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Love or hate him, venerate or revile him, the life and work of William Seward Burroughs continues to inspire and intrigue. In addition to The Work, since his death in 1997 we have seen further biographies, celebrations, collections of letters, and critical studies, as well as restored and even previously unpublished texts. New discoveries, examinations and re-evaluations continue as we approach the centenary of his birth next year in 2014.
Burroughs. Nuff Said.
You and me
we’re in this together now
or maybe it’s just me
although i might be
elsewhere.
Taking the day off today – had work at the weekend, I have a headache and a few things to take care of. Creativity and blogging is so not on the agenda. Will try and come up with some meaty stuff for all you lovely lovely people for the rest of the week.
I love how, whilst tapping to back button, my phone’s browser inevitably declares, in quite dramatic fashion, End Of History.
On Friday 5th and Saturday 6th April I'll join the art group aas on a two day dérive of London.
Throughout the two days we'll traverse the city according to intuition, on foot and on public transport. Found objects, sound recordings, photos and video will be collected, analysed and used to inform the route we take. Some kind of documentation may be made available after the end of the dérive.
go. read. now. rock.
I don’t think she looked around in a while. When I walked in I couldn’t help notice several of the pictures on the walls were cockeyed. Not level. One in the living room-that seventies looking Buddha thing she got at the schlock market in Taos several years back, when she was honored with her lifetime achievement award. Another in the bedroom- that cheesy Monet she loved so much, mounted on that weird mirrored background.
by Jon Ware
Sure, your teeth are falling out. No, by God, your teeth can’t be falling out, and to convince yourself of that you research the matter in-depth online, forcing yourself to spend hours staring closely at thirteen or fourteen pages of assembled photographs of truly revolting sets of teeth (necrotic reddish-purple flesh parted on both sides, the brown jagged roots fully exposed, blood and pus simpering up from the insides) arranged by relevancy on your most trusted search engine, and dashing back to the mirror to confirm that those teeth are not your teeth, that there is, sure, a triangle of visible bone forming at the base of two of your four lower incisors and the lower gum itself, once you peel back your lip until it hurts (why didn’t you think to try it before?) is monstrous, tendons and hanging lines of raw-steak matter and the hard spinal ridge of white beneath that you don’t want to have to be able to notice.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 13, 2013 - Swedish Sámiland.
My first memory in life is that I knew I would be a shaman. I was four years old and I had never heard the word.
His grandfather was a healer, but when Jungle Svonni began exploring his Sámi heritage, he realized to his sorrow that Sámi shamanism and traditional medicine had been virtually wiped out.
more spiritual dissonance from the junglist shaman
