“Old Arch” first appeared in The Beatest State In The Union: An Anthology of Beat Texas Writings, edited by Christopher Carmona, Rob Johnson, and Chuck Taylor (Lamar University Press, 2015). It appears here on RealityStudio courtesy of James Grauerholz and the William S. Burroughs Estate.

[Editor’s note: Arch Ellisor was a moonshiner and neighbor of William S. Burroughs when he lived on a 99-acre ranch in east Texas. This is the last complete story written by Burroughs, and it was composed in separate parts in the journals collected in Last Words. The editors have assembled it with the blessing of the Burroughs estate. The story was inspired by Burroughs’ 50-year-old memory of a Time magazine article about a policeman described as “a buck-toothed gunman with insolent eyes” who was killed by moonshiners in Harlan County, Kentucky (“New Grave in Harlan County,” Time, May 2, 1949).]

Two of them droved out to see old Arch Ellisor, out where the sheep dip used to be and Clem Higgins got drunker than usual, fell into the dip, got stucked and drowned. Some said his fourteen-year-old daughter he’d been screwing incestuous held him down by jumping on top of him, up and down like they was screwing — and some says it was his old lady dumped a bag of hog feed on him, you know them dips is constructed like what a bitch has between her gams.

So here they stand, in suit and tie and black shined shoes, like they sprung up outa some place real different.

And there is Old Arch sitting on his porch, a mason jar of white corn in his hand.

And they say it together:

“We work for that crazy American government,”

And Arch says:

“Howdy.”

Then they split up. One comes on fake-folksy:

“Hey, Pilgrim, how about giving me a snort of your bug juice?”

Arch passes him the jar.

He takes a swig:

“Phew!”

Goes into an act of fanning his mouth.

The other Fed is waving the Witness Protecting Action in Arch’s face:

“You don’t have to live in a shack like this. Why, you can have a nice place in town, TV, flushing toilet and $50 a month clear, free and all yours. How’s that hit you?”

And he leans forward, punches Arch — soft and playful — on his chin.

Then they both gets hands on their hips, and their eyebrows shoot up and wriggle:

“It’s the offer you can’t refuse.”

“It’s the chance extraordinary.”

And they is back smiling — “we know you” — a knowing smile:

(“He’s hooked, we got him. He is ours.”)

— as they smack their lips.

“We got a job to do, Arch.”

“Same as you.”

“Just what sorta work you do, Arch?”

“Well now, I sorta steer folks the way they wanta go. Like someone comes here wants some action, comes to Old Arch.”

Suddenly they stop the smiles, and chew up the words and spit ’em out.

“You were there.”

“You saw it.”

“Ever hear about obstructing justice?”

“We can summon you to Federal Court, and when you lie it’s a felony.”

They prance around him, jabbing fingers at him.

“Want to go into the can, Arch? Old ones like you do hard time.”

“Know what they done in Marion Pen?”

They thrust their snarling faces at him.

“They fucked a ninety-five-year-old paralyzed man up his ass.”

“He had a rectal hemorrhage.”

Arch says:

“I reckon.”

“I wouldn’t want to see that happen to you, Arch.”

He shoves his face an inch [from] Arch’s, leering, all his teeth out.

They are going manic. They grab the jar of corn and swig.

Suddenly, from nowhere, Arch manifests a fiddle. His face is shifting, animals peeking in and out — goats and cats and weasels. He is dancing, cats gather and yeowl.

“Well, some music for the road, feller say.”

“Faster faster round and round
swing your partner offen the ground
Faster faster round and round.”

The Feds is capering, leering.

“Take off your coat and throw it in a corner.”

The Feds take off their coats, showing their shoulder holster guns (which they pat and rub suggestively), drop their coats over the porch rail.

“Stay all night and stay a little longer,
Don’t see why you don’t stay a little longer.”

On the way back to town a “freak wind” blew the Fed car off the road. Both agents were “killed at the scene.”

“It was a terrible tragedy,” said Bill Rogers, spokesman for the FBI office in Pitsman, [Montana]. “They were brilliant young operatives, with a grasp on sensitive cases. It is a tragic loss to the department, and the nation.”

When Old Arch used his pipe, it could be plain panic for fake folk, because you can’t hear that sound and lie.

Is there a basic lie in being alive in a body?

Of course. But most folks don’t know that.

Jed Birmingham on William S. Burroughs Collecting

Crawdaddy
June 1975

William S. Burroughs’ “Rock Magic“

Crawdaddy
August 1975

William S. Burroughs’ “Beauty & the Bestseller”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
September 1975

William S. Burroughs’ “Ten Years and a Billion Dollars”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
October 1975

William S. Burroughs’ “‘I Cannot Tell a Lie’ Said George Washington“

Uncollected

Crawdaddy
November 1975

William S. Burroughs’ “In the Interests of National Security”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
December 1975

William S. Burroughs’ “Fore!”

Collected in Cities of the Red Night

Crawdaddy
January 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “The Fall of Art”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
February 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “The Limits of Control“

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
March 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “Consider the economics of junk…”

Uncollected

Crawdaddy
April 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “As a columnist I sometimes raid other columnists for ideas…“

Uncollected

Crawdaddy
May 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “The Mayan codices are undoubtedly books of the dead…”

Uncollected

Crawdaddy
June 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “Sexual Conditioning”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
July 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “The Great Glut”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
August 1976

William S. Burroughs Jr’s “In a dream of wowing sirens was just another night of doom…”

Uncollected

Crawdaddy
September 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “ln a recent column on the so-called drug problem…“

Uncollected

Crawdaddy
October 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “Last summer in Boulder I was talking to Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche…”

Uncollected

Crawdaddy
November 1976

William S. Burroughs’ “A significant milestone in the Hollywood scenario was the advent of the Talkies…”

Collected in Canyon Cinema Catalog #5

Crawdaddy
January 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “It Belongs to the Cucumbers”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
February 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “Les Voleurs”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
March 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “Roosevelt After Inauguration: A New Introduction”

Collected in Roosevelt After Inauguration

Crawdaddy
April 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “Prologue”

Collected in Junky

Crawdaddy
May 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “Go out and take your own pictures…“
Overlaps with material in the “Films” section of The Third Mind

Crawdaddy
June 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “We Are Coordinated the Guard Is Manifold”

Collected in Cities of the Red Night

Crawdaddy
July 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “Now B.J. you are asking me to tell vou in one sentence what this film is about?”

Uncollected

Crawdaddy
August 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “The Last Junky”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
September 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “God’s Own Medicine”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
October 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “On the Road to Naked Lunch“

Collected in The Adding Machine

Crawdaddy
November 1977

William S. Burroughs’ “A Word to the Wise Guy”

Collected in The Adding Machine

Jed Birmingham on William S. Burroughs Collecting

L’Internationale Hallucinex (Maynard & Miles B 56) was published in 1970 by Soleil Noir in Paris. A box containing eight pamphlets, a French translation of William Burroughs “Invisible Generation” in the section titled “Manifestes de la Génération Grise et Invisible.” The pamphlet also contains Claude Pélieu, “3 Manifestes de la Génération Grise & Invisible,” and Carl Weissner, “Derniers Spasmes dans le Haut-Parleur Génétique.”

Download Manifestes de la Génération Grise et Invisible

Jed Birmingham on William S. Burroughs Collecting

For more on Cleft, see Jed Birmingham’s essay on Burroughs and Scotland.

Cleft 1
1963

Contains William S. Burroughs’ “Martin’s Folly”

Download entire issue

Cleft 2
1964

Contains William S. Burroughs’ “Distant Hand Lifted”

Download entire issue

attic room and window my ice skates on the wall
the Priest could see the bathroom pale yellow wood panels
toilet young legs shiny black leg hairs
“It is my legs señor.”
lustre of stumps rinses his lavender horizen
feeling the boy groan and what it meant
face of a lousy kid on the doctor’s table
I was the shadow of the waxing evening and strange window panes.
I was the smudge and whine of missed times in the reflected sky
points of polluted water under his lavender horizen window pane
smudge scrawled by some boy cold lost marbles in the room
the doctor’s shabby table…his face…
boy skin spreads to something else.
“CHRIST WHAT’S INSIDE?”  HE screams
flesh and bones rose tornado
“THAT HURTS”
I was the smudge and whine of shinny back leg hairs
silver paper in the wind frayed sounds of distant city.

William Burroughs, Untitled text on Guy Harloff, Exhibition Catalogue, Paris, December 1961. (Note: This same text was published in Bizarre magazine in 1963.)

Painting is a silent language of juxtaposition, is a form of writing — In the painting of Harloff isolated words used as objects remind the observer: words are objects shifting connotation as they are moved through a matrix of neon symbols that characterize the color world of Harloff. There is another world of black and white in Harloff’s recent work that evokes the blending of objects in three dimensional frames achieved in a successful photo collage. Placed against wall or window or curtain forms a composition that is say a statement — (Harloff in fact has used the collage form in his early early work then passed beyond the limitations imposed by solid three dimensional objects — ) Harloff’s painting will continue to develope [sic] revealing like a negative a view or map of “reality” which must be painted or photographed before it is seen.

Nanos Valaoritis, Untitled text on Guy Harloff, Exhibition Catalogue, Paris, December 1961.

L’oeuvre de Guy Harloff peut être comparée à une série de cris emblématiques, ces cris de faits divers rarement entendus de la rue, exclamations de bonheur, de colère, d’extase, de révolte, de misère, émanations-détonations d’émotions, illustrés, comme pour apprendre aux enfants à dire et à lire, c’est-à-dire à un adulte à vivre, un rebus d’images indicatives, de médaillons explicatifs. Ce côté didactique n’est pas seulement un paradigme pour autrui, mais aussie une autodiagnose continuelle, ce sont des mandalas obsessives, méthodiques, désespérées, hallucinantes et voice que le délire approche, un délire symbolique, le tout monté en couleurs d’une gaîté factice de fête foraine, de Paris “by night,” place Blanche, boulevard Clichy, clins d’oeils, strip-tease, nus, sex, bagarres, abandons ineffables d’une nuit de caresses, érotisme à couteaux tirés sous menace d’être égorgé d’une minute à l’autre. Ensuite, sa Majesté-le-Coeur se lève, éclairé par une bougie — et les soleils mystiques avec leurs flammèches toujours différentes, aux alentours — cercles vicieux, prisons, prismes et triangles, qui deviennent les astres libérateurs du grand destin universel. Enfin, voilà le Coeur-Soleil en personne, baigné dans un vert d’eau-de-mer transparente, avec son oeil vigilant, surmonté d’un autre oeil beaucoup plus petit, entouré de feuilles vivaces et souligné par le toujours inexplicable centimètre. Je dis que le délire approche, attention, sous forme de lettres abracadabrantes, de mots lancés en toute direction et dans toutes les langues, connues et inconnues, comme des allumettes allumées par les grands froids pour se réchauffer les ongles, des lettres en arabe, en grec, en hébreu, en latin, qui tournent en rond — c’est la tour de Babel savante du Samedi soir des inconnus, en tenue de ville, célibataires célèbres en quête de noces — mais qui célèbre-t-on? Est-ce la fête de quelqu’un? Il existe des prisonniers qui écrivent et qui dessinent sur les murs de leur prison, il existe des mains qui font des signes furtifs sur les murs de la nuit, des mains clandestines, qui, pour se libérer de leur secret, vice our certitude, crient leur menace de mort ou leur promesse de vie d’oixeaux nocturnes, il existe aussi des peintres penchés sur leur table de travail, rues Gît-le-Coeur et Mouffetard, qui, avec acharnement, avec persistence et avec obstination, tracent leurs lettres d’amour et d’amertume, sous forme d’exorcismes et d’avertissements envers eux-mêmes, pour apaiser leur sort, pour exciter leur rage de quelque chose d’autre et pour démentir leur angoisse envahissante du lendemain. Vivre, oui, mais comment, à quelle heure, de quelle façon, avec cqui, avec quoi et pourquoi — ici, ou ailleurs, où les hommes sont meilleurs et les femmes innocentes encore, s’offrent toutes seules, comme dans le temps du Vieux Noé, avant l’alphabet, mais après le déluge, après le cataclysme et la confusion des langues et la dispersion des peuples sur la terre.

Guy Harloff, Exhibition Catalogue
Galerie “La Cour d’Ingres”
1961

Nanos Valaoritis and William Burroughs textsGuy Harloff, Exhibition Catalogue
Galerie “La Cour d’Ingres”
1961

Guy Harloff, Exhibition Catalogue
Galerie “La Cour d’Ingres”
1961

William Burroughs, “Paris 1960” (Untitled Text from Takis Catalogue), Howard Wise Gallery, New York, 1967

Song cut along typographical magnetic lines from Anibasis St. John Perse Illuminations Rimbaud “say only this should have been obvious from her fourth grade junk class”: song for her your heart the red night jargon muffles. Double sex sad as the drenched lands. At the service of second thigh and that time of the assassins. Marching and roused the pure principle of violence dictated out gently. On the threshold of a great turn in their accounts. Wounds of yellow wind. Lust of the soul. Smoke of dreams in new body. Crystal arms in corridors of black gauze. Have told noone [sic] to wait. Banner of raw meat against the hum of seashells and the eaves. Came such a one. Have not sniffed such a stranger. Far shudder of space shaking old flames. INvisible and insistent dream. Who talks of frost bill? Still heard. Still felt. (Nor weak the friend.) Weary of a great bird on my face. Painted eats in that belly where sleeps the drum. Spice and death of monkeys gently moving: exploitations. This is theft leg. Betraying the least sober soul orders. Lets go a great pestilence of night. “I hate you all” fashions. Stale smell of morning from the old assassins. : “Pas de commission.” Pure song of new before the travellors. [sic] Scarlet burst in the flesh. Our bones clothed the dead powder of earth. Land more chaste than whistlings of death and circle. They who at birth laid bitter fruit in out hands what have they to do with us. (Her is a woodencoal [sic] angel carved by Raimondos)

Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

William Burroughs
Untitled Text Dated “Paris 1960”
Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Takis
Double Signal
Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Nicolas Callas
“Takis’ Magnetic Nowhere”
Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Takis
Magnetic Nowhere
Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Gregory Corso
“Purple Subway Ride”
Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Takis
Magnetic Needles
Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Allen Ginsberg
Untitled Text Dated “Bombay Apr 22, [19]62”
Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Takis
Quavering Mobile
Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

Takis, Magnetic Sculpture, exhibition catalogue
Galerie Stadler
1967

William S. Burroughs, Untitled Cut-Up in David Budd rencontre William Burroughs et Earle Brown chez Rodolphe Stadler exhibition catalogue.

A SILENT SUNDAY TO THE POST OUR FLAT AT HALF MAST AGAINST TALL BLACK WINDOWS OF THE DORMITORY. / ‘I WILL SING FOR YOU AND I HAVE MAYBE UNDRESSED THERE AND I AM FACE WHERE TIME HAS NEVER WRITTEN’ / A DISTANT VOICE SO PAINFUL TO SCAN OUT / ‘ENEMY INTERCEPTED SEPTEMBER 17, 1899 OVER NEW YORK.’ KLINKER ID DEAD. I KNEW HIM. HAD NO LUCK.

LAST GLIMPSE OF A SAD TOY ARM PAID ALL OUR STRENGTH CLICK OF DISTANT HEELS OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY… “REMEMBER LASTER GUNS ‘WASHING’ FROM HIS STUMP OF AN ARM THE WHOLE SKY BURNING THIS SAD STRANGER NEVER CALLED RETREAT, MISTER.”

WASN’T ANYTHING TO SAY. “MR. BRADLY MR. MARTIN” STOOD THERE ON DEAD STARS HEAVY WITH HIS DUSTY ANSWER DREW: ‘SEPTEMBER 17, 1899’ OVER NEW YORK THAT MORNING GIVING YOU MY TOY SOLDIERS PUT AWAY TRAIN WHISTLES ACROSS THE GOLF COURSE STEPS TRAILING A LONELY DINING ROOM WORLD I CREATED EMPTY NOW LIGHT YEARS OF YOUTH FLAPPING DOWN A

TORN SKY IN THE ASHEN WATER FRAYED STARS OF YOUTH THERE ACROSS THE PLAYGROUND AGAINST TALL BLACK WINDOWS OF THE DORMITORY FAR OUT ALONG A LUMINOUS SKY LAST GLIMPSE OF A SAD TOY SOLDIER HAND LIFTED

DISTANT STUMP OF AN ARM DREW ACROSS THE SKY ‘ENEMY INTERCEPTED OVER NEW YORK’ JUST TELLING YOU LASER GUNS ‘WASHING’ A DISTANT SOLDIER SPIT BURNING BLOOD FOR YOU HERE ACROSS THE VALLEY CLEAR AS THE LUMINOUS SKY OUR FLAG IS STILL THERE A TRANSITORY MAGAZINE MUST TELL YOU THE PRICE IN SMOKE.

“TELLING ME / LASER GUNS ‘WASHING’ EGG NOG’ RUNNING TWO STRAINERS CLOSED DOWN ‘COBBLE-STONE CODY / ANY-POST-SHIT-BIRDS, LET’S SEE YOUR ARMS. / BURNING STUMP OF MINE JUST TELLING YOU CLEAR AS THE SKY.

“WE CAN BREAK RADIO SILENCE NOW. ‘ANNIE LAURIE’ WAS A CODE TUNE JUST LIKE ‘ENEMY INTERCEPTED SEPTEMBER 17, 1899 OVER NEW YORK.’ THE PIPER PULLED DOWN THE SKY. NOW HE DIDN’T GO A LOOKING FOR TO SHOW YOU THE PAPERS CLEAR AS ‘ANNIE LAURIE’ IN ANY NABORHOOD BAR. LOOK, REMEMBER FEEL HIS FACE WASH ‘EGG NOG.’ FOR HALF A LINE NO REPEAT

TORN SEPTEMBER SKY JUST TELLING YOU BOY SOLDIER NEVER CALLED RETREAT FRAYED SISSLING A DISTANT HAND FELL HERE MY LASER GUNS WASHING LIGHT YEARS OVER NEW YORK. ‘LITTLE BOY BLUE’ ON THE TABLE FAR AWAY,

WHISTLING ‘ANNIE LAURIE’ AGAINST THE FRAYED STARS LASER GUNS WASHING A SAT TOY SOLDIER DOWN A POST CARD ROAD THERE HE IS ACROSS THE PLAYGROUND BOOKS AND TOYS PUT AWAY BARE FEET TWISTED ON A FENCE THERE BY THE CREEK EMPTY AS HIS SAD OLD TUNE: ‘THAT N’ER FORGOT WILL BE’ TELLING YOU CLEAR AS THE OLD SUN LIGHT OVER NEW YORK: ‘ENEMY INTERCEPTED.’

“ROCKETS ACROSS THE VALLEY / LASER GUNS WASHING IN PRESENT TIME / ANY SECOND NOW THE WHOLE FUCKING SHIT HOUSE GOES UP” / STUMP OF AN ARM TRAILING BLOOD FORTY FOOT DOWN WHITE STEPS OF THE SEA WALL.

WINDY STREET WITH THE TORN SEPTEMBER SKY: / ‘HAVE I DONE THE JOB HERE? WILL HE HEAR IT? / STUMP OF AN ARM DRIPPING STARS ACROSS THE GOLF COURSE SMELL OF SICKNESS IN THE ROOM THESE FOREIGN SUBURBS HERE.

FAR AWAY: “GOOD BYE, MISTER. I HAVE OPENED THE GATES FOR YOU” WHISTLING DOWN A WINDY STREET THERE IN OLD CUT CLOTHES A POST CARD FALLS ON THE FLOOR

TWISTED COAT ON A 1920 BENCH BARELY AUDIBLE CLICK: A DISTANT VOICE SO PAINFUL STOPPED IN JOYNNY’S MIND A DISTANT HAND FELL FROM HIS SHOULDER. NEVER CAME OUT THAT AFTERNOON AT RECESS TIME I WATCHED THE TORN SKY BEND WITH THE WIND. ROCKETS FELL HERE ON THESE FOREIGN SUBURBS DEAD BIRDS RAINING ADIOS AND DEATH.

‘ENEMY INTERCEPTED OVER NEW YORK.’ A DISTANT SOLDIER NEVER RETURNS. OUR FLAG IS STILL THERE. “SO, MISTER, REMEMBER ME THERE ON A WINDY STREET HALF BURIED IN SAND.”

PERFORMANCE IN ANY NABORHOOD BAR. SAD CALM BOY SPEAKING HERE ON THE FARTHEST SHORE DEAD STARS SPLASH HIS CHEEK BONES WITH SILVER ASH: “REMEMBER ME THERE IN A WINDY STREET DEAD BIRDS RAINING FROM A WHITE HOT SKY” / KLINKER IS DEAD.

THIS SHATTERED GREY HAND BROUGHT HEAVY WEAPONS AND SHOCK TROOPS ARMY WHO PAID ALL OUR STRENGTH. HIS ‘ADIOS’ TO REGISTER FOR YOU A DISTANT HAND LIFTED POST-CARD SOLDIER ERASED OUT AGAINST THE DEAD STARS.

Biographies Transcribed and Translated

EARLE BROWN

NÉ EN 1926 À LUNENBURG, MASS, U.S.A. ÉTUDES D’INGÉNIEUR À NORTHEASTERN, BOSTON. A ÉTUDIÉ ET ENSEIGNÉ LA MUSIQUE SELON LE SYSTÈME SCHILLINGER, S’ASSOCIE AVEC JOHN CAGE, 1952-1954. OEUVRES NOMBREUSES, PUBLIÉES ET JOUÉES, À NEW YORK, LONDRES, PARIS, ITALIE ET ALLEMAGNE. INVITÉ PAR PIERRE BOULEZ À COMPOSER POUR LE DOMAINE MUSICAL EN 1957-58-63. “AVAILABLE FORMS” POUR 100 EXÉCUTANTS ET 2 CHEFS D’ORCHESTRE, FESTIVAL DE VENISE, 1962. “TIMES FIVE,” DOMAINE MUSICALE, PARIS, 1963. “AVAILABLE FORMS II,” DIRIGÉ PAR L. BERNSTEIN, NEW YORK PHILHARMONIC, 1964.

Born 1926 in Lunenburg, MA. Studied engineer at Northeastern University, Boston. Studied and taught music according to the Schillinger system, associated with John Cage, 1952-1954. Many works, published and performed, in New York, London, Paris, Italy, and Germany. Invited by Pierre Boulez to compose for the Domaine Musical [concert society] in 1957, 1958, 1963. “Available Forms” for 100 players and 2 conductors, Festival of Venice, 1962. “Times Five,” Domaine Musical, Paris, 1963. “Available Forms II,” directed by Leonard Bernstein, New York Philharmonic, 1964.

DAVID BUDD

NÉ EN 1927 À ST. PETERSBOURG (FLORIDA) U.S.A. ÉTUDES D’ARCHITECTE À L’UNIVERSITÉ DE FLORIDA. ÉTUDES D’ANATOMIE ART STUDENTS LEAGUE (N.Y.). A VÉCU À NEW YORK JUSQU’EN 1960 MAIS RÉSIDE ACTUELLEMENT A PARIS. PREMIÈRE EXPOSITION: BETTY PARSONS GALLERY, NEW YORK, 1958. DERNIÈRE EXPOSITION: GALERIE HANDSCHIN, BÂLE, 1963.

Born 1927 in St Petersburg (Florida). Studied architecture at the University of Florida. Studied anatomy at the Arts Students League (N.Y.) Lived in New York until 1960 but currently resides in Paris. First exhibit: Betty Parsons Gallery, New York, 1958. Last exhibit: Galerie Handschin, Basel, 1963.

WILLIAM BURROUGHS

NÉ EN 1914 À ST. LOUIS, MISS. U.S.A. ÉTUDES D’ANTHROPOLOGIE À HARVARD, ÉTUDES DE MÉDECINE À VIENNE. A VÉCU AUSSI EN GRÈCE, AU MAROC, À LONDRES ET À PARIS. AUTEUR DE “NAKED LUNCH” (LE FESTIN NU, GALLIMARD, PARIS 1964). “THE SOFT MACHINE,” “THE TICKET THAT EXPLODED,” “NOVIA EXPRESS,” “DEAD FINGERS TALK”, “THE EXTERMINATOR” AND “MINUTES TO GO” WITH BRION GYSIN.

Born 1914 in St Louis, MO. Studied anthropology at Harvard, medicine in Vienna. Has also lived in Greece, Morocco, London, and Paris. Author of Naked Lunch (French translation Le Festin Nu, Gallimard, Paris, 1964), The Soft Machine, The Ticket That Exploded, Nova Express, Dead Fingers Talk, The Exterminator and Minutes to Go with Brion Gysin.

Essay Transcribed and Translated

Le domaine dit “expériemental” dans l’art d’aujourd’hui n’est constructif que s’il s’installe dans le mouvement, sans quoi il académise rapidement, remplaçant l’excitation créative par l’alibi le plus douteux qu’est justement l’expérimental pour l’expérimental. Combien de recherches de l’avant-garde de ces vingt dernières annés qui nous ont trop vite déçus (et a quel point!) pour cette raison. L’aventure morphologique autre est multivalente et se doit de l’être.

Et finalement, de tout un groupe de jeunes dont, il y a presque dix ans maintenant, on pouvait attendre une brillante prise de relais a la prestigieuse génération de l’après-guerre qui avait magistralement ouvert la voie à la signifiance informelle et à l’action-painting, David Budd est l’un des très rares qui n’aient pas rapidement décliné, justement grace à ce perpétuel mouvement de renouvellement dans sa recherche et dans les moyens de la garder vivace, de tendre l’aventure dans un sens de plus en plus “ouvert,” et de ne rien conclure d’autre qu’une joie de peindre d’oeuvre en oeuvre. C’est pour toutes ces bonnes raisons que nous trouvons et sommes prêts à continuer d’accepter une heureuse continuité dont l’invention et la truculence sont aux antipodes des académismes en cours.

— Michel Tapié

The area called “experimental” in today’s art is only constructive when it is placed in movement, without which it quickly becomes academic, replacing the creative stimulus with the most dubious alibi that is “experiment for the sake of experiment.” How many efforts of the avant-garde have too soon proven disappointing (and then some!) for precisely this reason. The morphological adventure that is abstract expressionism [“un art autre” in Tapié’s terminology] is and must be multivalent.

And finally, for ten years now we have been expecting a group of young painters to seize on the opportunity magisterially created by the prestigious generation of post-war painters who opened the way for abstraction and action painting. David Budd is one of the few from this group who have not rapidly declined, precisely thanks to this perpetual movement of renewal in his approach and the ability to maintain this vitality, to transform the adventure into something more and more “open,” and to draw no conclusions other than the joy to paint work after work. It is for these good reasons that we discover — and are ready to continue accepting — a happy continuity whose inventiveness and truculence are opposed to today’s academicism.

— Michel Tapié

Artist’s Statement Transcribed and Translated

Le projet de cette exposition date depuis longtemps. Quand, en 1955 à New York j’ai emménagé dans un atelier, j’avais comme seules voisins Earle et Carolyn Brown. Earle Brown pendant cinq ans a très bien connu ma peinture. Au début de nos conversations il y avait une sort d’entente sur la possibilité d’une exposition pour laquelle Earle composerait une musique écrite spécialement pour mes tableaux. Cette idée nous enchantait tous les deux.

Je suis venu à Paris en 1960, et j’ai eu la chance de voir souvent Brown qui prenait Paris comme point d’attache quand il venait diriger ses concerts à travers L’Europe. Entre temps, j’ai connu William Burroughs dont j’admirais l’oeuvre depuis longtemps. Au printemps 1963, en parlant avec Earle Brown, il m’arriva de constater que non seulement il aimait Burroughs autant que moi, mais que leur processus de création était semblable. J’ai longtemps travaillé sur l’idée de la répétition et sur la possibilité de peindre sur des panneaux d’aluminum qui pouvaient être cuits dans des fours. Deux ou trois panneaux avec une peinture semblable sur chaque coté ajustés ensembles de telle façon qu’un panneau pouvait en couper un autre en continuant la même peinture. Nous travaillions tous les trois dans la même voie. Burroughs était alors à Londres et nous sommes allés le voir Earle et moi armés des enregistrements de Brown. Dès que Burroughs eut entendu cette musique, nous fumes d’accord tous les trois pour une manifestation que nous souhaitions réaliser le plus vite possible. Rodolphe Stadler a accepté de présenter ce projet dans sa galerie. Burroughs est reparti pour Tanger et m’envoyé un texte pour le catalogue. Earle Brown est rentré à New York où il a écrit et enregistré la musique. Je suis resté à Paris pour peindre. Voila toute l’histoire de l’exposition.

— David Budd

The idea of this exhibition dates back a long time. When I moved to a studio in 1955 in New York, my only neighbors were Earle and Carolyn Brown. Over five years Earle Brown came to know my painting well. From the start of our conversations, there was a sort of understanding about the possibility of an exhibit for which Earle would compose music written specially for my paintings. The idea delighted us both.

I came to Paris in 1960, and I often had the chance to see Brown, who used Paris as his base when he came to conduct concerts in Europe. Meanwhile I had met William Burroughs, whose work I’d admired for a long while. In spring 1963, while speaking with Earle Brown, I realized that not only did he admire Burroughs as much as me, but that his creative process was similar. I had been working a long time with the idea of repetition and the possibility of painting on aluminum panels that could be fired in kilns. Two or three panels with similar painting on each side put together in such a way that one panel could cut through another and continue the same painting. We three were working in the same way. Burroughs at the time was in London, so Earle and I went to see him armed with recordings of his music. As soon as Burroughs heard it, the three of us agreed to do an exhibit as soon as it could be arranged. Rodolphe Stadler offered to present the project in his gallery. Burroughs went back to Tangier and sent me a text for the catalogue. Earle Brown returned to New York where he wrote and recorded the music. I stayed in Paris to paint. That’s whole story behind the exhibit.

— David Budd

David Budd rencontre William Burroughs et Earle Brown cover
Galerie Stadler
1964

David Budd rencontre William Burroughs et Earle Brown back (French)
Galerie Stadler
1964

William Burroughs, Untitled text on Guy Harloff, Bizarre 28, 1963. (Note: This text was first printed in the 1961 Guy Harloff exhibition catalogue.)

Painting is a silent language of juxtaposition, is a form of writing. In the painting of Harloff isolated words occur used as objects remind the observer: words are objects shifting connotation as they are moved through a matrix of neon symbols that characterize the color world of Harloff. There is another world of black and white in Harloff’s recent work that evokes the blending of objects in three dimensional frames achieved in a successful photo collage. Placed against wall or window or curtain forms a composition that is say a statement — (Harloff in fact has used the collage form in his early work then passed beyond the limitations imposed by solid three dimensional objects) — Harloff’s painting will continue to develope [sic] revealing like a negative a view or map of “reality” which must be painted or photographed before it is seen.

Bizarre Magazine
1963

William Burroughs
Untitled Text on Guy Harloff
Bizarre
1963

Jed Birmingham on William S. Burroughs Collecting

“Not in Maynard and Miles” — the phrase is the siren’s song for Burroughs collectors. Obsessives like Eric Shoaf and Brian Shottlaender, spend much of their free time looking for these unicorns. Sometimes they are just narwhal horns, like “Wind Die, You Die, We Die” from the August 1968 issue of Esquire. It is hardly rare, given the circulation of the magazine at the time, but still it has that magic since it escaped the notice of Maynard and Miles (who, make no mistake, generally miss no Burroughs appearance not matter how weenie).

That is what makes “Pry Yourself Loose and Listen” so special. This piece is so off-the-radar that the title is derived by default from the first piece in the collection. I tend to think of it as the Gnaoua Offprint, which is more accurate as the piece collects all the Burroughs appearances in Ira Cohen’s legendary magazine Gnaoua from 1964 out of Tangier: “Pry Yourself Loose and Listen,” “Notes on Page One,” “Ancient Face Gone Out,” and “Just So Long and Long Enough.”

I first became aware of this publication in 1999 at the Nelson Lyon Sale at PBA Galleries. Lyon had an inscribed copy, natch. The estimate was $200-300. Now remember that in 1999 I was still a novice in the Burroughs collecting game so forgive me for buying the distressed copy of Gnaoua 1 signed by Burroughs and Michael McClure from that auction instead of the far more desirable and unusual offprint. I literally had no idea. I thought another one would turn up. Granted I have seen a few over the years, and, in fact, know of a collector who owned two, but the Gnaoua offprint is definitely not something you see every day.

Now do not get me wrong, the offprint is not visually stunning or innovative. It is actually very simple and that is its charm. This is ephemeral publishing at its best — a total afterthought. You have to wonder why it was even done. This would have been the first question I would have asked Ira Cohen when we thought about interviewing him for RealityStudio. Unfortunately it was too late by the time we got out of City Bakery and into action.

As far as I can tell searching on WorldCat, the only institution to possess a copy of “Pry Yourself Loose and Listen” is the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. So you are unlikely to see it anywhere but here unless you happen to track down your own copy. If you do, congratulations. It only took me over a decade to get mine. 

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Front cover

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Copyright and page 1

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Pages 2-3

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Pages 4-5

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Pages 6-7

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Pages 8-9

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Page 10

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Back cover

Variant Edition

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Variant Edition

Pry Yourself Loose and Listen
Variant Edition