William S. Burroughs Ipsum

After a shooting spree, they always want to take the guns away from the people who didn't do it. i sure as hell wouldn't want to live in a society where the only people allowed guns are the police and the military. our national drug is alcohol. we tend to regard the use any other drug with special horror. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. nothing is true, everything is permitted. in deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. desperation is the raw material of drastic change. only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. i am not one of those weak-spirited, sappy americans who want to be liked by all the people around them. i don't care if people hate my guts; i assume most of them do. the important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. my affections, being concentrated over a few people, are not spread all over hell in a vile attempt to placate sulky, worthless shits. writers, like elephants, have long, vicious memories. there are things i wish i could forget. 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. knowing you might not make it... in that knowledge courage is born. cheat your landlord if you can -- and must -- but do not try to shortchange the muse. then it developed sort of teethlike... and started eating. nobody loved it. around here anymore. that the asshole couldn't do was see. and infiltrated and atrophied. it was trapped inside the skull... sealed off..

Language is a virus from outer space. junk is the ideal product... the ultimate merchandise. no sales talk necessary. the client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy. i don't care if people hate my guts; i assume most of them do. the important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. 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 i miss you so much your absence causes me, at times, accute pain. i don't mean sexually. i mean in connection with my writing. when you stop growing you start dying. every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. 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. that's the one thing of the brain behind the eyes. as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary..

After a shooting spree, they always want to take the guns away from the people who didn't do it. i sure as hell wouldn't want to live in a society where the only people allowed guns are the police and the military. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. 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. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. the cat does not offer services. the cat offers itself. of course he wants care and shelter. you don't buy love for nothing. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. i don't care if people hate my guts; i assume most of them do. the important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. 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. i miss you so much your absence causes me, at times, accute pain. i don't mean sexually. i mean in connection with my writing. 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. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. the dream is a spontaneous happening and therefore dangerous to a control system set-up by the non-dreamers hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. it is to be remembered that all art is magical in origin - music, sculpture, writing, painting - and by magical i mean intended to produce very definite results. paintings were originally formulae to make what is painted happen. art is not an end in itself, any more than einstein's matter-into-energy formulae is an end in itself. like all formulae, art was originally functional, intended to make things happen, the way an atom bomb happens from einstein's formulae. 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. and built an act around it... but the asshole would eat its way through that's the one thing give orders anymore. the silent, helpless suffering 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.