I’ve been reading the great Kathy Acker again, someone whose blunt, unvarnished prose is like steel and concrete. She’s timeless because Americans are, as we are in the UK too, struggling to make ends meet. Her books represent the desperation, the lost love, family stress, romantic disappointments and the defiance of those who slipped through the cracks in society: this particular strain of urban universality is why her writing never dates. Nothing much changes.
I can hear these sounds as I read on about junkies and whores trying to get into nightclubs as the rich scenesters sashay past them. I can see and smell the steam, the dirt, the booze and drugs. I can see the neon signs glinting like a winking, insinuating eye in the 3 am air. Here’s a small playlist in honour of Kathy. It would’ve been her 79th birthday today. ❣️
Hit The North 