Gissa Bokcitatet

Rupert Moloch, Head of Propaganda in Madonna's diabolical army - the satellite Goebbels, the Mephistophelean multi-media technobaron who preaches envy, lust and greed to the four corners of the world. 'Mistress,' purred the cigar-chewing mogul, 'everything is prepared. The studios are ready, the Sabbat proceeds at midnight.'
'Excellent!' said the Blaspheming Cunt of Sodom as she menstruated heavily on to the wooden floor.

Ballard?

Nej, inte Ballard.

Around this lake of terrible beauty, crucified reindeer hung splayed on large Saint Andrew's crosses made from the local pine trees. Their bellies had been opened and the viscera tumbled gracefully to the pristine snow. The slaughtered animals resembled fantastic caskets of jewels: the liver and kidneys looked like large, wet rubies. Dancing stars of light glistened on purple intestines, all manner of bright colours flickered inside the splayed deer: sparkling yellows, sensual purples, crimson.
There was nothing sadistic in this slaughter. In fact, there was an intensely spiritual feeling to the whole scene, as if we were in a giant open-air cathedral. The steam rising from the blood and the animals' insides was reminiscent of incense in Catholic churches.

Ok, ett citat till sedan får jag väl börja droppa några ledtrådar och citera mer avslöjande passager.

Fuck loads of vodka later, I thought I recognized a skeletal figure drinking alone at the bar. He was slumped alky-style over a bottle of Rebel Yell bourbon, bleary-eyed and unshaven. A crow's nest of untidy black hair framed cadaverous, sunken cheeks and his mouth looked like a cemetery studded with askew and broken tombstones. He stank of bad breath and heroin and looked like Count Dracula with a hangover.
The spectral ruin raised a glass of whisky to his mouth and missed. It spilled down his dirty white shirt, adding yet another territory to the stained map of his perpetual debauchery. He pulled on a bent Marlboro, and it was then that I saw it: a huge silver skull ring on the third finger of his left hand. Here was conclusive evidence: it had to be him.

Ledtråd #1: Det rör sig om två författare.

Of course the supermarket sells everything, but what we want is eggs, beans, bacon, bread, butter and black pudding. We look at what appears to be burnt fish in the freezer and thank God that we are not foreign. Brits abroad, and we get the suspicious looks that we deserve as we pick things up and laugh at them. Heavy-metal magazines in Finnish, all blow-dried hair jobs and Japanese guitars. How do these American blokes manage to grow their hair like that, learn to play the guitar in such a mind-numbingly brilliant but totally boring way, whilst still appearing to believe in it all?

Ledtråd #2: Två författare. Båda är musiker, hyfsat välkända. Deras förnamn återfinns i följande citat:

The Nazi torture bitch stopped mid-frig, snapped off the machine and, narrowing her blue eyes, gazed at me, a look of begrudging appreciation softening the Teutonic hardness of her features.
'Remarkable!' she smiled admiringly. 'You have just had over 2,000 volts pumped through your wedding tackle and now you proposition me as though we were in a night club.'
'Baby,' I continued confidently, a fiendish plot hatching in my brilliant mind, 'check the tattoos. I can take pain. I'm from Yorkshire, the hardest country in England.'
'Release him!' she ordered the kung fu Nazi goons.
I had her! Z knows what women want, even if they don't.
'Commandante Marlene...' said one of the Nazi bitches, hesitatingly.
'Now, you fucking whore!' snapped the Commandante, more ferocious than the Rottweilers.
The goons unshackled me. I knew exactly what I planned to do: turn on the snake-oil super charm, fuck her, kill her, rescue Bill and Gimp, blow up the castle, kill all the women - just like James Bond.

Ledtråd #3: Nedanstående citat avslöjar bokens handling. Boken är del ett i en hittills oavslutad trilogi.

This was the plan: we would take a holy and sacred picture of the King of Rock 'n' Roll, Elvis Presley, to the very summit of the earth; once there, we would place it with sincere reverence amongst the chimerical shimmering palaces of ice and snow and then (accompanied by some wierd Zen magic) we would light joss sticks, dance about making screechy kung-fu noises, get off our faces, and that would be it: Planet Earth saved. Simple.

Bad Wisdom av Mark Manning och Bill Drummond

Yay!!
Mark Manning, även känd som Z aka Zodiac Mindwarp, och Bill Drummond (som frontade The KLF, även känd som snubben som brände upp en miljon pund och hävdade konst).
http://www.amazon.com/Bad-Wisdom-Bill-Drummond/dp/184068108X
Rekommenderar den varmt.

Del två i trilogin - Wild Highway - ångar på i samma stil, fast denna gång har de bytt Finland mot Zaïre.

Över till Transpherance igen!

Transpherance tycks ha somnat, så då är det väl fritt fram för vilken mupp som helst att dra till med ett bokcitat? Först till kvarn!

Fångar gärna tillfället!

Trots att han var klädd i en konfektionskostym á sextio francs gjorde han faktiskt ett elegant intryck. Visserligen var elegansen något banal, men den fanns där. Lång och ståtlig var han, välväxt, blond; hans blondhet var av en mörkare nyans som en liten smula stötte i rött. Han hade uppstrukna mustascher, som täckte överläppen som ett kompakt skum, blå ögon med mycket liten pupill, håret naturligt lockigt, benat mitt över huvudet, och han liknade en depraverad hjälte i en enklare roman.

Det var en av dessa sommarkvällar då man inte får luft i Paris. Staden, het som en bastu, föreföll att svettas i den kvalmiga luften. Kloakerna utandades genom sina granitmunnar en förpestad andedräkt, och ur köken i källarvåningarna strömmade genom de låga fönstren en otäck stank av diskvatten och gammal sås.

Bel-Ami av Maupassant!