Ted
I'm resourceful, Price is saying. I'm creative, I'm young, unscrupulous, highly motivate, highly skilled. In essence what I'm saying is that society can afford to lose me. I'm an
I stopped at the front desk, about to complain to the doorman, when I was confronted with a NEW doorman, my age but balding and homely and FAT. Three glazed jelly doughnuts AND two steaming cups of ex...
Because the writer resented that she had turned to me I became the handsome and dazed narrator, incapable of love or kindness. That's how I became the damaged party boy who wandered through the wrecka...
There's no use in denying it: this has been a bad week. I've started drinking my own urine. I laugh spontaneously at nothing. Sometimes I sleep under my futon. I'm flossing my teeth constantly until m...
Haven't we outgrown all this tired irony? Weren't we supposed to give up acting twenty-two forever?
At first she was so inexpressive and indifferent that I wanted to know more about her. I envied that blankness - it was the opposite of helplessness or damage or craving or suffering or shame. But she...
I want to stay," and then, more weakly, "Need some more sun."A fly from a batch of seaweed lands on a white, bony thigh. She doesn't slap at it. It doesn't go away."But there's no sun, dude." I tell h...
Всё схуиёбилось.
The reassuring smile was now useless. I was plastic. Everything was veiled. Objectivity, facts, hard information--these were things only in the outline stage. There was nothing tying anything together...
No I’m not, I whisper to myself. I’m a fucking evil psychopath.
My mask of sanity was a victim of impending slippage.
It's basically a joke. I think it's cool, Julian says. It's all about control, right? He considers something. It's not a joke. You should take it seriously. I mean, you're also one of the producers--...
Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do?
If all of your friends are morons is it afelony, a misdemeanor or an act of God if
I needed something--the distraction of another life--to alleviate fear.
I feel naked, suddenly tiny. My mouth tastes metallic, then it gets worse. My vision: a winter road. But I’m left with one comforting thought: I am rich—millions are not.
Dwelling over this loss while wandering down Central Park West somewhere around Seventy-sixth, Seventy-fifth, it strikes me profoundly that the world is more often than not a bad and cruel place.
My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone.
– Мне кажется, лучше умереть при крушении самолета, чем любой другой смертью, – спустя некоторое время произнес отец. – Я думаю, это было бы кошмарно. – Ничего бы не было. Ты вваливаешься в самолет, п...