“Though present in underground US-American society since 1928, television was not legalized for registered addicts until 1982. At this time, the United States Bureau of Narcotic Health and Hygeine (USBNHH) took over broadcast distribution through a vast number of government-operated transmission clinics; it is no coincidence that almost immediately a massive bureaucracy developed and fell prey to corruption. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, non-addicts found their collective way into USBNHH programs and made comfortable, if not lavish lives for themselves by qualifying for and receiving basic multi-spectrum “prime-time program block” allotments and then selling those allotments to unregistered addicts. More entrepreneurial scam artists worked their way onto rosters which allowed them to receive supplementary multi-spectrum daytime television program blocks, composed primarily of high-grade game shows, occasionally enhanced with soap operas and talk shows. This practice continues today, despite concerted efforts to maintain The War on Television, first popularized by Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” campaign in the mid 1980s. It is not without irony that the “Just Say No” campaign gained its highest popularity through the very narcotic medium it was intended to combat.” —an excerpt from: Telivision: History and Treatment by C.V. Herschel. Copyright, Third Eye Press, 2000. ** There are times when I walk by the Abbott Hotel and find myself moving through the odd, convoluted layers of alternate histories. Whenever I pass the Abbott, I invariably think of the seedy realms explored (in more than a literary sense) by William S. Burroughs. I think of alternate histories that seem—disturbingly, at times—like rejected chapters from such novels as: Naked Lunch, Junky, Queer, or The Ticket that Exploded. It doesn’t help that Victor—the oft-mentioned Russian—is a major fan of William S. Burroughs, for reasons that are not entirely easy to translate. It is, perhaps, because of Victor, that my mind continually runs in the direction of William S. Burroughs-style fever dream realities, often committed to digital paper, though only one such reality has made it into my gallery, in the shape of a story called, “Journey.” The Abbott is a distinctly seedy place, and so it’s difficult not to imagine characters such as Bill Lee and others, within the confines of that seedy little flop-house. They offer free TV, after all…in color, and air is free as well. Okay, it’s actually air-conditioning, but why quibble, huh? Given the apparent nature of the Abbott Hotel, it isn’t difficult to imagine that there might be a little something “extra” with the television that is so graciously free and tinted; there might be something "extra" in the air too. It’s easy to imagine Burroughsian sleeze bags, snorting or injecting talk shows, soap operas, and sitcoms into their bloodstreams after paying $10 for a 30, if it’s a sitcom, or shelling out $20 for a full 60, which is invariably a night time cop drama or doctor show. Television hits are carefully measured, and I hear that a high grade 60, especially a cop drama, goes down smooth and doesn’t give you the chucks if you miss a dose. Okay, it doesn’t scare me that in some alternate universe, this could be a reality. No, what scares me is the fact that I even thought about it, and worked out at least a few of the details. I think it might be time to expunge a bit of William S. Burroughs from the deep-niche memories embedded in my synapses, either that, or stop listening to Victor offering Russianized versions of William S. Burroughs literary themes in an attempt to keep me from experiencing writer’s block. The thing is, Victor's literary assistance seems to be working. There might be a story in all of this. Oh dear! As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great week.