This will eventually be edited with other footage into a longish amateur documentary on B.S. Johnson, but as I’m tootling around Europe for a few weeks, I thought I’d upload this just in case of death/losing my phone or if I find myself or something and no longer care for the written word.
I discuss BS Johnson’s work in relation to his suicide, and the weight of depression on a body that chooses to deny it to those around him. I also play with my super cute puppy.
At one point I also misspeak and say that Ann Quin is less obscure than BS Johnson. She isn’t.