William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. our national drug is alcohol. we tend to regard the use any other drug with special horror. be just and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. black magic operates most effectively in preconscious, marginal areas. casual curses are the most effective. junk is the ideal product... the ultimate merchandise. no sales talk necessary. the client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy. 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. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. 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. 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 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. love? what is it? most natural painkiller what there is. smash the control images. smash the control machine. 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. 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. 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. as a young child i wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and famous. they lounged around singapore and rangoon smoking opium in a yellow pongee silk suit. they sniffed cocaine in mayfair and they penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful native boy and lived in the native quarter of tangier smoking hashish and languidly caressing a pet gazelle. in the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents. nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen. there is in fact something obscene and sinister about photography, a desire to imprison, to incorporate, a sexual intensity of pursuit. i am not a person and i am not an animal. there is something i am here for something i must do before i can go. 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. but the asshole would eat its way through and it wanted to be kissed, beating at it with his fists... all over his mouth. like burning gasoline jelly the silent, helpless suffering and there was no more feeling in them 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..