they pleaded for tolerance, Boyd flipped a finger at everything

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Catholicism has the appeal it has for all who lack sexual gifts: it assures them that the thing they're not good at, sex, is wrong anyway. Soft cocked, hard hearted; broad-hipped, narrow-minded; cold assed, hot tempered ... The middle class are endlessly vulgar, with no redeeming obscenity. They represent themselves as above sex, but they are beneath it - too cold, too frightened, too ambitious, too conventional, too unattractive for sex. To this day they love lovely things. They are themselves lovely things, robots like the "straights," performing as programmed; they are the true undesirables, the undesiring …

a hippie satanist car thief cult-leader sex-maniac bastard butcher.

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During this three-week stay at the house on Gresham occurred the famous Manson gobble-miracle. Zonked on lysergic acid, Manson was being blown by a hysteria-prone young adept named Bo. Bo was a small masochistic girl with thyroid eyes and long black hair, one of Charlie’s favorite pain-targets. The legend continues that during the gobble the girl went nuts and, all in one incision, bit in twain Manson’s virility. Then, through the miracle of magic, Manson, they claim, at once healed his tragic amputation and continued onward.

festivals at which killings were common and mass orgies part of the ritual

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Quoting the Beatles’ press officer, Derek Taylor said: "It’s incredible. Here are these four boys from Liverpool. They’re rude, they’re profane, they’re vulgar, and they’ve taken over the world. It’s as if they had founded a new religion. They’re completely anti-Christ. I mean I am anti-Christ as well, but they’re so anti-Christ, they shock me." To accept Lennon’s “freer” society of nudity, sex on demand, pornography, and drugs is to accept anarchy, slavery, and death. While protesting the corruption and drug messages we should encourage record companies to emphasize the higher, purer, and warmer themes of life. God, home, country, true love, caring, faithfulness, work ethic, study ethic, honesty are in. Perversion of all forms is out ... Pink Floyd suggesting suicide, the Village People preaching homosexuality, Prince advocating incest and lewdness, Alice Cooper singing about making love to the dead, and Dr. Hook making love to boys and animals ... Johnny Rotten’s “Anarchy in the U.K.” went to the top of the charts. The song says that he is an anti-Christ, and an anarchist who desires to kill and “bring anarchy in the U.K.” Punk rock nearly brought anarchy to the USA, too! John W. Hinckley, Jr. was hooked on punk rock, he attended a concert by his current favorite, a punk rock group called the Kamikaze Klones, who played such songs as “Death Can Be Fun,” and “Psycho Killer.” ... Disco rock is sometimes referred to as “sex rock” although rock music also is certainly “sex rock.” Pornography set to music is an apt definition of disco rock. ... Now we can better understand Paul McCartney’s remark in early 1965, “We probably seem to be anti-religious because of the fact that none of us believe in God.”

he moved through the "underground" as a snake slides through grass

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Unfooled by the self-excusing liberalism and the "freedom" rhetoric babbled by Timothy Leary, Ken Kesey or Allen Ginsberg, or the clot of literary and scholarly fringe-kickers looking for late-night T.V. notoriety. "Wads of phlegm in the throat of life," Charlie called them. He saw with socially untarnished eyes, eyes accustomed to walls and basins and uniforms. What he faced in the outside world was nothing more than a jailhouse joke. Seeing himself as standing knee-deep in puke, Charlie says, "I could see these people on the street - see them with clean eyes, you know. These people on the street were like me. Thrown out of life like your paper coffee cups and hamburger sacks and rags and stinking Kotex pads and dirty rubbers. They were the garbage floating around and shit sticking to the sides of your toilet and your drain holes ... That's what they were doing as hippies, floating around like orange peelings and sinking to the bottom like rotten garbage - food for the sharks and for the barracudas ..."

it was criticized viciously as "sex-loaded" and "in bad taste"

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Realism only comes to the screen when the film jams in the projector and the image begins to bubble. An instinctual fear of the dark manifests when the projection light fails ... heightened by the little, furry things with long tails that scamper beneath the seats. The electrical nature of sex becomes apparent as the hair on your neck bristles when that pervert to your left makes knee contact. In these moments of truth, cinema reveals her face of realism. But, she is a twofaced creature, the other countenance being a rainbow palette of dyed coiffures, pancake make-up and pancake bloated guts crammed into costumes designed by cock -eyed midgets. Superstars who beat their children with wire coat hangers and then peddle soft drinks potent enough to rot their dentures. Aging women taking endless enemas so as not to wind up in horror films. Virile he-men doomed to an excruciating regimen of exercises to keep their sodomized posteriors picture-perfect. EST trained actresses showing the world what it is like to be liberated and free of cellulite. Alcoholic celebrities who barf up their past in book form so that all can marvel at the hideous mess that has been cleaned up by a Christian re-birth. Harpies with herpes who rip apart, in print, plump fornicators whose every performance they slander with typeset Ju-Ju curses. Innocent children who sing and dance down the yellow brick road to drug addiction and toxic box office poisoning. This is the other face of cinema …

"It was wonderful to fuck the entire sweet afternoon away."

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Women wandering from wicked to wanton orgy on the tuxed arms of vainglorious males of malevolent beauty, in a moneyed, perfumed world haunted by the specters of Drink, Dope and Debauchery, Insanity, Suicide, and Murder. While in the Sodom-Gomorrah suburbs, the Lavender Swamp, ways of sinning took place that were certainly weirder, it was hinted, than fornication and adultery. The straphangers got their three-cents-worth. It is true that from the time it became the Motion Picture Capital of the World, shady characters descended on boom-town Hollywood like swarms of moths drawn to a searchlight. Two-bit gangsters, 'leggers, pushers, hard-sell swindlers, blackmailers, burglars, gross and petty extortionists, all manner of ultrakinky sex freaks, dummy-stock speculators, crank cultists, dollar astrologists, fake mediums and epicene evangelists, phony healers, crooked fortune tellers and parasitic "psychoanalysts." All of them fluttered graspingly about the edges of the charmed circle.

Hollywood is different. We accept violation of convention.

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Guilty of throwing wild parties at which lewd movies were shown, and contributing to the delinquency of a pregnant teenager from Minnesota who cavorted with celebrity guests on a tigerskin rug? No, surely not this distinguished Englishman who had played opposite the greatest ladies of the stage in Ibsen, Shaw, and Shakespeare. In Hollywood's hothouse solarium, Atwill's erotic imagination blossomed florid fantasies that could now become realities. Just as Rudy Valentino, after the separation from his fata morgana, natacha Rambova, staged orgies to distract himself from the loneliness gnawing at him within the splendor of Falcon Lair, the solitary mad doctor of the screen was now able to use his home freely as the setting for libidinous weekend parties. The early Forties movie public, secretly salacious and hypocritically envious because it had never got invited to a Hollywood gang-bang, quickly learned through a crash course of headlines that a single married couple in the missionary position was not the be-all and end-all of sexual delight.

something raw and percussive, like the voodoo music of Haiti

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They play for hours at a time, their two guitars the warp and weft of the same fabric. They weave minute variations on a single pattern, forgetting themselves in the trance of detail. They spend days and nights in this way, almost wordless, signaling to each other until their fingers bleed. When the pipes freeze, the toilet down the hall won’t flush and so they piss in jars. When the water comes back on, they leave the jars in the basin. Over time the basin fills up with cigarette butts and the newspaper wrappings from food. Mick thinks about quitting, concentrating on his economics course, but the more he has to sit and watch, the more he needs to stay.

Italian suits and Cuban-heeled shoes. White dress shirts with tab collars. Narrow black ties that look even better when he lets the slack end dangle free of the clasp. These are some of the clothes that Brian has managed to wangle out of his various girlfriends, or to steal from his job at the department store in Bayswater.