July 28, 2004

He Took The Trowel And Brick-Paste Away From Her, And He Let His Eyes Pick Up Where She Left Off.

They went on down the street (limped) -- carried black bags.

One.

Chic.

Sick.

Spree!

"Join a support group," she said under the paint-stains and wrecked necks, marble millionaire faces dripping in the rain.

Posted by dean at 04:55 PM

July 23, 2004

Quiet Until Tenth Bathhouse, Page 209.

"I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I wasn't looking out the window. I was just hanging out in my own house with the blinds drawn and the music on and not answering the phone."

"Schizopolis was about detonating that house, blowing it up and putting myself in a position where I couldn't go back anymore."

"I guess I wanted to be uncomfortable."

"I wanted it to be difficult."

"I wanted to be in a situation where I wasn't in control, entirely."

Posted by dean at 05:57 PM

July 19, 2004

Strangers Hate It, Page 84.

"I'd much rather see a good pulpy genre film that's really well done than an attempt to do War and Peace that's flat."

Posted by dean at 11:19 AM

July 14, 2004

Variety.

Posted by dean at 11:14 PM

July 12, 2004

Revealing Envy Huts, Page 307.

There was a guy on that show who used to say, "Perfect paranoia is perfect awareness."

It was like his motto.

And I sort of believe that.

Posted by dean at 07:12 PM

July 08, 2004

In The Orange Of The Sky-Light, He Looked Out On The Cliff, On The Overhang.

He was wearing a Boy Scout uniform and fell down the ledge in front of him, holding his wet chest.

Over the lip, a man follow-dropped, all fours, grabbing the boy, holding him up with excess belt-strap.

(Christopher Eccleston good looks!)

It was dark when he pulled the boy's guts into his mouth, picked gray bits of brain off his shirt like pollen.

"You remind me of our two brothers," he said.

Posted by dean at 11:32 PM

Gone With The Mind, Page 108.

When the elevator got stuck, a woman in a taupe leather blazer and suede necktie kissed me, she let me put my hand in her shirt and feel her breasts, she let me put my hand down her trousers and hold her hard-on, she said: I'm the angel of death.

Posted by dean at 12:22 AM

July 03, 2004

Taxi-Bomb.

Posted by dean at 07:58 PM

Yoo Hoo! Buzz Called Out. Y'All Got Any Crème De Cacao?, Page 99.

It was a bomb that changed the shape of things. A bomb that warped the line. Its impact coursed across the land like the wind which row by row bends the field of ripe corn and it gnarls and buckles every shape in its path and it does not distinguish between the animate and the inanimate. They saw the flash. They heard its dampened pop.

Posted by dean at 05:13 AM

Feed


Main