My problematic favourite: William S. Burroughs.

I admire old Bill for all sorts of things, none of which are his personality, murdering his wife, fucking up his son or misogyny so jawdropping he literally made it into an artform. I wonder what signifiers wearing a Burroughs shirt would have in 2016 as opposed to 1996 (“yeah yeah you’re hip go away”) or 1986 (“who?”).

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Get lost. Don’t lie.

Plans are afoot for Rowland S. Howard to get his own disreputable dark alleyway. Well, it worked before! (Is RSH Lane actually dark?)

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FUC51.

Aggressive ahistoricality is a problem, but so too is the dead hand of nostalgia, follow the subjects of the nostalgia back when it wasn’t

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