William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Language is a virus from outer space. desperation is the raw material of drastic change. only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' admittedly, a homosexual can be conditioned to react sexually to a woman, or to an old boot for that matter. in fact, both homo - and heterosexual experimental subjects have been conditioned to react sexually to an old boot, and you can save a lot of money that way. 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. in deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. 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. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. junk is the ideal product... the ultimate merchandise. no sales talk necessary. the client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. you can't fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal. 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. 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 after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say i want to see the manager. knowing you might not make it... in that knowledge courage is born. it's the little touches that make a future solid enough to destroy. there is in fact something obscene and sinister about photography, a desire to imprison, to incorporate, a sexual intensity of pursuit. panic is the sudden realization that everything around you is alive. he thought this was cute at first shouting out it wanted equal rights. screaming at it to shut up... beating at it with his fists... and the asshole said to him... like burning gasoline jelly and the whole head... would have amputated spontaneously it needed the eyes. so, the brain couldn't the silent, helpless suffering.

The only possible ethic is to do what one wants to do. writers, like elephants, have long, vicious memories. there are things i wish i could forget. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. when you stop growing you start dying. cheat your landlord if you can -- and must -- but do not try to shortchange the muse. 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..

Artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact. 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. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. smash the control images. smash the control machine. 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. 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. there is nothing more provocative than minding your own business. when you stop growing you start dying. the junk merchant doesn't sell his product to the consumer, he sells the consumer to his product. he does not improve and simplify his merchandise. he degrades and simplifies the client. every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. nothing is true, everything is permitted. open your mind and let the pictures out. shouting out it wanted equal rights. finally, it talked all the time, screaming at it to shut up... and the asshole said to him... "it is you who will shut up like a tadpole's tail so, finally, his mouth sealed over... the silent, helpless suffering 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.