❛ i’m never going outside again unless i need someplace to throw up. ❜
❛ why am i here, wasting my hair on your eyes ? ❜
❛ who are you ? have i joined a cult ? ❜
❛ we haven’t slept together… and you’re not here to freak me out. i thought with you being a man and all, we’d had sex. ❜
❛ add a dab of lavender to milk, leave town with an orange, and pretend you’re laughing at it. ❜
❛ i’m very well — actually no, i’m dead. actually, physically dead. ❜
❛ i don’t mean this in a bad way, but genetically, you are a … cul-de-sac. ❜
❛ don’t make me get sick into my own scorn. ❜
❛ i always get angry when i’m furious. ❜
❛ i don’t want any legal fidgy-widginess upsetting natural justice. ❜
❛ remember you ran out of tobacco so you smoked your own pubic hair ? ❜
❛ i was immolated in a firewall of charm and charisma. ❜
❛ there’s only one system: bet, lose, borrow, steal, lose, take the drugs … lose, prison, death. ❜
❛ i’m going to stay here forever and live on broken breadsticks. ❜
❛ i’m about to stop playing ‘who shall i kill first ?’ and just go for whatever feels natural. ❜
❛ agree with me when i’m talking to you ! ❜
❛ smoking makes you dead. ❜
❛ there he is: half iago, half fu manchu, all bastard. ❜
❛ you can’t live off the mushrooms in your hair ! ❜
❛ i can feel bits of my brain falling away like a wet cake. ❜
❛ don’t eat muffins when i’m developing you. ❜
❛ these shoes are beautiful. they make strong men cry in train stations. ❜
❛ my fortieth cigarette this afternoon; that deserves a star. ❜
❛ i’m a boyfriend now. i’ve got duties: sighing, and holding hands, and not finishing sentences. ❜
❛ shut up, i’m dying ! ❜
❛ i had to go along with all this ‘reclusive genius’ stuff! she’ll be upset when she finds out i’m a reclusive wanker ! ❜
❛ i must be musical; i’ve got hundreds of CDs. ❜
❛ well i don’t trust him ! he has no nasal hair ! ❜
❛ i was an incredibly good friend to him. and even though, even though i fancied his girlfriend, i did not make a pass at her. well, once. twice. a few times. but not after i realised just how angry it made him. well, once … ❜
❛ she’s on that program, pet surprise. you know, they take the dog out, he thinks it’s a normal walk, but when they come back the kennel has a patio and french doors. ❜
❛ i’m not coco chanel but i think that’s a bit weird. ❜
❛ all children look surprised; everything’s new to them. ❜
❛ the glass in zoos is soundproof, otherwise the kids start calling the lions ‘pricks’. ❜
❛ he had a subbuteo player in his hair; i got distracted ! ❜
❛ do you eat ? i do. want to do it in the same room sometime ? ❜
❛ no, you remember your early books. “peter likes jane, jane likes peter, peter has a ball. … jane has no thumbs.” ❜
❛ i’m getting a summer girlfriend till this wears off. she’ll be a summery girl, with hair and summery friends who know how to be outside. she’ll play tennis and wear dresses and have bare feet. and in the autumn i’ll ditch her! cos she’s my summer girl. ❜
❛ oh, you know the type. they’re all, “helloooo,” and “hiiii. ” she even asked me in for coffee. a really clever bitch. ❜
❛ you’re accused of space thievery. ❜
❛ i’m offering you me, yes. … sex ! sexy sex ! ❜
❛ i hope you’re wearing your heat-b-gone booties. ❜
❛ in between the first cigarette with coffee in the morning to that 400th glass of corner-shop piss at 3am, you do sometimes look at yourself and think “yep, “this is fantastic. i’m in heaven.” ❜
❛ this children’s book i wrote couldn’t be simpler. there’s the academic who survived the stalinist purges and is now having flashbacks to that time. his daughter, whose long marriage is collapsing around her, and the journalist who suspects the academic was never in russia, who falls obsessively in love with the daughter and sacrifices his career to become a lens grinder in omsk. i mean what’s the problem ? i don’t think we should talk down to children. ❜
❛ they all worship a goddess remarkably like you. a sort of panther-woman. same pale skin, thick jet hair, slumberous eyes. for a minute, i … i thought i was back at the temple. ❜
❛ so you admit you deliberately stepped in front of the bullet ? and wantonly sprayed blood from your head all over the shop ? before wasting time writhing around on an “emergency” operating table ? ❜
❛ i’ve spent my whole time not thinking about him since he left. ❜
❛ this is the stuff napoleon would have drunk if he’d been a bit strapped and he couldn’t get anything else. ❜
❛ ah, strawberry notes. i’m getting caramel, i’m getting bitumen … i’m getting red wine up my nose ! ❜
❛ i should be getting slavishly admired. ❜
❛ and what am I supposed to do when you do the underpants-charleston with this insane, blind tart? ❜
❛ sing ! that’s what the irish do after a drink, isn’t it ? what would I sing ? mm something about cliffs and a girl with golden black hair. ❜
❛ what is this I’m drinking ? it’s disgu- it’s like a choc ice fell into a bottle of bleach. it’s children’s booze ! ❜
❛ pour some. i’ll have one with ice and on fire. ❜
discoholicmusic
pixelskylines
gummygunk
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
