And that must end us; that must be our cure,
To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of sense and motion?
Another post in ‘classics’ category. Trivia: in 1973 Bowie met Burroughs . On another note, this song may remind us of hardly appreciated role of monsters in our culture. With fear and with excitement, however, we cherish good monsters like good wine. They are born of our thoughts, they fed on our angsts and under our eyes they grow to be popular spieces, so vivid and full of life. They are our unloved children, a look in a broken mirror and as you see it takes Bowie to make a serious tribute. With all due respect to Kubrick we don’t need to think so literally in art, as to focus on humans as humans like he did in the Shining. We can always use some monsters as humans or humans’ problems, at least zombies, in a good ol’ George-Romero-night-of-the-living-dead way.
the smell is of old wood, of remote wings empty all this time just reopened to accommodate the rush of souls, of cold plaster where all the rats have died, only their ghosts, still as cave-painting, fixed stubborn and luminous in the walls . . .
‘who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer
a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell
off the bed, and continued along the floor and down
the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision
of ultimate cunt and some eluding the last gyzym of