By William J. Craddock, Rudy Rucker

Be no longer content material is a coming-of-age novel set in San Jose, California, within the mid 1960s—describing William Craddock’s reviews as a tender acidhead. this can be a hip, profound, and wonderfully-written ebook, a different chronicle of the earliest days of the nice psychedelic upheaval. Be now not content material is stuffed with heat and empathy, tragic from time to time, and intensely humorous in spots, a wastrel masterpiece the place laughter performs counterpoint opposed to the oboes of doom. a paranormal underground masterpiece that’s been almost unobtainable for years. introduced again to existence through Transreal Books through an contract with Craddock’s property.

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A little. ” Curt rolled to his back, squeezed his eyes shut tight and sighed.  .  . sorry, man. ” Curt waved his hand to say it was all right and also to signify that the conversation was over. Abel got up and moved to Curt’s dresser. ” Abel turned to go. ” “Yeah, yeah. ” Carla was eating an orange downstairs. The orange was grown in Florida. It was picked while still green, shipped to an orange doctor who injected artificial orange-color under its lumpy skin, and then stamped it with a symbol that said it was a smiling orange.

I’ve been up for like days, man, pounding the typewriter, putting down all the things that came to mind about the last couple of years. I stuck in all the little things I wrote during the time that I wasn’t writing anything. Tales of Punon, man.  . anyway, I’m finished with it. I thought you might like to read it.  . a little. ” Curt rolled to his back, squeezed his eyes shut tight and sighed.  .  . sorry, man. ” Curt waved his hand to say it was all right and also to signify that the conversation was over.

Quack and Bob were pissing on the two ruined bike thieves. Adrenalin buzzing all through me. Tight jaws and blood-fat head. It was good. I felt tall and strong and wild and unbeatable and good good good. Before all gods and God, I repent it these some years later, (and was actually to repent it very soon) but the feeling was good. “He’s got the bike. ” I said. Indian threw a lamp against the wall. ” and our boots clattered down cement steps, into the yard. We heard Philco’s bike start as we ran down the wet street.

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