'A Clockwork Orange': Redux

Anthony Burgess released his ultraviolent and whimsical masterpiece 'A Clockwork Orange' in the winter of 1962, and he shocked the world. A merciless protagonist with the will to steal, rape and murder finds himself in a netherworld of government brainwash...and a world belonging to readers everywhere. Burgess consumed the expanse of the meta with his nightmarish world parallel to our own; with his words he stole the readers' mind.

A Clockwork Orange?

To ask is to not know, but in this case it is one's right to not know. The exception here is that Burgess made sure we knew exactly what he meant, every step of the way. He outlined the orange: the life force. Our original sin was not only biting the orange, but consuming the orange and using every part in every which way. We are Alex 'The Large', we have eaten this juicy orange and been nourished by it's oozing life water...but we have also been consumed by it's virginity. The human organism is one that must touch, and leave it's mark on everything standing. So here we are leaving a mark, and here is my gift to you.

You may want to keep your eyes open for this...

For every day of the week minus one, a journal entry will be left at your virtual doorstep. An introspection to Alex DeLarge, the psychopath in all of us. Derived from the ills of a writing scholarship and many a drunken night, these entries have endured time and rust to secure a spot in time. Enjoy the paradigm shift...

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**Alexs' PRIVATE writing journal'

(get your stinkin' gulliver outta it before you viddy some krovvy all over the place)

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For Johannes S. Bach
Friday, January 4, 1963: Entry #1

In the first writing night as this is, I celebrate with the spirits of Mozart. I luckily have a bit of moloko from the Korova, my favorite place to see the Bog. My limbs and bones are tired and weary with running and the tolchocks we've given all night. We meaning Your Humble Writer and his three droogs, or hoodlums, or menaces to society as we've been called. Myself, Georgie, Pete and Dim. Dim of course like his name, being himself witted...mind the chuckle. Tonight we went out and ventured into the dark, scary night. We went to the Korova and pondered which victim to viddy and put our glazzies on. We spotted a starry teacher, smart-like type on I think Boothby Avenue next to the big lovely biblio. I don't remember the titles but we ruined his mess of books lookin' it like a book massacre. We beat the bastard and called him a naughty perv, but he had no cutter or anythin' special..just a shitty umbrella and all some other cal. O' my brothers, then we put our gullivers to use! We pulled the sammy act on two really old fuckers. We used some of that cutter at an old bar called the 'Duke of New York' and they called us good ol' boys and all that cal. The great sammy act is an alibi for when the millicents and polices come by askin' questions! Then we went to a place we hadn't been for awhile, about three months if my countin' is accurate. We viddied the shop and put on our masks, mine was Disraeli and Dim was Peebee Shelley, the poet. Pete and Georgie...I forget. We razrezzed the place and let the krovvy flow all pretty on the wife. The husband was a heavy bastard and we didn't like his smell or his face. Still the old sammy act was working when two bloody millicent bastards stopped by for the old 'where you been this evening boys?' Of course the old lighters said 'the good lads haven't left our sight', and with a grin we were off. This night was not over. We went to an old rat of the streets and taught him not to disrespect music the way he was. He said his life was unfair and we were hoodlums ruinin' the world!

Two boo hoos and we tolchocked the bum for a good two minutes..too bad it gets boring when there's no fight. We left the rat tracks and caught the Billy Boy the fucker and his droogs tryin' to mess with a ten year old about, so we called him over too and outed that stinkin' barrel o' piss. We fought with our nozhs and Dim fought dirty with his ol' chain like he always does! A monster he is really; he could've taken Billy Boy and all his droogs alone. Real horrorshow we messed them up, we would've taken Billy's girl... but that was for another time. The old in-out-in-out was gonna be at HOME. HOME being a bit out of the way tonight didn't help me none...but I didn't worry.

The world was a breath away with my Durango 95, one step and I ate the road with my mouth full. We visited a home, not HOME, but a whimsy to visit on our joyride. We smashed the window in vain...the gloopy name of the house resident sickened me and my droogs so we razrezzed it good...we broke in and broke the house in two! We goddamn might as well have! The house was a writer's, we saw a picture of his zheena, she was a looker to say the least. We started tearin' everythin' up from the bottom to the top...and then I saw it.

My favorite of favorites: the whitest of milk in the clearest of glasses. Next to it lay a book: 'A Clockwork Orange'. I picked it up, not much of a reader but I couldn't look away. I was takin' a peek at the back cover when we heard the zheena in the next room callin' the old millicent bastards. We ittied outta there quick, but not before takin' out the daily lashings on the slag. We dropped from the writer's pad back to the Korova, the old official fuckers would never catch us in the dark. At the Korova I saw a devochca sitting across from me and the drooglets, seeing her made me forget the house, the book, the krovvy. She started to sing lightly...and I listened, and learned.

Dim like he is started makin'bloody dog sounds so I pounded him right in his rot like I would do a dog. He said I had no yarbles and all that cal, but he still knows I am the leader, and I am the boss. I went HOME because of the dark turning to light outside, and I took the red in me glazzies to room 18A of the Municipal Flatblock. I'm at home...listening to the likes of Mozart and Das Bettezeug by Friedrich Gittergenster.... and it is much bliss my brothers. During this period now I think of many things... I wish I had torn the zheena and her prince into little ribbons on the floor, and gave them the good ol' smash with my jelly boots.

FIN

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