Published by Booklegger / Albion (Bill Butler), Brighton, UK, 1973. Tall 8vo ( 215x130mm ) in original blue decorated card covers, stapled as issued. 32 pages. Some minor scattered soiling and discoloration to cover and edges and some general edgewear else clean and overall an almost very good copy
Old Angel Midnight was first published in the suppressed 1959 issue of the Chicago magazine Big Table. Here offered is the First edition in bookform – a very scarce publication pirately produced in Brighton
The publisher Bill Butler, american expatriate author (As Hassan Sabbah, he wrote Leaves of Grass: the Hash Cookbook) had relocated to UK and ran the Unicorn Bookshop at No 50 Gloucester Road (on the corner with Frederick Street). You can read more about him here: https://www.northlainehistory.me.uk/billbutler.html
“Old Angel Midnight” was Kerouac venture into James Joyce Finnegans Wake country:
Excerpt: “Boy, says Old Angel, this amazing nonsensical rave of yours wherein I spose you’d think you’d in some lighter time find hand be-almin ya for the likes of what ya devote yaself to, pah — bum with a tail only means one thing, — They know that in sauerkraut bars, god the chew chew & wall lips-And not only that but all them in describable paradises aye — ah — Angel m boy-Jack, the born with a tail bit is a deal that you never dream’d to redeem — verify — try to see as straight-you wont believe even in God but the devil worries you-you & Mrs Tourian — great gaz-zuz & I’d as lief be scoured with a leaf rust as hear this poetizin horseshit everywhere I want to hear the sounds thru the window you promised me when the Midnight bell on 7th St did toll bing bong & Burroughs and Ginsberg were asleep & you lay on the couch in that timeless moment in the little red bulblight bus & saw drapes of eternity parting for your hand to begin & so’s you could affect-and eeffect — the total turningabout & deep revival of world robeflowing literature till it shd be something a man’d put his eyes on & continually read for the sake of reading & for the sake of the Tongue & not just these insipid stories writ in insipid aridities & paranoias bloomin & why yet the image-let’s hear the Sound of the Universe, son, & no more part twaddle-And dont expect nothing from me, my middle name is Opprobrium, Old Angel Midnight Opprobrium, boy, ..”.