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Francisca 2022-03-20 09:01:59

Naked Lunch

Naked Lunch

The oldest and longest-living writer of the "Beat Generation" is William Burrows. ...In 1953, William Burrows wrote the "Beat" style novel "Junkie" based on his drug addiction experience, which began to attract the attention of American literature. After that, he first lived in seclusion in a male prostitute in Tangier, Morocco, and soon went to several countries in South America to search for drugs. In 1955, he returned to Tangier, rented a private house, did not bathe or change his clothes for a year, and dived into writing novels. He throws as he writes, and writes as he throws. Four years later, he handed over a mess of manuscripts to the Olympia Press in Paris for publication. The original title of the work is "Naked Lust" (Naked Lust). When Ginsburg read the manuscript, it was so scribbled that it misread it as "Naked Lunch." They both thought the topic was "more comfortable" and settled on it. This novel mainly tells the author's experience of wandering, drug use, sex, homosexuality, etc. It is full of descriptions of physical abuse, obscene details, and vulgar language. Some critics dismissed it as "a pile of unintelligible garbage" and "a piece of psychopathic raving." Boston and other cities once banned the publication and sale of the book in the name of "obscenity". Others, however, believe that the book "has a humorous attack on the hypocrisy of society and explores the absurd side of people's minds", "rich with profound moral connotations" and "a work of eccentric genius". In this way, after arguing for nearly two years, the novel was published in the United States in 1962, and was subsequently translated into 16 languages ​​for publication.
----Excerpt from "Beat Generation."
There is no doubt that the nude lunch is Burrows's pinnacle of work, according to his words, you can turn to any page and start reading.
A film adapted from a semi-autorotation novel, depicting how a writer who is addicted to drugs can no longer distinguish between the real world and the psychedelic world in the hallucinatory experience of writing and drug use. A movie that deeply depicts the state of fantasy. The film integrates psychedelic experiences such as literary creation, drug use and sex, presenting a blurred world that can no longer be clearly divided. The prototype of Interzone in the film is Tangiers, the city where Burroughs wrote Naked Lunch. The fact that Hank and Martin sponsored Bill's writing and publishing in the movie is very close to the action of Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac helping Burroughs in real life.
The following film review is not bad:
(United States) Many views on life, body, creation, etc. of the middle-class society with rationality as the main body are questioned in the film-the reality and illusion of life experience, the opposition between body and spirit, mechanical Differences from living things, etc. For example, the incarnated typewriter in the film subverts Freud's notion that literary creation is only a writer's daydream. The literary world is not an illusion separated from reality, and creation is not just a function of the spirit, but an activity and experience that is related to the individual body and the people, things, and things in the (technological) society. In the existing society controlled by rationalism, it seems that only drugs can give people a glimpse of the truth of the world.
Salute to BG!

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  • Yves Cloquet: I've seen you around, but I had no idea you were queer.

    Bill Lee: Queer?

    Yves Cloquet: [leers] I saw you arrive with those three Interzone boys. What an entrance. You all looked very... familiar with each other.

    Bill Lee: [gulps] Queer. A curse. Been in our family for generations. The Lees have always been perverts. I shall never forget the unspeakable horror that froze the lymph in my glands when the baneful word seared my reeling brain - I was a homosexual. I thought of the painted simpering female impersonators I'd seen in a Baltimore nightclub. Could it be possible I was one of those subhuman things? I walked the streets in a daze like a man with a light concussion. I would've destroyed myself. And a wise old queen - Bobo, we called her - taught me that I had a duty to live and bear my burden proudly for all to see. Poor Bobo came to a sticky end - he was riding in the Duke Devanche's Hispano Suissa when his falling hemorrhoids blew out of the car and wrapped around the rear wheel. He was completely gutted leaving an empty shell sitting there on the giraffe skin upholstry. Even the eyes and the brain went with a horrible "shlupping" sound. The Duke says he would carry that ghastly "shlup" with him to his mausoleum.

  • Bill Lee: Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig farting out the words. It was unlike anything I had ever heard. This asshole talk had sort of a gut frequency. It hit you right down there like you gotta go. You know when the old colon gives you the elbow and it feels sorta cold inside, and you know all you have to do is turn loose? Well this talking hit you right down there, a bubbly, thick stagnant sound, a sound you could smell. This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriliquist act. Real funny, too, at first. He had a number he called The Better Ole that was a scream, I tell you. I forget most of it but it was clever. Like, "Oh I say, are you still down there, old thing?" "Nah I had to go relieve myself." After a while the asshole started talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared and his asshole would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time. Then it developed sort of teeth-like little raspy in-curving hooks and start eating. He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it, but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags nobody loved it and it wanted to be kissed same as any other mouth. Finally it talked all the time day and night, you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up, and beating it with his fist, and sticking candles up it, but nothing did any good and the asshole said to him, "It is you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we dont need you around here any more. I can talk and eat AND shit." After that he began waking up in the morning with a transparent jelly like a tadpoles tail all over his mouth. This jelly was what the scientists call un-D.T., Undifferentiated Tissue, which can grow into any kind of flesh on the human body. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands like burning gasoline jelly and grow there, grow anywhere on him a glob of it fell. So finally his mouth sealed over, and the whole head would have have amputated spontaneous - except for the EYES you dig. Thats one thing the asshole COULDN'T do was see. It needed the eyes. But nerve connections were blocked and infiltrated and atrophied so the brain couldnt give orders any more. It was trapped in the skull, sealed off. For a while you could see the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes, then finally the brain must have died, because the eyes WENT OUT, and there was no more feeling in them than a crabs eyes on the end of a stalk.

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