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Suburbia hath horrors to sate a thousand castrates and stem the toples cocks of Isreal.
Going my way, brother? The hitchhiker walks home thorugh gathering mushroom clouds, and we meet in the Dead Ass Cafe, to break glass ashtrays over our foreheads pulsing in code...slip with a broken neck to the ground-floor mezzanine and put sickness up the cunt of Mary, yearly wounded with a frightened girl.
~Burroughs