February 5, 2014 | by George Mürer
Meeting William Burroughs on his eightieth birthday.
I have this fairy godmother, a childhood friend of my mother’s who lives in Lawrence, Kansas. My mother and I call her up several times a year and she’s always turning me onto cool stuff. One day, when I was a senior in high school, it occurred to me to ask her,
“Do you know William S. Burroughs?”
I should emphasize that this moment came at the feverish height of a blind obsession I had with William Burroughs and everything Burroughs related.
“You’re friends with him?”
“Well, we certainly know each other. He’s one of our local characters.”
“Do you see a lot of him?”
“I see him all the time, but mostly in the cat-food aisle of the supermarket.”
I went straight to my mother and demanded that we visit my godmother at the earliest opportunity. That summer, after I’d graduated high school and had had my wisdom teeth out, we went to Kansas. Read More »