Friday, October 10, 2008

"The dream was gone."

I just finished rereading William S. Burroughs Junky.

Like it always happens when revisiting a book, the experience I got from it was completely new than the last time.

With the rumors flying that the kids down the street are developing facial scabs from their crackhead itches, the junky theme hits different than the time before.

Not worse, not closer, just different.

The last page is detailing the need to find that final fix. One that expands the mind instead of compressing it.

Drugs, of course, are the answer. I am sure this is something I will hear again and often.

I wonder what my final fix will be.
"Kick is momentary freedom from the claims of the aging, cautious, nagging, frightened flesh."
What will be my kick?

I'm quite certain it won't come grown from the ground, in the form of a pill, or out of a shared needle.

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