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.
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.