WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS
PENGUIN CLASSICS
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First published in the United States of America by Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc., 1995
Published in Penguin Books 1996
Published in Penguin Classics 2009
Copyright William S. Burroughs, 1995
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
ISBN: 978-0-141-97572-6
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PENGUIN MODERN CLASSICS
My Education
William Burroughs was born on February 5, 1914, into a prominent St Louis family. His paternal grandfather and namesake was the inventor of the modern adding machine and his maternal uncle, Ivy Lee, was one of the founders of modern public relations. In work and in life Burroughs would turn this family inheritance against itself as part of a lifelong subversion of the morality, politics and economics of modern America. To escape these conditions, and in particular his treatment as a homosexual and a drug user, Burroughs left his homeland in 1950, and soon after began writing; by the time of his death, he was widely recognized as one of the most politically trenchant, culturally influential, and innovative artists of the twentieth century. His books include: Junky, Queer, Naked Lunch, the cut up trilogy (The Soft Machine, The Ticket That Exploded, Nova Express), The Wild Boys, The Third Mind, The Burroughs File, The Adding Machine, Interzone, The Letters of William S. Burroughs: 19451959 (edited by Oliver Harris); a final trilogy of novels (Cities of the Red Night, The Place of Dead Roads, The Western Lands), and The Cat Inside, My Education, and Last Words. After living in Mexico City, Tangier, Paris and London, Burroughs returned to America in 1974, later settling in Lawrence, Kansas, where he died on August 2, 1997.
TO MICHAEL EMERTON
January 18, 1966November 4, 1992
I haunted the city of your dreams, invisible and insistent as a fire of thorns in the wind.
St.-John Perse, Anabasis
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Jim McCrary, who over a period of several years carefully transcribed these texts from many hastily jotted notes on scraps of paper and index cards and pages typed with one hand. Thanks also to David Ohle, who did some of that transcription; to James Grauerholz, who maintained the ever-growing folders of raw typescript as they accumulated, and who reviewed and edited the final work; and to David Stanford, who patiently prodded and encouraged me in the completion of this book.
Airport. Like a high school play, attempting to convey a spectral atmosphere. One desk onstage, a gray woman behind the desk with the cold waxen face of an intergalactic bureaucrat. She is dressed in a gray-blue uniform. Airport sounds from a distance, blurred, incomprehensible, then suddenly loud and clear. Flight sixty-nine has been Static fades into the distance Flight
Standing to one side of the desk are three men, grinning with joy at their prospective destinations. When I present myself at the desk, the woman says: You havent had your education yet.
This dream occurred approximately thirty-five years ago, shortly after the publication of Naked Lunch with the Olympia Press in Paris in 1959.
Recall a cartoon in The New Yorker, years ago: Four men with drinks, at a table, and one insisting on telling a dream he dreamed: You were in it, too, Al, and you were a little white dog with an Easter bonnet. Ha ha ha Now isnt that funny? Al doesnt think so. He looks like he would ram a broken glass into the dreamers mouth, if he wasnt a neutered male in a New Yorker cartoon.
For years I wondered why dreams are so often so dull when related, and this morning I find the answer, which is very simplelike most answers, you have always known it: No context like a stuffed animal set on the floor of a bank.
The conventional dream, approved by the psychoanalyst, clearly, or by obvious association, refers to the dreamers waking life, the people and places he knows, his desires, wishes, and obsessions. Such dreams radiate a special disinterest. They are as boring and as commonplace as the average dreamer. There is a special class of dreams, in my experience, that are not dreams at all but quite as real as so-called waking life and, in the two examples I will relate, completely unfamiliar as regards my waking experience but, if one can specify degrees of reality, more real by the impact of unfamiliar scenes, places, personnel, even odors.