William S. Burroughs was born on this day one hundred and two years ago.
I was sick as a dog last night, and I only got two or three hours' sleep late this morning. Then I felt a little better. I had a shower, and now I'm feeling worse again. I'm resisting the urge to lie down again. I'm tired of lying down. I'm hoping, though, that I'm through the worst of the withdrawal.
I managed to spend a couple of hours at the Hay yesterday, proofreading for Mythos Tales. I made it through "Love is Forbidden, We Croak and Howl," "The Peddler's Tale, or Isobel's Revenge," and "The Cats of River Street (1925)." Beforehand, we dropped by Paper Nautilus again, to pick up two books I'd waffled on during Monday's visit, book club hardbacks of Dune (1965) and Edgar Rice Burroughs' (the other Burroughs) The Gods of Mars/The Warlord of Mars (1971).
I have a couple of photos from this afternoon, gazing out the window at the frozen world:
I'm really loving Daughter's new album. Good stuff from 4AD. As Spooky said, "shimmery guitar." It's all a bit shoegazy, with Elena Tonra's haunting vocals.
That's all for now.