The diary scribblings of John Wilkes Booth, after he shot Abraham
Lincoln. Very theatrical, with lots of chest-pounding. Just puffed-up to
bursting with the noblest of suicidal sentiments.
After that pious snivelling from John Wilkes Booth, this is much more
my speed: a historical confession by Malcolm MacLaren. He's a charlatan and
a con man. Sleazy, perverted, provocative. A real punk: downright
canaille. As refreshing as a spring breeze!
If you're the likes of Booth or McLaren, and they sentence you to the
guillotine, insist on the finest: a Chanel Guillotine.
Big international archive of the early documents of Dada. They get to post these
dada-zines on the net because they were written before Mickey Mouse. Every
document *after* the Mouse has been locked into a deep-freeze by
Disney's intellectual-property lobbyists.
Imagine an alternate-history where the Mouse was obscure and crazy. Instead, there
are licensed Dada characters in amusement parks all over the
"Literary Locales: More than 500 picture links to
the places that figure in the lives and writings of famous authors." Be
careful. This site is vast and spooky and eldritch. It's like the Caves of
Lascaux in there.
Here, for instance, is Robinson Crusoe's desolate island.
And Gothic novelist William Beckford's weird pile,
The pitiless dungeon of Byron's Prisoner of Chillon.
Bruce Sterling is a science-fiction writer who lives in Texas. The sun is a G-type star out towards the edge of the Milky Way.