My Education: A Book of Dreams

My Education: A Book of Dreams

Language: English

Pages: 224

ISBN: 0140094547

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


With My Education: A Book of Dreams William S. Burroughs pushes on into new territory, once again committing the unspeakable crime of questioning the reality structure. Dreams have always been a rich source of imagery in Burroughs' work. In this book they are a direct and powerful force. Hundreds of dreams - intense, vivid, visionary - form the spiraling core of a unique and haunting journey into perception. Exploring and embodying Burroughs' provocative ideas on writing, painting, consciousness and creativity, My Education is profoundly personal, and may be as close to a memoir as we will see.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

simply collapse in ed. I mean bed, of course … come to think of it, never had a lover named Ed. This is not some superattenuated, arcane, exclusive depression known only to the chosen and distinguished few. It is a realization of the raw horror of the human position at this point. Most people, of course, say: “Well, things past remedy should be past thought,” and go about their stupid everyday concerns. Now what gives rise to the most dead hopeless depression? Withdrawal from opiates. I have

occupied every place.” A sword with a clock in the side. A nudist party. (Vivarium floats in hiatus. Beautiful snake, very venomous. It looks deadly, a dazzling, shiny white with brilliant red spots.) I climb to the top floor of a vast warehouse by iron stairs and ramps, a big bare room with windows I can look five hundred feet down. I have come here, of course, to soar down. Need something to break out a window. An iron bar or perhaps a barstool—like the man who broke a glass door in the

happening here? Obviously the dreamer is helpless, in the possession of any totally hostile invader. Is there something in bed with me? Indeed there is—recall that a common hallucination of sensory deprivation is the feeling of another body sprawled through one’s own. Wake from the nightmare in a strange room. Out the window I can see people walking by a river. A chair catches my attention. Where have I seen such a chair? The chair is the key here. The heavy uncomfortable chair. Good only to hit

but there is no image, nothing. One searches desperately for some face, some tree, some house, and there is nothing.) Walking along a raised sidewalk, I open a door that leads into a private apartment, trying to find my way through to the corridor beyond, which is a public thoroughfare. Having dinner with L. Ron Hubbard. One has to walk up a steep stairway to the dining area. He is wearing a double-breasted vest and wide mauve tie. He is very composed and decorous. I have a dental appointment

Directors. Someone didn’t want me to see who was in his room. Pick up what looks like an unfinished weapon. A tube with cylinder attached at one end. Now, when I was four or five years old, I had a little gold knife and I used to suck it for the steel taste. Folded, of course—the puckering, steely taste. Ended up swallowing the knife—but let that pass (as it did, three days later.) Well, in any case, this metal taste in the mouth was the first sign of the disease. The Metal Sickness, or the

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