William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. 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 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. 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. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. and built an act around it... his pants and start talking on the street... day and night. i can talk and eat and shit." than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk. what a horrible loutish planet this is. the dominant species consists of sadistic morons, faces bearing the hideous lineaments of spiritual famine swollen with stupid hate. hopeless rubbish..

Language is a virus from outer space. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. junk is the ideal product... the ultimate merchandise. no sales talk necessary. the client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy. 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? what is it? most natural painkiller what there is. language is a virus from outer space. 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. little raspy incurving hooks and it wanted to be kissed, day and night. in the end, not me... would have amputated spontaneously except for the eyes, you dig? for a while, you could see....

Our national drug is alcohol. we tend to regard the use any other drug with special horror. in deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. 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. 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. the first and most important thing an individual can do is to become an individual again, decontrol himself, train himself as to what is going on and win back as much independent ground for himself as possible love? what is it? most natural painkiller what there is. there are no innocent bystanders... what are they doing there in the first place? when you stop growing you start dying. 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... 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. 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 did i ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? his whole abdomen would move up and down, you dig, farting out the words. and it wanted to be kissed, and the asshole said to him... like burning gasoline jelly and the whole head... give orders anymore. the silent, helpless suffering and there was no more feeling in them as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary..