One Sunday Morning Early.

November 9, 2008 at 10:00 am | Posted in blogging, writing | 25 Comments
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Rain. Old men like to demonstrate their age by discussing the weather, especially among coastal people like us. Back when respecting your elders wasn’t a moral imperative but an important lesson to learn if you wanted to live long enough to become one yourself. He scratched the back of his hand and looked out over the still flat bay blurred by sheets of silver and grey.

William Seward Burroughs has become a much neglected writer, mostly because we have been living in an age of thinly disguised high morality and manners. Not a noble one but one driven by merchants and usurers, politeness to maintain calm whilst they gently thieve. No such thing as an articulate working class son. He had an idea that language works as a kind of virus, secretly transmitting some dangerous knowledge. Being who he was he dressed this idea up in a kind of Goya-esque disguise.

I’m tired. My friend Andrew, whom I have known for over twenty years visited yesterday. We drank some beer and talked about football. I asked him, Andrew, imagine there’s a group of people all over the world who have some interest not so much in what I say but in how I say it, what would you want to tell them as my oldest living friend? He said, “Thankyou for giving Squires a safe place to play while we get on with trying to save the planet.”Andrew.

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