Is Not This World An Illusion? And

I See Her As A Series Of Marvellous Shapes Formed At Random In The Kaleidoscope Of Desire.

Cats Of All Kinds Weave In And Out Of The Text; Burroughs Has Clearly Taken To Them In A Big Way In His Old Age And Seems Torn Between A Fear They Will Betray Him Into Sentimentality And A Resigned Acceptance That A Man Can't Be Ironic All The Time.

The Clown May Be The Source Of Mirth, But - Who Shall Make The Clown Laugh?

I Had The Brief Notion That His Heart, Pressed Flat As A Flower, Crimson And Thin As Tissue Paper, Lay In This File. It Was A Very Thin One.

Losing Their Names, These Things Underwent A Process Of Uncreation.