They would lock me in and let me slooshy holy music by J.S. Bach and G.F. Handel, and I would read of these starry yahoodies tolchocking each other and then peeting their Hebrew vino and getting on to the bed with their wives’ like handmaidens, real horrorshow. That kept me going, brothers. I didn’t so much kopat the later part of the book, which is more like all preachy govoreeting than fighting and the old in-out. But one day the charles said to me, squeezing me like tight with his bolshy beefy rooker, “Ah 6655321, think on the divine suffering. Meditate on that, my boy.” And all the time he had this rich manny von of Scotch on him. —Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange
There’s a lot of ground to cover here, so let’s get to it.
Connoisseurs of my oeuvre, if there were any, might notice that parts of this are lifted from a mix CD I made about 20 years ago. What can I say, I’m a sucker for certain songs and segues over and over again. That’s my thing.