So this is one of the few spaces left in which I can write things that my bleeding parents/family members can not read.
Sometimes there are things which none of them need to know. Mostly, this has to do with the recent acquisition of obscene body art.
Well, not obscene. But she does have an impressive rack.
In view of the turbulence of recent months, I decided, for some reason, to read Clockwork Orange again.
And while I'm pretty sure that it is not the most healthy thing for me to be reading given my mental state, it is maybe one of my most favorite books of all time. I had forgotten about it.
The edition I have no longer has the handy dictionary in the back for all the slang, but it does contain a petulant and whiny intro by Burgess. He complains bitterly about the fact that this is the thing he'll be remembered for and that the ignorant masses (that includes the person who just bought the book and is reading it) couldn't appreciate that this was an inferior, morally heavy-handed work written by a very young writer and that there was so much more produced by the same writer but, you know, just.... better.
Fuck you, Burgess.
The point is that you are remembered. The point is that we are still reading something you created. It doesn't matter that it's not your favorite. It's like listening to Pete Townsend cry because I Can See For Miles didn't become a massive chart topper. It was a good song, and it is one of my favorites, but at the same time, you can't go insulting the people you put this in front of because they didn't think your shit was as much of the shit as you thought the shit was.
Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.
On the other hand, I do love me some Clockwork, Burgess be damned.