This is undoubtedly the most strikingly original book I have read this year. Giving Gysin's / Burrough's cut up techniques a spin through a random number generator this is a collage of found phrases, beer, slices of (low)life, deaths, John Cage, grammar, The Fall, whisky, the difficulty of publishing poetry while on the dole etc.
Manson has a killer's surname and an eye for killer phrases. I wonder if he feels The Fall returned to form in the 21st century? Does he still have boils behind his ears? This is like Lucky Jim for poètes maudits.
