Ticket that exploded

I’m not so sure about this book. This whole style of writing is completely foreign to me. It seems to be just a stream of consciousness from a corrupted, possibly schizophrenic mind. For the first five or so pages it was super easy to read. I found that I could read a paragraph, then zone out as I read the next one, and jump right back in and not have to reread. I really liked that conveinience, but it didn’t last. Soon, the unrelenting sexual refrences grabbed hold of me. I really don’t understand what the deal is there, is that really necessary? Im not opposed to sex, violence, or vulgarity in a book, but this is just over the top. It seems that the characters in the book are constantly bombarded with homosexual impulses and it keeps them in a state of constant orgasm. There are several instances in the book of semen being collected, but no purpose is apparent.
There is one concept that stood out to me. The author asks the reader to silence their inner word. “Modern man has lost the option of silence. Try halting your sub-vocal speech. Try to achieve even ten seconds of inner silence. You will encounter a resisting organinsm that forces you to talk. That organism is the word (Burroughs,49).” Upon testing the challenge, I found that the author is indeed right. I cant achieve ten seconds of inner silence. I cant even achieve two seconds. Now for an interesting observation: when I try this experiment with music in the background I can reach the three or four second mark. Perhaps this is the unspoken goal of music: to enable inner silence. I think that precious short moments of inner silence can be attained in other ways too. Meditation comes to mind. Also, moments of fight-or-flight reaction create inner silence where one experiences no conscious thoughts. Perhaps that’s exactly the emotion that extreme sports athletes are shooting for. Ive noticed in my own such moments that for those precious few seconds, everything is put on hold. The only thing that matters in that moment is the reflex to whats happening.
Its funny to have found this idea in a book that seems full of the opposite. The author’s style of writing seems to center on an endless stream of words, an information overload where the reader is lost and must try their best to decipher a plot out of the madness. Perhaps I’m missing the mark, but I have trouble finding any other meaning in The Ticket That Exploded.