William Burroughs

William Burroughs Biography

William Seward Burroughs II (pron.: /ˈbʌroʊz/; also known by his pen name William Lee; was an American novelist, short story writer, essayist, painter, and spoken word performer. A primary figure of the Beat Generation and a major postmodernist author, he is considered to be "one of the most politically trenchant, culturally influential, and innova ...

William Burroughs Quotes

11 November 2014

Which came first the intestine or the tapeworm?

11 November 2014

There is the pleasurable orgasm, like a rising sales graph, and there is the unpleasurable orgasm, slumping ominously like the Dow Jones in 1929.

11 November 2014

Most of the trouble in this world has been caused by folks who can't mind their own business, because they have no business of their own to mind, any more than a smallpox virus has.

11 November 2014

In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality.

11 November 2014

Truth is used to vitalize a statement rather than devitalize it. Truth implies more than a simple statement of fact. "I don't have any whisky," may be a fact but it is not a truth.

William Burroughs Comments

E Babb 29 December 2018

Mr. Burroughs' poetry reminds me of John Milton's poetry. It's NOT at all in the meaning of the words. It is in his use of the music of language: the way consonants act as delimiters of vowel sounds, the way tempo varies (different from the concept of 'feet') , the way I feel the changes in volume when reading the poems aloud to myself.

1 0 Reply

The Best Poem Of William Burroughs

Where Flesh Circulates

Its so hard to remember in the world - - Weren't you there? Dead so you

think of ports - - Couldn't reach flesh - - Might have to reach flesh from

anybody - -

And i will depart under the Red Masters

for strange dawn words of color exalting their

falling on my face impending attack satellite in a

Gold and perfumes of light city red stone

shadows brick terminal time wet dream flesh creakily the

the last feeble faces fountains play stale

spit from crumpled cloth Weimar youths on my face

bodies where flesh circulates Masters of color

exalting their dogs impending attack of light

unaware of the vagrant shadows on the Glass and Metal Streets

silver flying scanning patterns electric dogs

dark street life "Here he is now" staring out

from the dawn he strode toward the flesh jissom webs drifting

where identity scarred metal faces masturbating

"Who him?" spitting blood laugh on the iron afternoons

ejaculates wet dream flesh in red brick Terminal Time

red nitrous fumes under the orange gas flares

grey metal fall out on terminal cities

to the shrinking sky fading color sewage delta

caught in this dead whistle stop post card sky

dead rainbow flesh and copper pagodas flickered on the

in a city of red stone black skin work fish smell and

dead eyes in doorways red water words spitting blood laugh

sharp as water reeds fish syllables

stirring this Moroccan sunlight vagrant noon station

spent in the mirror dawn jissom webs drifting rainbow

speeded up from afternoon's slow ferris wheel flesh.

William Burroughs Popularity

William Burroughs Popularity

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