God, the name Susan is so ugly. It reminds me of the word sinus.
El silencio es una risa burlona. El silencio roba algo.
Certainly, in the spring of 2013 I hadn't fucked up as many gay lives as Bill Clinton had.
Around here, ‘tomorrow night’ means anywhere from five days to a month. Jesus,
Adjust my dreams for me.
You should never mistake affection for … passion, I warn her. It can be … not good. It can … get you into, well, trouble.
Where are we going? I askedI don't know, he said. Just driving.But this road doesn't go anywhere, I told him.That doesn't matter.What does? I asked, after a little while.Just that we're on it, dude, h...
What often activated my stress was that other people were always angry about everything, presenting themselves as enraged by opinions that I believed in and liked or thought were simply innocuous. My...
This was what i could understand, this was how I lived my life, what I constructed my movement around, how I dealt with the tangible. This was the geography around which my reality revolved: it did no...
This forced you to look again at the people who raised them, coddling them with praise and trying to shield them from the grim sides of life, which might well have created children who, as adults, app...
The only cheese I have in the apartment is a wedge of Brie in the refrigerator and before leaving I place the entire slice--it’s a really big rat--along with a sun-dried tomato and a sprinkling of dil...
The album ends with Slammin’, which has no words and it’s just a lot of horns that quite frankly, if you turn it up really loud, can give you a fucking big headache and maybe even make you feel a litt...
She’s doped up watching MTV and I want to watch the goddamn MacNeil/Lehrer report.
She sits before me, sullen but hopeful, characterless, about to dissolve into tears. I squeeze her hand back, moved, no, touched by her ignorance of evil. She has one more test to pass.Do you own a br...
Patrick is not a cynic, Timothy. He’s the boy next door, aren’t you honey? No I’m not, I whisper to myself. I’m a fucking evil psychopath.
My nightly blood lust overflowed into my days and I had to leave the city. My mask of sanity was a victim of impending slippage.
Just read this fabulous screenplay. A remake of Camus's The Stranger with Meursault as a bi break-dancing punk rocker. Randy showed it to me. I loved it. Randy thinks basically unfilmable and that fil...
It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't care.Yeah? I ask.What do you care about? What makes you happy?Nothing. Nothing make me happy. I like nothing.
I've forgotten who I had lunch with earlier, and even more important, where.
I want to take you away from this, I say, motioning around the kitchen, spastic. From sushi and elves and... STUFF.