William S. Burroughs Ipsum

A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. 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. there is nothing more provocative than minding your own business. i bear my burden proudly for all to see, to conquer prejudice and ignorance and hate with knowledge and sincerity and love. whenever you are threatened by a hostile presence, you emit a thick cloud of love like an octopus squirts out ink... knowing you might not make it... in that knowledge courage is born. 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. like all pure creatures, cats are practical. nothing is true, everything is permitted. after that, he began waking up all over his mouth. so, finally, his mouth sealed over... for a while, you could see....

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. 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 cat does not offer services. the cat offers itself. of course he wants care and shelter. you don't buy love for nothing. the only possible ethic is to do what one wants to do. love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. cheat your landlord if you can -- and must -- but do not try to shortchange the muse. open your mind and let the pictures out. 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. then it developed sort of teethlike... around here anymore. except for the eyes, you dig? and infiltrated and atrophied..

Nothing is true, everything is permitted. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. you can't fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal. your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. 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. the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. 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. in the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents. nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen. he would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands... the silent, helpless suffering.