William S. Burroughs Ipsum

After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' admittedly, a homosexual can be conditioned to react sexually to a woman, or to an old boot for that matter. in fact, both homo - and heterosexual experimental subjects have been conditioned to react sexually to an old boot, and you can save a lot of money that way. man is an artifact designed for space travel. he is not designed to remain in his present biologic state any more than a tadpole is designed to remain a tadpole. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. you can't fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal. your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. if i had my way we'd sleep every night all wrapped around each other like hibernating rattlesnakes. you were not there for the beginning. you will not be there for the end. your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative smash the control images. smash the control machine. i bear my burden proudly for all to see, to conquer prejudice and ignorance and hate with knowledge and sincerity and love. whenever you are threatened by a hostile presence, you emit a thick cloud of love like an octopus squirts out ink... knowing you might not make it... in that knowledge courage is born. the dream is a spontaneous happening and therefore dangerous to a control system set-up by the non-dreamers in homosexual sex you know exactly what the other person is feeling, so you are identifying with the other person completely. in heterosexual sex you have no idea what the other person is feeling. to be an outlaw you must first have a base in law to reject and get out of, i never had such a base. i never had a place i could call home that meant any more than a key to a house, apartment or hotel room. ... am i alien? alien from what exactly? perhaps my home is my dream city, more real than my waking life precisely because it has no relation to waking life... hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. whether you like it or not, you are committed to the human endeavor. i cannot ally myself with such a purely negative goal as avoidance of suffering. suffering is a chance you take by the fact of being alive. we are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of true romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. i do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. this is what makes your self-respect so important, and i don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. it was unlike anything i ever heard. bubbly, thick, stagnant sound. a sound you could smell. this man worked for the carnival, you dig? and started eating. nobody loved it. after that, he began waking up and grow there. so, finally, his mouth sealed over... it needed the eyes. than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk..

Every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. there is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. it is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve. love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. love? what is it? most natural painkiller what there is. nothing exists until or unless it is observed. an artist is making something exist by observing it. and his hope for other people is that they will also make it exist by observing it. i call it 'creative observation.' creative viewing. i bear my burden proudly for all to see, to conquer prejudice and ignorance and hate with knowledge and sincerity and love. whenever you are threatened by a hostile presence, you emit a thick cloud of love like an octopus squirts out ink... i am not a person and i am not an animal. there is something i am here for something i must do before i can go. finally, it talked all the time, beating at it with his fists... and the asshole said to him... around here anymore. i can talk and eat and shit." and the pieces would stick to his hands... that's the one thing that the asshole couldn't do was see. and infiltrated and atrophied. and then finally the brain must have died....

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. man is an artifact designed for space travel. he is not designed to remain in his present biologic state any more than a tadpole is designed to remain a tadpole. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. whether you like it or not, you are committed to the human endeavor. i cannot ally myself with such a purely negative goal as avoidance of suffering. suffering is a chance you take by the fact of being alive. it was unlike anything i ever heard. bubbly, thick, stagnant sound. a sound you could smell. this man worked for the carnival, you dig? would have amputated spontaneously that the asshole couldn't do was see. give orders anymore. because the eyes went out... than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk. what a horrible loutish planet this is. the dominant species consists of sadistic morons, faces bearing the hideous lineaments of spiritual famine swollen with stupid hate. hopeless rubbish..