William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Language is a virus from outer space. 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. 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. love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. 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. there is nothing more provocative than minding your own business. artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact. every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. cheat your landlord if you can -- and must -- but do not try to shortchange the muse. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. and started eating. he thought this was cute at first and built an act around it... shouting out it wanted equal rights. screaming at it to shut up... in the end, not me... and grow there. and the whole head... would have amputated spontaneously that the asshole couldn't do was see. it needed the eyes. nerve connections were blocked... and infiltrated and atrophied. and then finally 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..

A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts. 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. you can't fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal. which came first the intestine or the tapeworm? every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. the dream is a spontaneous happening and therefore dangerous to a control system set-up by the non-dreamers as soon as you know you are in prison, you have a possibility to escape. nothing did any good, like a tadpole's tail would have amputated spontaneously as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary..

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. a functioning police state needs no police. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. in deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality. 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. be just and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. which came first the intestine or the tapeworm? your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. 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. 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. 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 panic is the sudden realization that everything around you is alive. nobody loved it. and it wanted to be kissed, nothing did any good, and the asshole said to him... "because we don't need you except for the eyes, you dig? that's the one thing nerve connections were blocked... 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.