JF Ptak Science Books Post 833 
I think that William Burroughs is vastly under appreciated as a driving force behind American mid-20th century dark comedy. For a lot of people the thing missing from reading his books and shorter pieces is the laughter. The few times that I saw him read in the early 1980’s the audience roared—his deep, flat-and-rolling-at-the-same-time delivery pushed this forward, as did the very manipulative lines in his face (which drolly sprang into action at unexpected times, like punctuation marks). In any event, he was funny throughout, a point perhaps lost to folks considering his work as a serious statement
on sumpin’ sumpin’. My opinion may very well be a minority, but I see Old Bill as a serious comedian in a dark sweaty Swiftian mold.
One of the times that I interviewed him was at the 9:30 Club in DC (in its antique incantation, an interesting venue showcasing unusual performers in a ruined brine of alcohol and urine). He was not anxious to be talked to after his reading, and I could hardly get the man to move, though he did become a little animated when pursued about man-machine confluence in the not-too-distant future. At the end of it, I asked—insisted—that he draw a self-portrait, something I had been asking of folks that I was coming into contact with. Burroughs did not want to do it, saying something like ”no one is interested in what I draw myself to look like”. But I told him that I was. And he did it.
He grumbled and flicked-out this disdainful self portrait, a very tentative and light effort compared to the title that he gave my interview (for my reel-to-reel tape box) just moments earlier.
I’ve always found his self-portrait to be pretty creepy—but he did have an awkward and condescendingly dark sense of humor about it–the only thing not missing from the self-portrait was its disturbance(s).