"the suicide clinic is in turkey. nothing compulsory. you can leave at any time, even take your boy with you. (boat whistle in the distance. a bearded dope fiend rushing to catch the boat for the mainland.) my boy says he won't leave with me unless i kick my habit.
earlier dream fantasy: i'm in a plane trying to make the Pass. there is a boy with me, and i turn to him and say: throw everything out.
what? all the guns? all the gold? all the junk?
everything.

i mean trow out all excess baggage: anxiety, desire for approval, fear of authority, etc. strip your psyche to the bare bones of spontaneous process, and give yourself one chance in a thousand to make the Pass.
i am subject to continual routines, which tear me apart like a homeless curse. i feel myself drifting further and further out, over a bleak dream landscape of snow-covered mountains."

word virus - burroughs