll wait," Nick laughed. I spent the night in the Ever Hard Baths -- (homo- sexuality is the best all-around cover story an agent can use) -- where a snarling Italian attendant creates such an unnerving atmosphere sweeping the dormitory with infra red see in the dark fieldglasses. ("All right in the North East corner! I see you!" switching on floodlights, sticking his head through trap- doors in the floor and wall of the private rooms, that many a queen has been carried out in a straitjacket.... ) I lay there in my open top cubicle room looking at the ceiling... listened to the grunts and squeals and snarls in the nightmare halflight of random, broken lust.... "Fuck off you!" "Put on two pairs of glasses and maybe you can see something!" Walked out in the precise morning and bought a paper.... Nothing.... I called from a drugstore phone booth... and asked for Narcotics: "Lieutenant Gonzales... who's calling?" "I want to speak to O'Brien." A moment of static, dangling wires, broken connections... "Nobody of that name in this department.. . Who are you?" "Well let me speak to Hauser." "Look, Mister, no O'Brien no Hauser in this bureau. Now what do you want?" "Look, this is important.... I've got info on a big shipment of H coming in.... I want to talk to Hauser or O'Brien.... I don't do business with anybody else...." "Hold on.... I'll connect you with Alcibiades." I began to wonder if there was an Anglo-Saxon name left in the Department.... "I want to speak to Hauser or O'Brien." "How many times I have to tell you no Hauser no O'Brien in this department.... Now who is this call- ing?" I hung up and took a taxi out of the area.... In the cab I realized what had happened.... I had been occluded from space-time like an eel's ass occludes when he stops eating on the way to Sargasso.... Locked out.... Never again would I have a Key, a Point of Intersection.... The Heat was off me from here on out... relegated with Hauser and O'Brien to a landlocked junk past where heroin is always twenty- eight dollars an ounce and you can score for yen pox in the Chink Laundry of Sioux Falls.... Far side of the world's mirror, moving into the past with Hauser and O'Brien... clawing at a not-yet of Telepathic Bureaucracies, Time Monopolies, Control Drugs, Heavy Fluid Addicts: "I thought of that three hundred years ago." "Your plan was unworkable then and useless now. ...Like Da Vinci's Hying machine plans...." ATъOPHIED PъEFACE WOULDN'T YOU? Why all this waste paper getting The People from one place to another? Perhaps to spare The ъeader stress of sudden space shifts and keep him Gentle? And so a ticket is bought, a taxi called, a plane boarded. We are allowed a glimpse into the warm peach-lined cave as She (the airline hostess, of course) leans over us to murmur of chewing gum, dramamine, even nembutal. "Talk paregoric, Sweet Thing, and I will hear." I am not American Express.... If one of my people is seen in New York walking around in citizen clothes and next sentence Timbuktu putting down lad talk on a gazelle-eyed youth, we may assume that he ( the party non-resident of Timbuktu) transported himself there by the usual methods of communication.. Lee The Agent (a double-four-eight-sixteen) is taking the junk cure... space time trip portentously familiar as junk meet corners to the addict... cures past and future shuttle pictures through 'his spectral substance vibrating in silent winds of accelerated Time.... Pick a shot.... Any Shot.... Formal knuckle biting, floor rolling shots in a precinct cell.... "Feel like a shot of Heroin, Bill? Haw Haw Haw." Tentative half impressions that dissolve in light . pockets of rotten ectoplasm swept out by an old junky coughing and spitting in the sick morning.. Old violet brown photos that curl and crack like mud in the sun: Panama City... Bill Gains putting down the paregoric con on a Chinese druggist. "I've got these racing dogs... pedigree greyhounds. . All sick with the dysentery... tropical climate . the shits... you sabe shit?... My Whippets Are Dying...." He screamed.... His eyes lit up with blue fire.... The flame went out... smell of burning metal.... "Administer with an eye dropper. Wouldn't you?... Menstrual cramps... my wife... Kotex... Aged mother... Piles .. raw... bleeding..." He nodded out against the counter.... The druggist took a tooth-pick out of his mouth and looked at the end of it and shook his head.... Gains and Lee burned down the ъepublic of Panama from David to Darien on paregoric.... They Hew apart with a shlupping sound.... Junkies tend to run together into one body.... You have to be careful especially in hot places.... Gains back to Mexico City.... Desperate skeleton grin of chronic junk lack glazed over with codeine and goof balls... cigarette holes in his bathrobe... coffee stains on the floor... smoky kerosene stove... rusty orange flame... The Embassy would give no details other than place of burial in the American Cemetery.... And Lee back to sex and pain and time and Yage, bitter Soul Vine of the Amazon.... I recall once after an overdose of Majoun (this is Cannabis dried and finely powdered to consistency of green powdered sugar and mixed with some confection or other usually tasting like gritty plum pudding, but the choice of confection is arbitrary... ). I am return- ing from The Lulu or Johny or Little Boy's ъoom (stink of atrophied infancy and toilet training) look across the living room of that villa outside Tanger and suddenly don't know where I am. Perhaps I have opened the wrong door and at any moment The Man In Pos- session, The Owner Who Got There First will rush in and scream: "What Are Yon Doing Here? Who Are You?" And I don't know what I am doing there nor who I am. I decide to play it cool and maybe I will get the orientation before the Owner shows.... So instead of yelling "Where Am I?" cool it and look around and you will find out approximately.... You were not there for The Beginning. You will not be there for The End.... Your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative.... What do I know of this yellow blighted young junky face subsisting on raw opium? I tried to tell him: "Some morning you will wake up with your liver in your lap" and how to process raw opium so it is not plain poison. But his eyes glaze over and he don't want to know. Junkies are like that most of them they don't want to know... and you can't tell them anything.... A smoker doesn't want to know anything but smoke.... And a heroin junky same way.... Strictly the spike and any other route is Farina.... So I guess he is still sitting there in his 1920 Spanish villa outside Tanger eating that raw opium full of shit and stones and straw... the whole lot for fear he might lose something.... There is only one thing a writer can write about: what is in front of his senses at the moment of writing. . . . I am a recording instrument.... I do not pre- sume to impose "story" "plot" "continuity."...In sofaras I succeed in Direct recording of certain areas of psychic process I may have limited function.... I am not an entertainer.... "Possession" they call it.... Sometimes an entity jumps in the body -- outlines waver in yellow orange jelly -- and hands move to disembowel the passing whore or strangle the nabor child in hope of alleviating a chronic housing shortage. As if I was usually there but subject to goof now and again.... Wrong! I am never here.... Never that is fully in possession, but some- how in a position to forestall ill-advised moves.... Patrolling is, in fact, my principle occupation.... No matter how tight Security, I am always somewhere Outside giving orders and Inside this straight jacket of jelly that gives and stretches but always reforms ahead of every movement, thought, impulse, stamped with the seal of alien inspection.... Writers talk about the sweet-sick smell of death whereas any junky can tell you that death has no smell . at the same time a smell that shuts off breath and stops blood... colorless no-smell of death... no one can breathe and smell it through pink convolutions and black blood filters of flesh... the death smell is unmistakably a smell and complete absence of smell smell absence hits the nose first because all or- ganic life has smell... stopping of smell is felt like darkness to the eyes, silence to the ears, stress and weightlessness to the balance and location sense.... 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.... Cure is always: Let go! Jump1 A friend of mine found himself naked in a Marrakech hotel room second floor.... (He is after processing by a Texas mother who dressed him in girl's clothes as a child.... Crude but effective against infant proto- plasm.... ) The other occupants are Arabs, three Arabs... knives in hand... watching him . glint of metal and points of light in dark eyes . pieces of murder falling slow as opal chips through gly- cerine... Slower animal reactions allow him a full second to decide: Straight through the window and down into the crowded street like a falling star his wake of glass glittering in the sun... sustained a broken ankle and a chipped shoulder... clad in a diaphanous pink curtain, with a curtain-rod staff, hobbled away to the Commissariat de Police.... Sooner or later The Vigilante, The ъube, Lee The Agent, A. J., Clem and Jody The Ergot Twins, Hassan O'Leary the After Birth Tycoon, The Sailor, The Exter- minator, Andrew Keif, "Fats" Terminal, Doc Benway, "Fingers" Schafer are subject to say the same thing in the same words to occupy, at that intersection point, the same position in space-time. Using a common vocal apparatus complete with all metabolic appliances that is to be the same person -- a most inaccurate way of expressing ъecognition: The junky naked in sunlight... The writer sees himself reading to the mirror as always... He must check now and again to reassure himself that The Crime Of Separate Action has not, is not, cannot occur.... Anyone who has ever looked into a mirror knows what this crime is and what it means in terms of lost control when the reflection no longer obeys.... Too late to dial P o l i c e.... I personally wish to terminate my services as of now in that I cannot continue to sell the raw materials of death.... Yours, sir, is a hopeless case and a noisome one.... "Defense is meaningless in the present state of our knowledge, said The Defense looking up from an elec- tron microscope.... Take your business to Walgreen's We are not responsible Steal anything in sight I don't know how to return it to the white reader You can write or yell or croon about it... paint about it... act about it... shit it out in mobiles. . So long as you don't go and do it, . Senators leap up and bray for the Death Penalty with inflexible authority of virus yen.... Death for dope fiends, death for sex queens (I mean fiends) death for the psychopath who offends the cowed and graceless flesh with broken animal innocence of lithe move- ment.... The black wind sock of death undulates over the land, feeling, smelling for the crime of separate life, movers of the fear-frozen flesh shivering under a vast probability curve.... Population blocks disappear in a checker game of genocide.... Any number can play.... The Liberal Press and The Press Not So Liberal and The Press ъeactionary Scream approval: "Above all the myth of other-level experience must be eradicated...." And speak darkly of certain harsh realities... cows with the aftosa... prophylaxis.... Power groups of the world frantically cut lines of connection.... The Planet drifts to random insect doom.... Thermodynamics has won at a crawl.. Orgone balked at the post.... Christ bled.. Time ran out.... You can cut into Naked Lunch at any intersection point.... I have written many prefaces. They atrophy and amputate spontaneous like the little toe amputates in a West African disease confined to the Negro race and the passing blonde shows her brass ankle as a mani- cured toe bounces across the club terrace, retrieved and laid at her feet by her Afghan Hound.... Naked Lunch is a blueprint, a How-To Book.. Black insect lusts open into vast, other planet land- scapes.... Abstract concepts, bare as algebra, narrow down to a black turd or a pair of aging cajones.. How-To extend levels of experience by opening the door at the end of a long hall.... Doors that only open in Silence.... Naked Lunch demands Silence from The ъeader. Otherwise he is taking his own pulse.... ъobert Christie knew The Answering Service.. Kill the old cunts... keep pubic hairs in his locket ...wouldn't you? ъobert Christie, mass strangler of women -- sounds like a daisy chain -- hanged in 1953. Jack The ъipper, Literal Swordsman of the 1890s and never caught with his pants down... wrote a letter to The Press. "Next time I'll send along an ear just for jolly.. Wouldn't you?" "Oh be careful! There they go again!" said the old queen as his string broke spilling his balls over the floor.... 'Stop them will you, James, you worthless old shit! Don't just stand there and let the master's balls roll into the coal-bin!" Window dressers scream through the station, beat the cashiers with the Fairy Hyp. Delaudid deliver poor me (Delaudid is souped up, dehydrate morphine). The sheriff in black vest types out a death warrant: "Gotta make it legal and exempt narcotic...." Violation Public Health Law 334... Procuring an orgasm by the use of fraud.... Johnny on all fours and Mary sucking him and run- ning her fingers down the thigh backs and light over the outfields of the ball park.... Over the broken chair and out through the tool-house window whitewash whipping in a cold Spring wind on a limestone cliff over the river... piece of moon smoke hangs in China blue sky... out on a long line of jissom across the dusty floor.... Motel... Motel . Motel . broken neon arabesque... loneliness moans across the continent like fog horns over still oily water of tidal rivers.... Ball squeezed dry lemon rind pest rims the ass with a knife cut off a piece of hash for the water pipe- bubble bubble -- indicate what used to be me.. "The river is served, sir." Dead leaves fill the fountain and geraniums run wild with mint, spill a vending machine route across the lawn.... The aging playboy dons his 1920 autograph slicker, feeds his screaming wife down the garbage-disposal unit.... Hair, shit and blood spurt out 1963 on the wall.... "Yes sir, boys, the shit really hit the fan in '63," said 'the tiresome old prophet can bore the piss out of you in any space-time direction.... "Now I happen to remember because it was just two year before that a strain of human aftosa developed in a Bolivian lavatory got loose through the medium of a Chinchilla coat fixed an income tax case in Kansas City.... And a Liz claimed Immaculate Conception and give birth to a six-ounce spider monkey through the navel.... They say the croaker was party to that caper had the monkey on his back all the time.. I, William Seward, captain of this lushed up hash- head subway, will quell the Lock Ness monster with rotenone and cowboy the white whale. I will reduce Satan to Automatic Obedience, and sublimate subsidi- ary fiends. I will banish the candiru from your swimming pools.-- I will issue a bull on Immaculate Birth Con- trol.... "The oftener a thing happens the more uniquely wonderful it is," said the pretentious young Nordic on the trapeze studying his Masonic home work. "The Jews don't believe in Christ, Clem.... All they want to do is doodle a Christian girl...." Adolescent angels sing on shithouse walls of the world. "Come and jack off..." 1929. "Gimpy push milk sugar shit... " Johnny Hung Lately 1952 (Decayed corseted tenor sings Danny Deever in drag.... ) Mules don't foal in this decent county and on hooded dead gibber in the ash pits.... Violation Public Health Law 334. So where is the statuary and the percentage? Who can say? I don't have The Word.... Home in my douche bag... The King is loose with a flame thrower and the king killer, tortured in effigy of a thousand bums, slides down skid row to shit in the limestone ball court. Young Dillinger walked straight out of the house and never looked back.... "Don't ever look back, kid.... You turn into some old cow's salt lick." Police bullet in the alley... Broken wings of Icarus, screams of a burning boy inhaled by the old junky... eyes empty as a vast plain... ( vulture wings husk in the dry air). The Crab, aged Dean Of Lush Workers, puts on his crustacean suit to prowl the graveyard shift... with steel claws pulls the gold teeth and crowns of any Hop sleep with his mouth open.... If the Hop comes up on him The Crab rears back claws snapping to offer dubious battle on the plains of Queens. The Boy Burglar, fucked in the long jail term, ousted from the cemetery for the non-payment, comes gibber- ing into the queer bar with a moldy pawn ticket to pick up the back balls of Tent City where castrate salesmen sing the IBM song. Crabs frolicked through his forest... wrestling with the angel hard-on all night, thrown in the homo fall of valor, take a back road to the rusty limestone cave. Black Yen ejaculates over the salt marshes where nothing grows not even a mandrake.... Law of averages... A few chickens... Only way to live.... "Hello, Cash." "You sure it's here?" "Of course I'm sure.... Go in with you." Night train to Chi... Meet a girl in the hall and I see she is on and ask where is a score? "Come in sonny." I mean not a young chick but built... "How about a fix first?" "Ixnay, You wouldn't be inna condition." Three times around... wake up shivering sick in warm Spring wind through the window, water burns the eyes like acid.... She gets out of bed naked.... Stach in the Cobra lamp.... Cooks up.... "Turn over.... I'll give it to you in the ass." She slides the needle in deep, pulls it out and mas- sages the cheek.... She licks a drop of blood off her finger. He rolls over with a hard-on dissolving in the grey ooze of junk. In a vale of cocaine and innocence sad-eyed youths yodel for a lost Danny Boy.... We sniffed all night and made it four times... fin- gers down the blac

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