Monday, March 18, 2013

It's Futile, It's Sad

Richard Hell must be ready to die: He has an auto-bio on the shelves or wherever it is one gets books these days.

Legs McNeil reviews:
Richard and I have remained friends throughout the years, though we don't talk as much as we once did. Probably because in the mid-’90s, Richard and I were invited, along with Kathy Acker and Allen Ginsberg, to speak with William Burroughs at some highbrow literary event in Lawrence, Kansas. Immediately afterwards, Kathy Acker died of breast cancer, then Allen Ginsberg went, and then William Burroughs. Both Richard and I wondered who was going to be next.

So Richard would call and drawl, “So Legs ... uh ... how ya feeling?”

And then laugh hysterically.
Not this one.


zombie rotten mcdonald said...

I've been reading Wolcott's memoir of his New York days, and Hell shows up in the early Television days. Also, I made a "Love comes IN Spurts" joke at Bastard's that no one noticed.

Yeah, you're right, it's futile, it's sad, and somedays the only reason to keep going is to get that fucking paycheck to stock up on rum and shovels.

zombie rotten mcdonald said...

Agh. Memory is the third thing to go. I left the Spurts comment at Substance's.

Weird Dave said...

It's futile.

It's sad.

M. Bouffant said...

Pugilism Editor:
Jersey Joe Wolcott?

Spurts comment at Substance's
Seems a more appropriate venue.

Substance McGravitas said...

Not in the eye.

M. Bouffant said...

The Editor:
Didn't think he was actually aiming at you.