Beneath the ceaseless parade of brightly colored images, blackness.

I have a particularly ugly shirt reserved for days when I feel particularly ugly.

We finally came to the end of big, dumb ideas.

Looking over your life’s work, you think how meager it turns out to be, and of your son, who regards it with disdain.

This rote deflection of even the faintest praise isn’t humility, but a putrid species of narcissism.

We thought of them as our oldest friends, and I only gradually came to understand that they had always regarded me, in some fashion I was unable to decipher, as an object of ridicule.

My participation in events to which I’d thought myself central, I came to realize, went mostly unnoticed.

Love of jargon, inversely proportional to love of truth.

Marilyn Minter
Johnny Winter
Harold Pinter

I saw you sneak that drink, and I forgive you for it.

Man was created in order to manage the litter box in order for the cat to fulfill its destiny.

 In your selfie face I see only pain.

He was a man of peace. The killing was done elsewhere.

This book would have been a labor of hate, never to be completed.
·
She said, you’re a true artist, but not a very good one.
·
Fuck it. I am going down in flames, somewhere out over the ocean. Or somewhere in a bar, in this undocumented summer. That will be my book.

Their love still superseded their obvious mutual loathing.

She told him that people with high self-esteem lacked imagination.

My note of condolence marked the beginning of the end of our friendship. Evidently grief over the loss of a cat doesn’t yield a permissible amount of insight into the the death of someone’s parent.

The way I like to look at a photograph is to imagine that the person who took it knew that this was the last thing they would ever see.