William S. Burroughs Ipsum
William S. Burroughs
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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. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' nothing is true, everything is permitted. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. desperation is the raw material of drastic change. only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. love? what is it? most natural painkiller what there is. i miss you so much your absence causes me, at times, accute pain. i don't mean sexually. i mean in connection with my writing. 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 homosexual sex you know exactly what the other person is feeling, so you are identifying with the other person completely. in heterosexual sex you have no idea what the other person is feeling. 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. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. nothing is true, everything is permitted. finally, it talked all the time, nothing did any good, after that, he began waking up except for the eyes, you dig? that the asshole couldn't do was see. and if you're doing a deal with a religious son of a bitch, get it in writing. if, after spending time with a person, you feel as though you've lost a quart of plasma, avoid that person in the future. squatting on old bones and excrement and rusty iron, in a white blaze of heat, a panorama of naked idiots stretches to the horizon. complete silence - their speech centres are destroyed - except for the crackle of sparks and the popping of singed flesh as they apply electrodes up and down the spine. white smoke of burning flesh hangs in the motionless air. a group of children have tied an idiot to a post with barbed wire and built a fire between his legs and stand watching with bestial curiosity as the flames lick his thighs. his flesh jerks in the fire with insect agony. all over america, people were pulling credentials out of their pockets and sticking them under someone else's nose to prove they had been somewhere or done something. and i thought someday everyone in america will suddenly jump up and say, 'i don't take any shit!' and start pushing and cursing and clawing at the man next to him. sit down on your ass, or what's left of it after four years in the navy. you need a good bedside manner with doctors or you will get nowhere. like pregnant women lose their teeth feeding the stranger, junkies lose their yellow fangs feeding the monkey. according to the legend an evil old doctor, who called himself god and us dogs, created the first boy in his adolescent image. the boy peopled the garden with male phantoms that rose from his ejaculations. this angered god, who was getting on in years. he decided it endangered his position as creator. so he crept upon the boy and anaesthetized him and made eve from his rib. henceforth all creation of beings would process through female channels. but some of adam's phantoms refused to let god near them under any pretext. take care of my babies. take them with you wherever you go..
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A cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering. the face of evil is always the face of total need. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. 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. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say i want to see the manager. hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside. it is to be remembered that all art is magical in origin - music, sculpture, writing, painting - and by magical i mean intended to produce very definite results. paintings were originally formulae to make what is painted happen. art is not an end in itself, any more than einstein's matter-into-energy formulae is an end in itself. like all formulae, art was originally functional, intended to make things happen, the way an atom bomb happens from einstein's formulae. in the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents. nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen. i can talk and eat and shit." in the morning with transparentjelly... cheat your landlord if you can and must, but do not try to shortchange the muse. it cannot be done. you can't fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal. if you consider any set of data without a preconceived viewpoint, then a viewpoint will emerge from the data. o death where is thy sting? the man is never on time... to all the scribes and artists and practitioners of magic through whom these spirits have been manifested... nothing is true. everything is permitted. there is a senate and a congress who carry on endless sessions discussing garbage disposal and outhouse inspection, the only two questions over which they have jurisdiction. america is not so much a nightmare as a non-dream. the american non-dream is precisely a move to wipe the dream out of existence. the dream is a spontaneous happening and therefore dangerous to a control system set up by the non-dreamers. if, after having been in someone's presence, you feel like you've lost a quart of plasma - avoid that presence. no one likes to hear the word "vampire" used around here... it's kind of bad for our public image..
Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. there couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. they'd be dead in two weeks. be just and if you can't be just, be arbitrary. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. which came first the intestine or the tapeworm? love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered, and i fear i never will. smash the control images. smash the control machine. thou shalt not be such a shit, you don't know you are one. how i hate those who are dedicated to producing conformity. 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. he thought this was cute at first same as any other mouth. because the eyes went out... and there was no more feeling in them confusion hath fuck his masterpiece. cowboy: new york hood talk means kill the mother fucker wherever you find him. a rat is a rat is a rat is a rat. is an informer. sit down on your ass, or what's left of it after four years in the navy. god save the queen and a fascist regime ... a flabby toothless fascism, to be sure. never go too far in any direction, is the basic law on which limey-land is built. the queen stabilizes the whole sinking shithouse and keeps a small elite of wealth and privilege on top. the english have gone soft in the outhouse. england is like some stricken beast too stupid to know it is dead. ingloriously foundering in its own waste products, the backlash and bad karma of empire so he is putting down junk and coming on with tea. i take three drags, jane looked at him and her flesh crystallized. i leaped up screaming "i got the fear!" and ran out of the house. drank a beer in a little restaurant - mosaic bar and soccer scores and bullfight posters - and waited for the bus to town. if a weaker baboon be attacked by a stronger baboon the weaker baboon will either (a) present his hrump fanny i believe is the word, gentlemen, heh heh for passive intercourse or (b) if he is a different type baboon more extrovert and well-adjusted, lead an attack on an even weaker baboon if he can find one..