Ooh, Too Raved, Page 27.

Pres drove through Arizona. The heat was terrible, the day a clay oven: he could feel his sense of things evaporating inside the car. The land was ringed with all the colors of the sunset and the sky showed a deep green. Though the ground around him seemed static, bleached and splintered towns kept sliding past, one after another, and eventually Pres became quite sure that the car, while anchored in one place, was actually dragging the towns to it, reeling in the land's fabric with its spinning wheels. But the texture of the land was nothing like fabric, he thought. It was pocked and pitted like a fruit skin, and in his mind he was suddenly an ant crawling across the rind of an enormous blood orange. Then he was a tiny crab scurrying across the ocean floor. On all sides lay tremendous pieces of red coral, and far above, huge white jellyfish gently pumped through the water, dragging tendrils of rain behind them.

. . .

Frankie Boyle.

'I watched footage of Saddam Hussein's execution the other day, and it really made me think.

It made me think: is there nothing on the internet that I won't masturbate to?'

Foaz Zoom, Page 31.

'It doesn't matter at all what you call me, so long as I know the name means me.'

Urban Logics, Page 77.

The night is crawling with sparks. I can't sleep. Bad dreams. The heat and the sweat. Flesh prickling with itches, like braille insects. I end up taking a three in the morning cold shower. Fifteen, twenty minutes, until the water jet weakens to a dribble. Too many people with the same idea; maybe in every room of the hotel, all the lonely people, trying to get clean.