William S. Burroughs Ipsum

After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. the cat does not offer services. the cat offers itself. of course he wants care and shelter. you don't buy love for nothing. you can't fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal. it's the little touches that make a future solid enough to destroy. 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... danger is a biologic necessity, like dreams. if you face death, for that time, for the period of direct confrontation, you are immortal. little raspy incurving hooks his pants and start talking on the street... so, finally, his mouth sealed over... that's the one thing the silent, helpless suffering and there was no more feeling in them 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..

A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. nothing is true, everything is permitted. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. junk is the ideal product... the ultimate merchandise. no sales talk necessary. the client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy. in my writing i am acting as a map maker, an explorer of psychic areas, a cosmonaut of inner space, and i see no point in exploring areas that have already been thoroughly surveyed. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. when you stop growing you start dying. 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 best way to keep something bad from happening is to see it ahead of time... and you can't see it if you refuse to face the possibility. it's the little touches that make a future solid enough to destroy. cheat your landlord if you can -- and must -- but do not try to shortchange the muse. 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. as a young child i wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and famous. they lounged around singapore and rangoon smoking opium in a yellow pongee silk suit. they sniffed cocaine in mayfair and they penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful native boy and lived in the native quarter of tangier smoking hashish and languidly caressing a pet gazelle. there is in fact something obscene and sinister about photography, a desire to imprison, to incorporate, a sexual intensity of pursuit. 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. that old feeling is still in my leaking heart. did i ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? his whole abdomen would move up and down, you dig, farting out the words. 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 to start with it was like a novelty ventriloquist act. after a while, the ass started talking on its own. he would go in without anything prepared... and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time. his pants and start talking on the street... screaming at it to shut up... i can talk and eat and shit." would have amputated spontaneously except for the eyes, you dig? that's the one thing as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary..

. Happiness is a byproduct of function, purpose, and conflict; those who seek happiness for itself seek victory without war. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. as a young child i wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and famous. they lounged around singapore and rangoon smoking opium in a yellow pongee silk suit. they sniffed cocaine in mayfair and they penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful native boy and lived in the native quarter of tangier smoking hashish and languidly caressing a pet gazelle. danger is a biologic necessity, like dreams. if you face death, for that time, for the period of direct confrontation, you are immortal. and grow there..