" 'quemical therapy ? ' The scream shot out of his flesh though empty locker rooms and barracks, musty resort hotels, and espectral, coughing corridors of T,B. Sanitariums, the muttering, hawking, grey dishwasher smell of flophouses and Old Men's Homes. Great, dusty custom sheds and wharehouses, trough broken porticoes and smeared arabesques, iron urinals worn paper thin by the urine of a million fairies, deserted weed-grown privies with a musty smell of shit turning back to the soil, erect wooden phallus on the grave of dying peoples plaintive as leaves in the wind, across the great brown river where whole trees float with green snakes in the branches and sad-eyed lemurs watch the shore out over a vast plain ( vulture wing husk in the dry air ). the way is strewn with broken condoms, empty H caps and K.Y tubes squeezed dry as bone meal in the summer sun. "
(William S.Burroughs)
[ Naked Lunch ]
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