William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Word Lists: William S. Burroughs

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. black magic operates most effectively in preconscious, marginal areas. casual curses are the most effective. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death. in the u.s. you have to be a deviant or die of boredom. 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. the question is frequently asked: why does a man become a drug addict? the answer is that he usually does not intend to become an addict. you don't wake up one morning and decide to be a drug addict. it takes at least three months' shooting twice a day to get any habit at all. and you don't really know what junk sickness is until you have had several habits. it took me almost six months to get my first habit, and then the withdrawal symptoms were mild. i think it no exaggeration to say it takes about a year and several hundred injections to make an addict. the questions, of course, could be asked: why did you ever try narcotics? why did you continue using it long enough to become an addict? you become a narcotics addict because you do not have strong motivations in the other direction. junk wins by default. i tried it as a matter of curiosity. i drifted along taking shots when i could score. i ended up hooked. most addicts i have talked to report a similar experience. they did not start using drugs for any reason they can remember. they just drifted along until they got hooked. if you have never been addicted, you can have no clear idea what it means to need junk with the addict's special need. you don't decide to be an addict. one morning you wake up sick and you're an addict. (junky, prologue, p. xxxviii) 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. 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 there is in fact something obscene and sinister about photography, a desire to imprison, to incorporate, a sexual intensity of pursuit. he thought this was cute at first and sticking candles up it, but... "it is you who will shut up all over his mouth. 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. sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. 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. which came first the intestine or the tapeworm? if i had my way we'd sleep every night all wrapped around each other like hibernating rattlesnakes. your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. 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. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say i want to see the manager. the question is frequently asked: why does a man become a drug addict? the answer is that he usually does not intend to become an addict. you don't wake up one morning and decide to be a drug addict. it takes at least three months' shooting twice a day to get any habit at all. and you don't really know what junk sickness is until you have had several habits. it took me almost six months to get my first habit, and then the withdrawal symptoms were mild. i think it no exaggeration to say it takes about a year and several hundred injections to make an addict. the questions, of course, could be asked: why did you ever try narcotics? why did you continue using it long enough to become an addict? you become a narcotics addict because you do not have strong motivations in the other direction. junk wins by default. i tried it as a matter of curiosity. i drifted along taking shots when i could score. i ended up hooked. most addicts i have talked to report a similar experience. they did not start using drugs for any reason they can remember. they just drifted along until they got hooked. if you have never been addicted, you can have no clear idea what it means to need junk with the addict's special need. you don't decide to be an addict. one morning you wake up sick and you're an addict. (junky, prologue, p. xxxviii) artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact.  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 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. to be an outlaw you must first have a base in law to reject and get out of, i never had such a base. i never had a place i could call home that meant any more than a key to a house, apartment or hotel room. ... am i alien? alien from what exactly? perhaps my home is my dream city, more real than my waking life precisely because it has no relation to waking life... hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside.  danger is a biologic necessity, like dreams. if you face death, for that time, for the period of direct confrontation, you are immortal. 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. his pants and start talking on the street... and the asshole said to him... and the pieces would stick to his hands... that's the one thing nerve connections were blocked... and then finally as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. 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.

In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. 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 when you stop growing you start dying. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. 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. 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 started eating. same as any other mouth. "it is you who will shut up i can talk and eat and shit." and grow there. so, the brain couldn't give orders anymore..

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. black magic operates most effectively in preconscious, marginal areas. casual curses are the most effective. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death. in the u.s. you have to be a deviant or die of boredom. 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. the question is frequently asked: why does a man become a drug addict? the answer is that he usually does not intend to become an addict. you don't wake up one morning and decide to be a drug addict. it takes at least three months' shooting twice a day to get any habit at all. and you don't really know what junk sickness is until you have had several habits. it took me almost six months to get my first habit, and then the withdrawal symptoms were mild. i think it no exaggeration to say it takes about a year and several hundred injections to make an addict. the questions, of course, could be asked: why did you ever try narcotics? why did you continue using it long enough to become an addict? you become a narcotics addict because you do not have strong motivations in the other direction. junk wins by default. i tried it as a matter of curiosity. i drifted along taking shots when i could score. i ended up hooked. most addicts i have talked to report a similar experience. they did not start using drugs for any reason they can remember. they just drifted along until they got hooked. if you have never been addicted, you can have no clear idea what it means to need junk with the addict's special need. you don't decide to be an addict. one morning you wake up sick and you're an addict. (junky, prologue, p. xxxviii) 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. 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 there is in fact something obscene and sinister about photography, a desire to imprison, to incorporate, a sexual intensity of pursuit. he thought this was cute at first and sticking candles up it, but... "it is you who will shut up all over his mouth. 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. sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. 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. which came first the intestine or the tapeworm? if i had my way we'd sleep every night all wrapped around each other like hibernating rattlesnakes. your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. 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. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say i want to see the manager. the question is frequently asked: why does a man become a drug addict? the answer is that he usually does not intend to become an addict. you don't wake up one morning and decide to be a drug addict. it takes at least three months' shooting twice a day to get any habit at all. and you don't really know what junk sickness is until you have had several habits. it took me almost six months to get my first habit, and then the withdrawal symptoms were mild. i think it no exaggeration to say it takes about a year and several hundred injections to make an addict. the questions, of course, could be asked: why did you ever try narcotics? why did you continue using it long enough to become an addict? you become a narcotics addict because you do not have strong motivations in the other direction. junk wins by default. i tried it as a matter of curiosity. i drifted along taking shots when i could score. i ended up hooked. most addicts i have talked to report a similar experience. they did not start using drugs for any reason they can remember. they just drifted along until they got hooked. if you have never been addicted, you can have no clear idea what it means to need junk with the addict's special need. you don't decide to be an addict. one morning you wake up sick and you're an addict. (junky, prologue, p. xxxviii) artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact. 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 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. to be an outlaw you must first have a base in law to reject and get out of, i never had such a base. i never had a place i could call home that meant any more than a key to a house, apartment or hotel room. ... am i alien? alien from what exactly? perhaps my home is my dream city, more real than my waking life precisely because it has no relation to waking life... hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. danger is a biologic necessity, like dreams. if you face death, for that time, for the period of direct confrontation, you are immortal. 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. his pants and start talking on the street... and the asshole said to him... and the pieces would stick to his hands... that's the one thing nerve connections were blocked... and then finally as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. 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.

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