When it comes to choosing a savior, they won’t settle for just a human being.
The crap and the trash of the world. Post-consumer human butt wipe that no one would ever go to the trouble to recycle.
If she was going to die, Marla didn’t want to know about it.
I am John’s raging bile duct.
Everything you ever love will reject you or die.
The people I know who used to sit in the bathroom with pornography, now they sit in the bathroom with their IKEA furniture catalogue.
It’s pathetic how we can’t live with the things we don’t understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed. Even if it’s for sure unexplainable. Even God.
Art, inspiration, love, they’re all so easy to dissect. To explain away.
When you just cannot stop working. When completing this one project is all you can imagine.
How is it you can keep mutating and still be the same deadly virus?
You met me at a very strange time in my life.
It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t love.
It’s funny how when somebody saves you, the first thing you want to do is save other people. All other people. Everybody.
The French philosopher Jacques Derrida likens writing fiction to a software code that operates in the hardware of your mind. Stringing together separate macros that, combined, will create a reaction.
This was freedom. Losing all hope was freedom. If I didn’t say anything, people in a group assumed the worst. They cried harder. I cried harder. Look up into the stars and you’re gone.
And since God can’t control us, all God does is watch and change channels when He gets bored.
At the store, they have one-hundred-percent-recycled toilet paper,” Marla says. “The worst job in the whole world must be recycling toilet paper.
The things you own, end up owning you.
With all of the seats empty, you could pretend everyone’s just gone to the bathroom.
Every takeoff and landing, when the plane banked too much to one side, I prayed for a crash.