BORE THOSE, FICTION INTERVIEWED BY ALFRED NOBEL
João Cardona
Firecrackers and whistles sounded the advent of New Year of 1965 in St. Louis Stripteasers ran of the bars in Gaslight Square to dance in the street when midnight came. Bore Those, who had watched television alone that night was asleep in his room at the Chase Park Plaza Hotel, St. Louis’s most elegant.
At noon the next day he was ready for the interview. He wore a gray lightweight Brooks Brothers suit with a vest, a blue-striped shirt from Gilbratar cut in the English style and a deep-blue tie with small white polka dots. His manner was not so much pedagogic as didatic or forensic. He might have been a senior partner in a private bank, charting the course of huge but anonymous fortunes. A friend of the interviewer spotting Burroughs across the lobby, thought he was a British diplomat. At the age of fifty, he is trim; he performs a complex abdominal exercise daily and wals a good deal. His face carries no excesso flesh. His expression is taut, and his features are intense and chiseled. He did not smile during the interview and laughed only once, but he gives the impressiono of being capable of much dry laughter under other circumstances. His voices is sonorous, its tone reasonable and patient; his accent is mid-Atlantic, the kind of regionless inflection Americans acquire after many years abroad. He speaks elliptically, in short, clear bursts.
On the dresser of his room sat a European transístor radio; several science fiction paperbacks; Romance, by Joseph Conrad and Ford Madox Ford; the Day Lincoln was shot, by Jim Bishop; and Ghosts in American Houses, by James Reynolds. A Zeiss Ikon camera in a schuffed leather case lay on one of the twin beds beside a copy of field of Field & Stream. On the other bed were a pair of long shears, clippings from newspaper society pages, photographes and a scrapbook. A Facit portable typewriter sat on the desk, and gradually one become aware that the room, although neat, contained a great deal of paper.
Bore Those smoked incessantly, alternating between a box of English Ovals and a box of Benson&Hedges as the interview progressed the room filled with smoke. He opened the window. The temperature outside was seventy degrees, the warmest New Year’s Day in St. Louis history; a yellow jacket flew in and settled on the pane. The bright afternoon deepened. The faint cries of children rose upon from the broad brick alleys in which Bore Those had played as a boy.
FONTE
Apropriação de um excerto de uma entrevista a William S. Burroughs na Paris Review
João Cardona
Firecrackers and whistles sounded the advent of New Year of 1965 in St. Louis Stripteasers ran of the bars in Gaslight Square to dance in the street when midnight came. Bore Those, who had watched television alone that night was asleep in his room at the Chase Park Plaza Hotel, St. Louis’s most elegant.
At noon the next day he was ready for the interview. He wore a gray lightweight Brooks Brothers suit with a vest, a blue-striped shirt from Gilbratar cut in the English style and a deep-blue tie with small white polka dots. His manner was not so much pedagogic as didatic or forensic. He might have been a senior partner in a private bank, charting the course of huge but anonymous fortunes. A friend of the interviewer spotting Burroughs across the lobby, thought he was a British diplomat. At the age of fifty, he is trim; he performs a complex abdominal exercise daily and wals a good deal. His face carries no excesso flesh. His expression is taut, and his features are intense and chiseled. He did not smile during the interview and laughed only once, but he gives the impressiono of being capable of much dry laughter under other circumstances. His voices is sonorous, its tone reasonable and patient; his accent is mid-Atlantic, the kind of regionless inflection Americans acquire after many years abroad. He speaks elliptically, in short, clear bursts.
On the dresser of his room sat a European transístor radio; several science fiction paperbacks; Romance, by Joseph Conrad and Ford Madox Ford; the Day Lincoln was shot, by Jim Bishop; and Ghosts in American Houses, by James Reynolds. A Zeiss Ikon camera in a schuffed leather case lay on one of the twin beds beside a copy of field of Field & Stream. On the other bed were a pair of long shears, clippings from newspaper society pages, photographes and a scrapbook. A Facit portable typewriter sat on the desk, and gradually one become aware that the room, although neat, contained a great deal of paper.
Bore Those smoked incessantly, alternating between a box of English Ovals and a box of Benson&Hedges as the interview progressed the room filled with smoke. He opened the window. The temperature outside was seventy degrees, the warmest New Year’s Day in St. Louis history; a yellow jacket flew in and settled on the pane. The bright afternoon deepened. The faint cries of children rose upon from the broad brick alleys in which Bore Those had played as a boy.
FONTE
Apropriação de um excerto de uma entrevista a William S. Burroughs na Paris Review