"The world network of junkies, tuned on a cord of rancid jissom, tying up in furnished rooms, shivering in the junk-sick morning. Old Pete men suck the black smoke in the Chink laundry back room and Melancholy Baby dies from an overdose or cold turkey withdrawal of breath. In Yemen, paris, new oreleans, mexico city and Istanbul--shivering under the air hammers and the steam shovels, shrieked junky curses at one another neither of us heard, and the Man leaned out of a passing steam roller and I copped in a bucket of tar." *excerpt from "The Naked Lunch" by william s burroughs (by far my favorite prose writer - though often i feel his work is closer to poetry)
Posted on: Fri, 27 Sep 2013 12:35:59 +0000
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