William Burroughs

I had just read The Western Lands, brilliant, his greatest  novel.  His 80^th birthday party was held at the Limelight, a recently opened club in what was formerly a church. 

The Limelight  was the epitome of the decadent, swinging Manhattan of  the early 80s.  The stained glass windows were in tact;  the massive organ pipes painted  and lit in strong, vibrant colours.   Allen Ginsberg sat at our table; later I was introduced to Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe, whom I would get to know better, later. 

I needed to go the loo, which was on a scaffolding high up in the club.  As I entered the toilet, Burroughs came out, buttoning up  the fly of his trousers.

Only he and I up there.  No one else.

So what does one say, could I say?

“Hallo”, I mustered.

“Hallo”, he answered.

A few days later I flew to Los Angeles  and was invited to Timothy Leary’s  house, who was giving a party to honour Burroughs 80^th birthday.   Leary was a charming host.  I had met him in the 70s, in Afghanistan, whilst he was on the run from the FBI.  Lauren Hutton and another model, who I now cant recall were sitting on the floor, smoking a joint. Barbara Leary took Nathalie and myself into the kitchen and brought out some hash cookies from the fridge. 

The evening progressed, but there was no Burroughs.   “He is probably having difficulty finding a vein’, Barbara quipped. 

Nathalie’s toothache was bothering her and she wanted to go home.

We opened the door and one of those strong winds blew up the valley into the Beverley Hills.   And there he was, as if being blasted by the wind, surrounded by about six  young men, in billowing flamboyant clothes.   A modern version of Satyricon. 

I let Nathalie go home alone and stayed.

For what  happened after that you will have to wait for my memoirs.

Libya

Tony Blair called Gaddafi brilliant, a great leader + said that Britain should be proud to have him as a friend.

Salome

I had always thought that Salome’s dance, dropping one veil after another, is about revealing more + more of herself.  Recently I reconsidered that in fact she is actually exposing herself with each sequence to a greater version of [what may be the same] Truth. 

Hua Kola

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ib3NvsWFYlw&feature=related


1989:   We built a tepee, the dark womb,  with willow branches. leaving tobacco in exchange.   We collect  dry twigs for kindling. The Inipi starts at sunset.  Rocks, each energized, first by the sun, now by fire, are passed through the east-facing entrance into the centre pit.  Hua Kola.  Red Crow chants and passes the pipe, the smoke the breath that carries our prayers to the Great Spirit. This is the beginning of Life, the violent copulation between Fire and Earth.  It is agony, the heat unbearable. I dig my body  into the inner loins of the hot mud to seek cool refuge.  Thank you sun, moon, seasons, plants, birds, insects,  ancestors.  We are joined by everyone and everything that has gone before.  We fall out of the womb into the entrails of the morning star.  The spirits rejoice, with us, within us, around us.

Manifesto by the youth in Gaza

Fuck Hamas. Fuck Israel. Fuck Fatah. Fuck UN. Fuck UNWRA. Fuck USA! We, the youth in Gaza, are so fed up with Israel, Hamas, the occupation, the violations of human rights and the indifference of the international community!

"We want to scream and break this wall of silence, injustice and indifference like the Israeli F16s breaking the wall of sound; scream with all the power in our souls in order to release this immense frustration that consumes us because of this fucking situation we live in...

"We are sick of being caught in this political struggle; sick of coal-dark nights with airplanes circling above our homes; sick of innocent farmers getting shot in the buffer zone because they are taking care of their lands; sick of bearded guys walking around with their guns abusing their power, beating up or incarcerating young people demonstrating for what they believe in; sick of the wall of shame that separates us from the rest of our country and keeps us imprisoned in a stamp-sized piece of land; sick of being portrayed as terrorists, home-made fanatics with explosives in our pockets and evil in our eyes; sick of the indifference we meet from the international community, the so-called experts in expressing concerns and drafting resolutions but cowards in enforcing anything they agree on; we are sick and tired of living a shitty life, being kept in jail by Israel, beaten up by Hamas and completely ignored by the rest of the world.

"There is a revolution growing inside of us, an immense dissatisfaction and frustration that will destroy us unless we find a way of canalising this energy into something that can challenge the status quo and give us some kind of hope.

"We barely survived the Operation Cast Lead, where Israel very effectively bombed the shit out of us, destroying thousands of homes and even more lives and dreams. During the war we got the unmistakable feeling that Israel wanted to erase us from the face of the Earth. During the last years, Hamas has been doing all they can to control our thoughts, behaviour and aspirations. Here in Gaza we are scared of being incarcerated, interrogated, hit, tortured, bombed, killed. We cannot move as we want, say what we want, do what we want.

"ENOUGH! Enough pain, enough tears, enough suffering, enough control, limitations, unjust justifications, terror, torture, excuses, bombings, sleepless nights, dead civilians, black memories, bleak future, heart-aching present, disturbed politics, fanatic politicians, religious bullshit, enough incarceration! WE SAY STOP! This is not the future we want! We want to be free. We want to be able to live a normal life. We want peace. Is that too much to ask?

the fool, le fou, the joker

fool1

  • noun 1 a person who acts unwisely. 2 historical a jester or clown.

• verb 1 trick or deceive. 2 (fool about/around) act in a joking or frivolous way. 3 (fool around) N. Amer. engage in casual or extramarital sexual activity.

  • adjective N. Amer. informal foolish or silly.

facebook 2

As I said Facebook belongs to the young.

Amongst the hags + hustlers who sought me out, there was some joy: Dylan + Hugo [brothers] who I knew in France.  Memories.   Before supper, they would give - sunglasses and air guitars - do a punk gig. After supper, they would get bathed + come down in flannel pajamas,  to give sloppy good night  kisses.

They are now teenagers.   Under politics + religion Dylan wrote rien à foutre'.  I don't give a fuck.

I informed them that I have resigned from facebook and asked them to e mail me.

I fear they won’t. 

As  I said they live in Facebook world, which isn't for me.