Being a serious writer hardly means leading the life of a saint. In 1951, in Mexico City, long before the publication of Naked Lunch, which made him famous, William S. Burroughs accidentally shot and killed his common-law wife Joan Vollmer in a drunken stunt. He was trying to prove his marksmanship William Tell-style. Instead of hitting the glass placed on her head, he shot her square between the eyes. Gerard Bellaart’s charcoal sketch captures Burroughs possessed by what he called “the Ugly Spirit.”
“I am forced to the appalling conclusion that I would never have
become a writer, but for Joan’s death,” Burroughs believed, “and to a realization of the extent to which this event has motivated and formulated my writing. I live with the constant threat of possession, and a constant need to escape from possession, from Control. So the death of Joan brought me into contact with the invader, the Ugly Spirit, and maneuvered me into a lifelong struggle, in which I have had no choice except to write my way out.”
Wow, I have vaguely heard of this man and his story before but doing further reading on it leaves me quite speechless and quite shocked.
It is kind of like something you want to turn away from but you can’t help but watch and stare. I guess our fascination for the things we do not understand is part of humanity but if this is good thing or bad thing I am not sure…..
everything most excellent
Love this drawing haunting eyes in a free handed madness such a sad story
I’ve seen that look before: the 1000 reefer stare…