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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Gerald Yorke
Die
[Undated: circa 20 June 1932]
Dear Slippery Joe.
If I did come over to England, I should file my petition in Bankruptcy, attributing my failure to your negligence, and to your cowardly and dishonourable conduct.
I should attribute it so loud, and so long, and in such detail backed with so many documents, that even the furthest Patagonians would get a kick out of it—and you a whole lot (if you'll excuse the jest!)
In any case I've got a rod in pickle. That reminds me, I went through your record the other day. You might do the same with advantage. What annoys me is that you show no progress—you haven't cured one single fault. I have really nothing to add to what I wrote then; and I fancy that that will prove to be the general opinion. Well, we shall see.
Of course the fault may be mine for being too gentle. So thinking, I have referred the matter to another adept with a reputation for never making that particular error.
I don't think you need trouble yourself to travel to the Yellow Sea to discover the meaning of Typhoon.
Incidentally if Bill [Bertha Busch] continues to find London uncomfortable, I shall instruct some Chinese in the art of using Chicken-Liver in Risotto. I wish you were here now!
Aleister Crowley.
P.S. If you had any brains, you would find sufficient time to enable you to get the exact shade of meaning in every sentence of this letter.
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[Friday] 2 a.m.