Well, wee ones, I'm currently in the middle of a William S. Burroughs-related project on the meatplane and I've decided to rest my poor wrists and eyes and brains by staring at a computer screen, typing overlong sentences as usual, and listening to William S. Burroughs! This is another Burroughs joint populated by many other disparate musicians and personalities I'd otherwise generally ignore, from John Cale to Donald Fagen to Sonic Youth, but all sense of taste and decorum must be set aside when Uncle Bill is in the room; it'll all seem like a horrible prophetic dream once it's over anyway.Present here is the standard Burroughsian subject matter: priapic lizard men, colorful sticky fluids, drugs from dark parallel universes, catholic symbolism profaned, nonsense syllables strung together in ululant mantras, cheap suits made threadbare from sleeping fitfully, cold war nihilism, etc. The usual, as we call it in the Swamp.
Splat!
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