Orpheus Descending

This guy here knows how to set a ‘BOOM’ on every page. "Still Life With Woodpecker" is a pyrotechnical masterpiece that will surely blow anybody’s brains off.  its politically, sexually and romatically charged . Tom Robbins.    T-O-M      R-O-B-B-I-N-S

The blurb reads: is a sort of love story that takes place inside a pack of Camel cigarettes. It reveals the purpose of the moon, explains the difference between criminals and outlaws, examines the conflict between social activism and romantic individualism, and paint a portrait of contemporary society that includes powerful Arabs, exiled royalty and pregnant cheerleaders. It also deals with the problem of redheads.

Thanks to Mira for recommending me this genius. havent done reading this "yet" . . . just a little peek on the pages to know the runnings of this man’s head:

“Now, tequila may be the favorite beverage of outlaws. But that doesn’t mean it gives them preferential treatment. In fact, tequila probably had betrayed as many outlaws as has the central nervous system and dissatisfied wives. Tequila, scorpion honey, harsh dew of the doglands, essence of Aztec, crema de cacti, Tequila, oily and thermal like the sun in solution; Tequila, liquid geometry of passion; Tequila, the buzzard god who copulates in midair with the ascending souls of dying virgins; Tequila, firebug in the house of good taste; o Tequila, savage water of sorcery, what confusion and mischief your sly, rebellious drops do generate.”

“I’m an outlaw, not a hero. I never intended to rescue you. We’re our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.”

“There followed an embarrassed silence, tense and awkward, broken finally with a snap by the Woodpecker’s abrupt plunging of his hand into his jeans. Patterning his gesture after the successful Jack Horner, he pulled out a single hair and held it aloft. It glowed like copper filament. “Can you match that?” he challenged.

Okay, buster. Okay okay okay okay okay okay. Beneath the table, beneath a map of Hawaii with extraneous atolls, she submarined a hand into the depths of her skirt and slid it along the flat of her thigh. It winnowed into her panties. She yanked. Ouch! Damn it! She yanked again. And presto, there it was, curly and stiff, and as red as a thread from a socialist banner.

“What do you think of that?” she asked brightly. Then she noticed that from the tip of the hair there hung, like a tadpole’s balloon, a tiny telltale bead of fishy moisture. Oh sweet Jesus, no! she released her grip on the crumpled toilet paper. It fluttered to the deck like a stricken dove. Here face heated as crimson as the hair, and then some. She could have died.

“What do I think of that?” The Woodpecker’s voice was very very gentle. “I think it could make the world a better place”. “