William S. Burroughs Ipsum

After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' in deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. 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 face of evil is always the face of total need. 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. never do business with a religious son-of-a-bitch. his word ain't worth a shit -- not with the good lord telling him how to fuck you on the deal. 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. 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. you know a real friend? someone you know will look after your cat after you are gone. it's the little touches that make a future solid enough to destroy. 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. 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. and it wanted to be kissed, and the asshole said to him... "because we don't need you around here anymore. it needed the eyes. so, the brain couldn't the brain must have died... because the eyes went out... as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary..

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. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. in deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. 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. like all pure creatures, cats are practical. 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. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. love? what is it? most natural painkiller what there is. the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. you know a real friend? someone you know will look after your cat after you are gone. 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. 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. 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. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. 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... his pants and start talking on the street... finally, it talked all the time, in the end, not me... and the pieces would stick to his hands... except for the eyes, you dig? it was trapped inside the skull... than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk. 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. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death. 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. language is a virus from outer space. 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. 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. nothing is true, everything is permitted. panic is the sudden realization that everything around you is alive. that old feeling is still in my leaking heart. 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 started eating. he thought this was cute at first nobody loved it. same as any other mouth. beating at it with his fists... around here anymore. all over his mouth. except for the eyes, you dig? that's the one thing it needed the eyes. nerve connections were blocked....