William S. Burroughs Ipsum

. 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. 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. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. 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. 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 in the u.s. you have to be a deviant or die of boredom. writers, like elephants, have long, vicious memories. there are things i wish i could forget. there is in fact something obscene and sinister about photography, a desire to imprison, to incorporate, a sexual intensity of pursuit. it was unlike anything i ever heard. bubbly, thick, stagnant sound. a sound you could smell. this man worked for the carnival, you dig? then it developed sort of teethlike... and started eating. screaming at it to shut up... beating at it with his fists... for a while, you could see....

Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. 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. nothing is true, everything is permitted. it would get drunk, too, and have crying jags. and it wanted to be kissed, nothing did any good, after that, he began waking up in the morning with transparentjelly... and the pieces would stick to his hands... and infiltrated and atrophied. the silent, helpless suffering the brain must have died... because the eyes went out....

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. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. nothing is true, everything is permitted. in deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. be just and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. which came first the intestine or the tapeworm? your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. whether you sniff it smoke it eat it or shove it up your ass the result is the same: addiction. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say i want to see the manager. the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. it's the little touches that make a future solid enough to destroy. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. 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. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. nothing is true, everything is permitted. open your mind and let the pictures out. his pants and start talking on the street... day and night. nothing did any good, "it is you who will shut up he would tear it off his mouth and grow there. would have amputated spontaneously sealed off. for a while, you could see....