To Write Like Burroughs
I was drinking alone when the tipsy impudent couple across from me asked me what I was reading.
"The Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs" I said. "He was a repressed homosexual junkie who shot his wife dead by accident"
I thought the best way of explaining the work was like was to leave her to read the Hassan's Rumpus Room Chapter while I went for a cigarette. "You will never speak to me again now".
I smoked my cigarette and wondered how all the alien human anal sex while hanging, rubber dildoes up asses stuff would go down, jism spurting from the page into her bespectacled eyes, as I looked at another girl who was never going to talk to me.
She wasn't shocked, she thought it was all a bit forced. I diasagreed, I thought it was natural as hell, Ballard's Crash, now that is what I call forced and overwritten. I envy the flow of Burroughs words, little though my life will ever be like his.
I wish I could convey that kind of utter liquid, gooey force so effortlessly.
"The Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs" I said. "He was a repressed homosexual junkie who shot his wife dead by accident"
I thought the best way of explaining the work was like was to leave her to read the Hassan's Rumpus Room Chapter while I went for a cigarette. "You will never speak to me again now".
I smoked my cigarette and wondered how all the alien human anal sex while hanging, rubber dildoes up asses stuff would go down, jism spurting from the page into her bespectacled eyes, as I looked at another girl who was never going to talk to me.
She wasn't shocked, she thought it was all a bit forced. I diasagreed, I thought it was natural as hell, Ballard's Crash, now that is what I call forced and overwritten. I envy the flow of Burroughs words, little though my life will ever be like his.
I wish I could convey that kind of utter liquid, gooey force so effortlessly.