Pain is beyond reason, an obliterating giant stupidity to which all your history of jokes and nuance and ideas and caresses is nothing, simply nothing.
Nicotine and alcohol embraced in my system like long-parted siblings, grateful to me for reuniting them.
When you’re a kid it’s people’s cruelty that makes you cry, then when you’re an adult it’s their kindness.
We go to the past to lay the blame – since the past can’t argue. We go to our past selves to account for our present miseries.
We’re the worst thing because for us the worst thing is the best thing. And it’s only the best thing for us if it’s the worst thing for someone else.
I suppose the word “unbearable” is a lie by definition. Unless you kill yourself immediately after using it.
Only meaning can make a difference and we all know there’s no meaning. All stories express a desire for meaning, not meaning itself. Therefore any difference knowing the story makes is a delusion.
Just because life’s meaningless doesn’t mean we can’t experience it meaningfully.
Once you’ve stopped loving someone breaking his or her heart’s just an unpleasant chore you have to get behind you. My God, you really don’t love me anymore, do you? No matter your decency the victim’s incredulity’s potentially hilarious. You manage not to laugh.
Peace is purchased in the currency of loss.
The flesh had infinity in it. I must know every inch by touch yet every inch renewed its mystery the instant my hand moved on. Delightful endless futility.
The rain’s been racing earthwards as if with some religious or political fanaticism. The clouds have the look of dark internal bleeding. Surely you lot look up from Cosmo while this sort of thing’s going on? Surely you take a Playstation break?
Your ideal possession candidate’s a thirteen-year-old recently orphaned schizophrenic girl three days away from her period on her way to see the shrink with whom she’s romantically besotted.
One develops an instinct for letting silence do the heavy lifting. In the three, four, five seconds that passed without either of us speaking, the many ways the conversation could go came and went like time-lapse film of flowers blooming and dying.
The message is clear: By all means become an abomination – but only while unhinged by grief or wrath.
You love life because life’s all there is.
Every present anger derives from past weakness.
Snow makes cities innocent again, reveals the frailty of the human gesture against the void.
Time, you’ll be pleased to know – and since one must start somewhere – was created in creation. The question What was there before creation? is meaningless. Time is a property of creation, therefore before creation there was no before creation.
The first horror is there’s horror. The second is you accommodate it.