Word: acids
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Under normal circumstances, one liberates oneself through quiet thought or tremendous internal crises. Loud acid rock may help some people, it may hinder others...
Brian Aldiss has apparently been dropping acid since I last read him, and, more importantly, he happens to be turning his visions (somehow, a nicer word than hallucinations) into excellent prose. In "The Serpent of Kundalini" he turns a literary trick I have never seen before; he sketches a symbol so vividly that the concept behind it is assimilated long before it is explicitly stated. The symbol is a sort of paper-bag human frame crumpling at various points in the story, and the concept is that of an alternative not take, one of our potential selves that begins...
...carabinieri had been keeping an eagle eye on a padlocked wine cellar in the Adriatic seaport of Porto d'Ascoli. In it were 3,400,000 quarts of red wine stored in vats sealed by the police. The wine, an adulterated brew made of such confections as tar acid, ammonia, glycerin, citric acid, a sludge taken from the bottom of banana boats, and, of course, alcohol, was Exhibit A in a continuing case against 260 defendants charged with selling the grapeless vino throughout Italy. Oddly enough, those who sampled the stuff swore it tasted exactly like ordinary red table...
...fierce mustaches, all the tired, tragic faces are one. The viewer must be content (or disturbed) with a vision trained on people but not on persons. Though Jancso is sometimes eclectic, he borrows only from the best, from the wintry compositions of Ingmar Bergman or from Goya's acid Disasters of War. At his most original, the director resembles neither film maker nor painter. In his own deep-dimensioned, black and white montages, he seems a sculptor who scrapes his material from the soil of his native land and gives it a cast of permanence...
...door. Closed, heavy, guarding the Platonic idea of door. Inside, music, smoke, cadenced talk as pungent as the smoke, and with it a sniff of corruption, a hint of menace. The scene may actually be a TV director's fashionable flat. It may be a club where acid-heads meet. It may be an African gambling house. Wherever it is, Maclnnes' name and rangy, white-haired frame get one through that door. Known in queer world and straight world alike, Maclnnes is passport and safe-conduct through the black communities of London. At 54, he is the oldest...