This was the goal of Project Mayhem, Tyler said, the complete and right-away destruction of civilization.
To escape, he’d married a woman who already counted her affections by the pfennig and dealt them out as a miser, as scant wages for those behaviors she wished to cultivate in husband and son. Even in the merriest circumstances, Felix’s wife could surrender herself to an unhappy mood. These attributes he recognized, too late, she shared with his mother. Not impossible was the idea that he was acclimatized to finding comfort in such familiar discomfort.
That if enough people looked at you, you’d never need anybody’s attention ever again.
You can tell people the truth, but they’ll never believe you until the event. Until it’s too late.
What you have to love about drinking is, every swallow is an irrevocable decision. You charging ahead, in control if the game. It’s the same with pills, sedatives and painkillers, every swallow us a first definite step down some road.
It is only after the intellect collapses that any true communication exists.
Let me never be complete. May I never be content.
This is the big hammy way Brandy has played her whole life. The Brandy Alexander nonstop continuous live action theater, but less and less live by the moment.
My mom would tell you, “This is one of those Hamlet moments.” Meaning: You need to make a significant effort to determine whether you’re to be or not to be.
The truth is, every son raised by a single mom is pretty much born married.
A rock is a rock,” he says, “but a square rock is a blessing.
The charm of traveling is everywhere I go, tiny life. I go to the hotel, tiny soap, tiny shampoos, single-serving butter, tiny mouthwash and a single-use toothbrush. Fold into the standard airplane seat. You’re a giant. The problem is your shoulders are too big. Your Alice in Wonderland legs are all of a sudden miles so long they touch the feet of the person in front. Dinner arrives, a miniature do-it-yourself Chicken Cordon Bleu hobby kit, sort of a put-it-together project to keep you busy.
What Marla loves, she says, is all the things that people love intensely and then dump an hour or a day after. The way a Christmas tree is the center of attention, then, after Christmas you see those dead Christmas trees with the tinsel still on them, dumped alongside the highway.
Wait- there was a book?
No man is an adult while his parents are alive. Until they die he is merely a performance to either please or punish them.
Brandy Alexander smiling and looking terrific. “They’re Vicodins, dear,” she says. “It’s the Marilyn Monroe school of medicine where enough of any drug will cure any disease.
He was tired of learning history. He wanted to be it. Charlie wanted the history of the future to be him.
My job is to notice the details. To be an impartial witness. Everything is always research. My job isn’t to feel anything.
Comfrey because it’s a natural disinfectant. Violet leaves because they cure headaches and sweet woodruff because it gives soap a cut-grass smell. In.
It’s called a culling song. In some ancient cultures, they sand it to children during famines or droughts, anytime the tribe had outgrown its land. It was sung to warriors injured in accidents or the very old or anyone dying. It was used to end misery and pain. It’s a lullaby.