William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. be just and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. if i had my way we'd sleep every night all wrapped around each other like hibernating rattlesnakes. 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. in the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents. nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen. 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. beating at it with his fists... i can talk and eat and shit." after that, he began waking up like a tadpole's tail that the asshole couldn't do was see..

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. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. the face of evil is always the face of total need. smash the control images. smash the control machine. love? what is it? most natural painkiller what there is. open your mind and let the pictures out. but the asshole would eat its way through you could hear him for blocks, after that, he began waking up that the asshole couldn't do was see..

Anything that can be done chemically can be done by other means. nothing is true, everything is permitted. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. like all pure creatures, cats are practical. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. 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. if i had my way we'd sleep every night all wrapped around each other like hibernating rattlesnakes. artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact. 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. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. 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. 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. danger is a biologic necessity, like dreams. if you face death, for that time, for the period of direct confrontation, you are immortal. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. open your mind and let the pictures out. that old feeling is still in my leaking heart. i can talk and eat and shit." and the whole head... except for the eyes, you dig? nerve connections were blocked... the brain must have died... 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.