A bit of filth is good for the health of any writer and for any of his readers. Where’s the proof?
Frank Harris, Henry Miller, William Burroughs, Charles Bukowski, Iceberg Slim, and the Marquis de Sade.
Filth Is Good for Something
A bit of filth is good for the health of any writer and for any of his readers. Where’s the proof?
Frank Harris, Henry Miller, William Burroughs, Charles Bukowski, Iceberg Slim, and the Marquis de Sade.
Long may we roll in fictional filth. This cleanses the mind and makes us somewhat impervious to political filth.
Thanks, Jan, for filthifying.
It can also be used to comment on political filth, such as this carnival float in Dusseldorf Germany depicting Trump raping the Statue of Liberty:
http://www.rp-online.de/nrw/staedte/duesseldorf/karneval/rosenmontag-2017-mottowagen-beim-rosenmontagszug-in-duesseldorf-bid-1.3184806
Each morning editors had to borrow Capote’s descrip-scissors, spearing anything thick as a wrist.
A cherub a la Chagall greeted them from the masthead, supervised by a green-faced William Burroughs. It sat on a brass seat with a satirical giraffe. She would turn …. an 11-inch cod spiked on the floor, regarded for a rewrite of her knees. Garfunkel would pile pillows beneath her … Jiri shoved her body Post, wagged her bushy religious full depth. Women, waving incense, chanted to guide his cock into her mouth, topless belly psyche hardening against the back of the church. Time and time again she would masturbate her Christ, projected above the crowd. She liked elders ‘lose their cool’ and call it a day. The bad luck supermarket satisfied her fully. A big shambling Australian news thigh …. gathered in manila envelopes, propped on medical elbows, and midnight went in with hungry abandon.
He walked out, with a cane stripped of sensuality. The funniest taffic crawled slowly north and nobody cracked a smile.
Her time couldn’t be identified in the Dallas Morning News. She wore her Tyrolean realism. It was red, white and green gutter slang. Walls alive with knicknack … Jiri grabbed a yellow radio ceiling, it left him in a pile of Here to investigate his private Six O’Clock News … “May I offer you a call?”
Of course she had planned to have his transgression on legs … a giant pepper mill they considered worth a cafe-au-lait.
Masterful rewrite. ( “. . . supervised by a green-faced William Burroughs . . .” ) thanks for that.