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. love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. love? what is it? most natural painkiller what there is. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say i want to see the manager. language is a virus from outer space. the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. there is in fact something obscene and sinister about photography, a desire to imprison, to incorporate, a sexual intensity of pursuit. open your mind and let the pictures out. 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 built an act around it... his pants and start talking on the street... screaming at it to shut up... and the asshole said to him... i can talk and eat and shit." after that, he began waking up 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.

Happiness is a byproduct of function, purpose, and conflict; those who seek happiness for itself seek victory without war. sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. 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. 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. 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 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. in the u.s. you have to be a deviant or die of boredom. 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... hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. 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. and the asshole said to him... in the end, not me... all over his mouth. and infiltrated and atrophied. of the brain behind the eyes. 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..

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. 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. sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. the way to kill a man or a nation is to cut off his dreams, the way the whites are taking care of the indians: killing their dreams, their magic, their familiar spirits. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. in the u.s. you have to be a deviant or die of boredom. 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) the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. 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... i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. it would get drunk, too, and have crying jags. same as any other mouth. finally, it talked all the time, as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary..
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