William S. Burroughs

© John ëHoppyí Hopkins, www.hoppy.be


People often ask me if I have any words of advice for young people. Well, here are a few simple admonitions for young and old.
Never interfere in a boy and girl fight.
Beware of whores who say they don’t want money. The hell they don’t. What they mean is they want more money. Much more.
If you’re doing business with a religious son of a bitch, get it in writing. His word isn’t worth shit, not with the good Lord telling him how to fuck you on the deal.
Avoid fuckups. You all know the type. Anything they have anything to do with, no matter how good it sounds, turns into a disaster.
Do not offer sympathy to the mentally ill. Tell them firmly, “I am not paid to listen to this drivel. You are a terminal fool.”
Now some of you may encounter the devil’s bargain if you get that far. Any old soul is worth saving at least to a priest, but not every soul is worth buying. So you can take the offer as a compliment. They charge the easy ones first, you know, like money, all the money there is. But who wants to be the richest guy in some cemetery? Not much to spend it on, eh, Gramps? Getting too old to cut the mustard. Have you forgotten something, Gramps? In order to feel something, you have to be there. You have to be 18. You’re not 18, you are 78. Old fool sold his soul for a strap-on.
How about an honorable bargain? “You always wanted to become a doctor. Now’s your chance. Why, you could have become a great healer and benefit humanity. What’s wrong with that?” Just about everything. There are no honorable bargains involving exchange of qualitative merchandise like souls. Just quantitative merchandise like time and money. So piss off, Satan, and don’t take me for dumber than I look. As an old junk pusher told me, “Watch whose money you pick up.”

"There is nothing more musical than a sunset."-Claude Debussy

Tonight I rode off into the sunset.

It’s true. Char and I realized we had a golden opportunity to saddle up this late afternoon and enjoy a little January thaw ride. We groomed and round-penned Izzy & Ruger Jac, then tacked up and took off. By the time we got to the other side of our driveway, Good God gave us a glorious sunset. As we turned into the big field, the colors of what I think of as apricot preserves started to transform into rose pink shades. Deep Larkspur and Delphinium purple-y blues prepared to fill the rest of the sky at twilight.

It was exquisite. A gift.

But we had to return, naturally, so at a certain point we picked our way back east. The rest of the barnyard was happy to see us return in time to serve dinner, and our ponies that served us so well were given a special treat.

Music is a mysterious mathematical process whose elements are part of Infinity. … There is nothing more musical than a sunset. He who feels what he sees will find no more beautiful example of development in all that book which, alas, musicians read but too little — the book of Nature.”

– Claude Debussy, as quoted in The Harvard Biographical Dictionary of Music (1996) by Don Michael Randel