Al Brandtner, William Burroughs, Henry Miller, Roure Vilòbit…, ah, yes, the ephemeral last return of the dear sensible old boys…

Al Brandtner, William Burroughs, Henry Miller, Roure Vilòbit…, ah, yes, the ephemeral last return of the dear sensible old boys…

Blessed be the sensible boy Al Brandtner indeed.

That’s the witty artist of the parody stamp of the year, yeah, of the late ages…

How it all comes back. The flimsy fight’s alive anew. After two worthless generations of poisoned wasters the rage against the single party dictatorship of the earth-destroyers is starting to phthisicly bloom again.

Must be that by now the destruction is too flapping obvious… Everywhere the earth shambolic, the viruses awakening, their edgy teeth hungry for the kill, the earthly suicide well under way… Time to exact some kind of desperate revenge…

Willy Burroughs: “—We don’t want to hear any more family talk, mother talk, father talk, cop talk, priest talk, country talk or party talk…, to put it country simple: we have heard enough bullshit.”

Old boys at it again, the witty writers, frowning always on the same shit segregated through the monstrous “protective folds of the democratic-republican party…” (H. Miller.)

I hear again the old comical fake: “Listen old fart…! Fart not what your country can fart for you…; fart what you can fart for your country…!” Twerpy pieties. While behind the curtains the same plutocratic families, along the generations, never drop a cent… And always the same bosses. The “freedom-democracy” scheme tight, tight. Hollow echoes deafening the damned.

“—Beginning to look like christmas, that is to say… sour, moth-eaten, bilious, crapulous, worm-eaten, mildewed, imbecilic, pusillanimous, and completely gaga.” (H. Miller)

“Patriot act” — the totalitarian-state torture-cop criminotic concept of it all — the murdering sound of the thing itself — it gives you the shivers…

As to Brandtner, ah, the perfect wit… The fine logical transition from such a horridly sneaking patriot act to a torridly sizzling patriotic act… I see the shittily frightened ape “holding her hand over her cunt, as if to conceal something ugly, not something dangerous…” (H. Miller)

“—Never keep a pistol under your pillow where you have to reach up for it. Keep it down by your hand at the crotch. That way you can come up shooting right through the blanket…” (W. Burroughs)

Henry Miller: “—Of course there is this to remember — the greek only killed one man (and than in righteous anger) whereas the successful american businessman is murdering thousands of innocent men, women and children in his sleep every day of his life.”

“—The triumphs which they broadcast are sops thrown out to conceal death and disaster.” (H. M.)

“—The most ignorant and degenerate will be asked to shoulder a gun and fight for a civilization which has brought them nothing but misery and degradation.” (H. M.)

“—As long as human beings can sit and watch with hands folded while their fellowmen are tortured and butchered so long will civilization be a hollow mockery, a wordy phantom suspended like a mirage above a swelling sea of murdered carcasses.” (H. M.)

While “from the churches comes the melancholy dirge of the dead christ…, a music which is no more sacred than a rotten turnip…” Pity the fools, a country of bigots, preying on the more steady easygoing world while stupidly praying to a bloodthirsty creep of a god. Pity the fools. No wonder the universal relish in front of a cartoon where the shooting of the shitty bigoted ape, chief representative of the horror concern, ah, whose loathsome inventions are only dedicated to the furtherance of pain and death…, elicits such sickly glee.

“—Victory and defeat are meaningless in the light of the wheel which relentlessly revolves… We are moving into a new latitude of the soul, and a thousand years hence men will wonder at our blindness, our torpor, our supine acquiescence in an order which was doomed.” (H. M.)

Baby, so doomed. And why men…? Why not another species less easy to bamboozle…?

More Harry Miller: “—Actually we are a vulgar, pushing mob whose passions are easily mobilized by demagogues, newspaper men, religious quacks, agitators and such like…” “—What prevents men from uniting as brothers is their own base inadequacy… Slaves cannot unite, cowards cannot unite, the ignorant cannot unite…”

“—A country which makes itself ridiculous by sending out missionaries to the most remote parts of the world, asking for pennies of the poor in order to maintain the christian work of deluded devils who no more represent the christ than I do the pope, and yet unable through its churches and missions at home to rescue the weak and defeated, the miserable and the oppressed.”

“—I am a descendant of two men who ran away from their native land because they did not wish to become soldiers. My descendants, ironically enough, will no longer be able to escape that duty — the whole white world has at last been turned into an armed camp.”

Amen, man, and doomed to boot.

eixavuirint al sac de les serradures

amb una lot em faig llum i...

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C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,