William S. Burroughs

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My veins are pure flame . . .
Crackling blue sparks in a world
of deep pleasure need

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Conformity is
a virus . . . Catch it and you’ll
be dead in two weeks

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Happiness is a
sputtering parasitic
sewer tadpole dream

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Innumerable
machine gods are killing all
human consciousness

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A shooting spree is
the only possible way
to implement change

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Be arbitrary . . .
Your mind is a byproduct
of hope addiction

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I tend to regard
love with a special horror
like malaria

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The intestine mind
is hungry for ultimate
creative control

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Nothing exists till
a functioning paranoid
is observing it

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The architects
of political illness need
smallpox exposure

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My preconscious guts
are compulsively shitting
on Western knowledge

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Word hustlers are a
raw intoxicant like old
deviant flowers

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Most of the trouble
in this world has been caused by
cats from outer space

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In the Western Lands
intellectuals live on
biologic filth

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Nonviolence is
never the answer for a
religious asshole

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A legislator
is the face of total need . . .
Never give succor

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Anything that can
be done chemically should
by all means be done

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