William S. Burroughs Ipsum

Language is a virus from outer space. a functioning police state needs no police. anything that can be done chemically can be done by other means. after one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact. nothing is true, everything is permitted. 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. 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. like all pure creatures, cats are practical. silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing. there is nothing more provocative than minding your own business. language is a virus from outer space. smash the control images. smash the control machine. artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact. you know a real friend? someone you know will look after your cat after you are gone. 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. there is in fact something obscene and sinister about photography, a desire to imprison, to incorporate, a sexual intensity of pursuit. then it developed sort of teethlike... nothing did any good, and the asshole said to him... around here anymore. like a tadpole's tail and grow there. that the asshole couldn't do was see. 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.

After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'i want to see the manager.' 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. every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage. 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. 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. the aim of education is the knowledge, not of facts, but of values. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. a paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. whether you sniff it smoke it eat it or shove it up your ass the result is the same: addiction. language is a virus from outer space. smash the control images. smash the control machine. there are no innocent bystanders... what are they doing there in the first place? 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. 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. like all pure creatures, cats are practical. 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. in the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents. nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen. 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. it was unlike anything i ever heard. bubbly, thick, stagnant sound. a sound you could smell. this man worked for the carnival, you dig? it would get drunk, too, and have crying jags. and it wanted to be kissed, same as any other mouth. and the asshole said to him... all over his mouth. so, the brain couldn't the silent, helpless suffering and there was no more feeling in them.

Artists to my mind are the real architects of change, and not the political legislators who implement change after the fact. 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. perhaps all pleasure is only relief. 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. 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 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. there is nothing more provocative than minding your own business. 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... the dream is a spontaneous happening and therefore dangerous to a control system set-up by the non-dreamers 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. danger is a biologic necessity, like dreams. if you face death, for that time, for the period of direct confrontation, you are immortal. little raspy incurving hooks he thought this was cute at first and built an act around it... shouting out it wanted equal rights. same as any other mouth. you could hear him for blocks, beating at it with his fists... nothing did any good, "it is you who will shut up in the end, not me... "because we don't need you i can talk and eat and shit." so, finally, his mouth sealed over... would have amputated spontaneously that the asshole couldn't do was see. the brain must have died... than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk..