Suicide is tricky. For the individual, it promises an absolute end to a certain kind of temporal pain, sure — but then, just as quickly, it transfers that pain onto others. And according to its algebra, the multipliers can be huge.
The DJT era is going to be one of tremendous, radical change, a bold return to that far-flung America that existed before the counterculture, when this country was not only the greatest manufacturing and industrial power in the world, but also the producer of great art and culture.
Today, I got a congratulations text from my editor about a column that just came out in The New York Times. It was by Ross Douthat, a Novus Ordo neocon Trump Denier. I had to load it to see what he was even talking about. I didn’t write it and my name wasn’t mentioned in it — but, I discovered well enough, my ideas were.
I spoke with William S. Burroughs a few times in the final years of his life. I miss him, and recently I was shocked but happy to hear his voice again — it was coming out of the pages of Dostoyevsky.
William S. Burroughs often suggested that one’s dreams are a valuable target for the writer to plunder. But what he never said, nor made explicit, was how the dreams of others might provide a writer with direction and material. And yet it happened to him: the dream of a literary character, as it occurs inside a novel of the past, appears to have given Burroughs a massive treasure cache.