William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Perhaps all pleasure is only relief. smash the control images. smash the control machine. nothing is true, everything is permitted. that old feeling is still in my leaking heart. it was unlike anything i ever heard. bubbly, thick, stagnant sound. a sound you could smell. this man worked for the carnival, you dig? little raspy incurving hooks i can talk and eat and shit." and the pieces would stick to his hands....

Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. i am getting so far out one day i won't come back at all. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. 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. 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. there is nothing more provocative than minding your own business. writers, like elephants, have long, vicious memories. there are things i wish i could forget. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. cheat your landlord if you can -- and must -- but do not try to shortchange the muse. did i ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? his whole abdomen would move up and down, you dig, farting out the words. nothing did any good, "it is you who will shut up the silent, helpless suffering as one judge said to another judge: be just. and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. 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..

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. 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. the face of evil is always the face of total need. 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. desperation is the raw material of drastic change. only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. whether you sniff it smoke it eat it or shove it up your ass the result is the same: addiction. the face of 'evil' is always the face of total need. you know a real friend? someone you know will look after your cat after you are gone. the dream is a spontaneous happening and therefore dangerous to a control system set-up by the non-dreamers open your mind and let the pictures out. finally, it talked all the time, screaming at it to shut up... and sticking candles up it, but... and the asshole said to him... in the end, not me... in the morning with transparentjelly... like a tadpole's tail he would tear it off his mouth like burning gasoline jelly and grow there. the brain must have died....