Burroughs Called His Greatest Novel Naked Lunch,

Everywhere - All Over Africa And South America - You See These Suburbs Springing Up. They Represent The Optimum Of What People Want. There's A Certain Sort Of Logic Leading Towards These Immaculate Suburbs. And They're Terrifying, Because They Are The Death Of The Soul. This Is The Prison This Planet Is Being Turned Into.

If Their Work Is Satisfying People Don't Need Leisure In The Old-fashioned Sense. No One Ever Asks What Newton Or Darwin Did To Relax, Or How Bach Spent His Weekends. At Eden-olympia Work Is The Ultimate Play, And Play The Ultimate Work.

I Define Inner Space As An Imaginary Realm In Which On The One Hand The Outer World Of Reality, And On The Other The Inner World Of The Mind Meet And Merge. Now, In The Landscapes Of The Surrealist Painters, For Example, One Sees The Regions Of Inner Space; And Increasingly I Believe That We Will Encounter In Film And Literature Scenes Which Are Neither Solely Realistic Nor Fantastic. In A Sense, It Will Be A Movement In The Interzone Between Both Spheres.

The American Dream Has Run Out Of Gas. The Car Has Stopped. It No Longer Supplies The World With Its Images, Its Dreams, Its Fantasies. No More. It's Over. It Supplies The World With Its Nightmares Now: The Kennedy Assassination, Watergate, Vietnam.

The Car As We Know It Is On The Way Out. To A Large Extent, I Deplore Its Passing, For As A Basically Old-fashioned Machine, It Enshrines A Basically Old-fashioned Idea: Freedom. In Terms Of Pollution, Noise And Human Life, The Price Of That Freedom May Be High, But Perhaps The Car, By The Very Muddle And Confusion It Causes, May Be Holding Back The Remorseless Spread Of The Regimented, Electronic Society.