William S. Burroughs Ipsum

The face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. 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... except for the eyes, you dig? 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..

Language is a virus from outer space. a functioning police state needs no police. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. the only possible ethic is to do what one wants to do. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. knowing you might not make it... in that knowledge courage is born. 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. shouting out it wanted equal rights. and sticking candles up it, but... and the whole head... so, the brain couldn't it was trapped inside the skull... out of the closets and into the museums, libraries, architectural monuments, concert halls, bookstores, recording studios and film studios of the world. everything belongs to the inspired and dedicated thief.... words, colors, light, sounds, stone, wood, bronze belong to the living artist. they belong to anyone who can use them. loot the louvre! a bas l'originalit.

How i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. the way to kill a man or a nation is to cut off his dreams, the way the whites are taking care of the indians: killing their dreams, their magic, their familiar spirits. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. the face of evil is always the face of total need. smash the control images. smash the control machine. 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 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. you know a real friend? someone you know will look after your cat after you are gone. 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. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. danger is a biologic necessity, like dreams. if you face death, for that time, for the period of direct confrontation, you are immortal. 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. but the asshole would eat its way through nobody loved it. finally, it talked all the time, you could hear him for blocks, "it is you who will shut up would have amputated spontaneously it needed the eyes. the silent, helpless suffering and there was no more feeling in them than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk..