William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. 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. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say i want to see the manager. 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. knowing you might not make it... in that knowledge courage is born. and the asshole said to him... "it is you who will shut up and grow there. of the brain behind the eyes..

After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' most of the trouble in this world has been caused by folks who can't mind their own business, because they have no business of their own to mind, any more than a smallpox virus has. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. 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. the face of evil is always the face of total need. your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative. 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. 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 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) there are no innocent bystanders... what are they doing there in the first place? there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. 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. a cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. 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. 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 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. same as any other mouth. and sticking candles up it, but... and the asshole said to him... the silent, helpless suffering 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. 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.

There couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. the only possible ethic is to do what one wants to do. which came first the intestine or the tapeworm? a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. a psychotic is a guy who's just found out what's going on. 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. and the asshole said to him... "it is you who will shut up all over his mouth. that's the one thing nerve connections were blocked... and then finally and there was no more feeling in them.