“I awoke surrounded by my precious children,” AHS: Apocalypse
So did I, except ’twas three cats. The writing in the wall says that Little Lilith is preggers. I’m already picking out names. Miracula? Fangtasia? Lil’ Werewolf? I hope she doesn’t have more then that. A twincest dynasty.
William S. Burroughs wrote a book about his cats once the sex and drugs were done with. Out in the Kansas desert. I see the parallel. I must write a book about my cats now, in tribute. He would have liked Nevada, similar ethos. The cat and the state.
I go to Burroughs Wikipedia entry to find out the name of his cat book. The Cat Inside, was a minor work. His last. There is much juicy stuff in here. Much I did not know. Am delighted by.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_S._Burroughs
My 8th grade English teacher, Mr. Atwood. Former member of the Weather underground. Early mentor. Gave us an ambiguous lecture about Naked Lunch. Introducing me me to the artist. Opening a world.
A pen pal I had in my teens worked in a bookstore. Sent me free Burroughs novels on the sly, Queer, Junkie, Interzone, In the Cities of the Red Night. I don’t remember the fellow’s name, but I am thankful.
Naked Lunch was taught to me again at CalArts. No one knew what to do with it except me. A long time devotee. I wrote a formal academic essay using some of his techniques. Began the first semester of my first year with a bang(er).
CalArts left out Burrough’s occultism. Today I learned of it. He cursed a Coffee Bar at one point. I cursed the local CVS. So can relate.
Who knew we’d have so much in common? Why he was influential to my own work. Reading the literary genealogy of who he influenced and publlished, Jean Genet, William Gibson, Kathy Acher. I see we are of the same thread. The throughlines of certain ideas and techniques.
Discussed in The Dustbin of History by Greil Marcus. Linking Dada to the Sex Pistols. I read it on the porch of a punk house called the Dustbin.
Musicians we shared on opposite ends. Patti Smith, Kurt Cobain, Tom Waits, Laurie Anderson. Immeditely I think sex. The generation. Then genealogy. Innappropriate.
The incest my cats are doing is triggering. Disturbing. Do you think I want to look at the end of my bed and see relatives fucking? Yikes. I shoo them away.
“Get a room, this house has others. You have choices. I know I can’t stop you, but I don’t want to watch.”
The best I can do is welcome the children. Be happy for another free kitten or three. Give them good lives as I did their Godmother. Nevada Jacobson-Lambert. My domestic partner and I adopted her together. Katie chose the name.
Cats who fuck the pain away. Creatives who pass down ideas over generations. Literary genealogy.
Patti Smith, William S, Burroughs and I having a threesome adjusted to the same age? My head will explode. These poeple are gods to me.
“Because even gods, have appetites,” AHS: Hotel
Andrea Lambert 