Like I say it couldn’t last. I knew they were out there powwowing and making their evil fuzz magic, putting dolls of me in Leavenworth. “No use sticking needles in that one, Mike.”
I hear they got Chapin with a doll. This old eunuch dick just sat in a precinct basement hanging a doll of him day and night, year in year out. And when Chapin hanged in Connecticut, they find this old creep with his neck broken.
“He fell downstairs,” they say. You know the old cop bullshit.
Junk is surrounded by magic and taboos, curses and amulets. I could find my Mexico City connection by radar. “Not this street, the next, right … now left. Now right again,” and there he is, toothless old woman face and canceled eyes.
from Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs – page 6