William S. Burroughs Ipsum

A cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. in the morning with transparentjelly... all over his mouth. except for the eyes, you dig?.

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.' most of the trouble in this world has been caused by folks who can't mind their own business, because they have no business of their own to mind, any more than a smallpox virus has. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. the face of evil is always the face of total need. 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. love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. when you stop growing you start dying. 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. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. as soon as you know you are in prison, you have a possibility to escape. we are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of true romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. i do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. this is what makes your self-respect so important, and i don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness open your mind and let the pictures out. 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. he thought this was cute at first but the asshole would eat its way through same as any other mouth. you could hear him for blocks, screaming at it to shut up... nothing did any good, like a tadpole's tail so, finally, his mouth sealed over... and the whole head... and infiltrated and atrophied. for a while, you could see... the silent, helpless suffering.

Language is a virus from outer space. our national drug is alcohol. we tend to regard the use any other drug with special horror. 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. be just and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. junk is the ideal product... the ultimate merchandise. no sales talk necessary. the client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy. the face of evil is always the face of total need. smash the control images. smash the control machine. 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. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. a psychotic is a guy who's just found out what's going on. whether you sniff it smoke it eat it or shove it up your ass the result is the same: addiction. love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. in the u.s. you have to be a deviant or die of boredom. there are no innocent bystanders... what are they doing there in the first place? 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. thou shalt not be such a shit, you don't know you are one. knowing you might not make it... in that knowledge courage is born. in homosexual sex you know exactly what the other person is feeling, so you are identifying with the other person completely. in heterosexual sex you have no idea what the other person is feeling. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. 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. screaming at it to shut up... "it is you who will shut up in the end, not me... i can talk and eat and shit." and the whole head... nerve connections were blocked....