Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Пусть рушится сознание
... и подсознание
Уничтожай себя
Во имя созидания
И всё чем был ты выкинь на помойку -
Это хлам
Построй себя сам
Построй себя сам

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

This is fucking sick. I can't take it anymore.
This system is a big, huge fucking stinking moving breath of death of all intelligent.
Once you are sucked into it, there is no way back.
I refuse to think anybody intelligent created it. It just doesn't deserve to exist.
And it is a fucking leading industry product.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

"Miss Rona says nothing is gross," Brandy says. "Miss Rona says the only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open."

"The only reason why we ask other people how their weekend was is so we
can tell them about our own weekend."
// my own note - Marcus is higher than that. He will tell you about his weekend even without asking first about how was your weekend :)

Brandy says, "I have no sensation in my nipples."
// For all those who are about to perform a suicide - Don't do it, idiots. You can experience a lot more. Positive. Just trust me.

    Ellis is laid out on the drawing room carpet.
    Mr. Parker is sitting on Ellis's chest with a size seventeen wingtip
planted on each side of Ellis's head.
    Ellis's hands slap Parker's big ass, claw at the back of the
double-breasted jacket. The single vent in Mr. Parker's jacket is
torn open along the seam up the middle of his back to his collar.
    Mr. Parker's hands, the heel of one hand crams a soggy, gnawed
eel-skin wallet between Ellis's capped teeth.
    Ellis's face is dark red and shining the way you'd look if you got
the cherry pie in the pie eating contest. A runny finger painting
mess of nosebleed and tears, snot and drool.
    Mr. Parker, his hair is fallen over his eyes. His other hand is a fist
around five inches of Ellis's pulled out-tongue.
    Ellis's slapping and gagging between Mr. Parker's thick legs.
    Broken Ming vases and other collectibles are all around them on
the floor.
    Mr. Parker says, "That's right. Just do that. That's nice. Just
    Brandy and me, watching.
    Me wanting Ellis destroyed, this is all just too perfect to spoil.
    I tug on Brandy. Brandy, honey. We better walk you back
upstairs. Rest you some more. Give you a nice fresh handful of
Benzedrine spansules.

"What I need to do is fuck up so bad I can't save myself."

"I'd hate for guys to think I'm just a big dumb cow is all," Manus would say.
Did he look, you know, too gay? Gay guys only wanted guys who acted straight.

- Chuck Palahniuk, "Invisible Monsters"
- And well, Me

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Любовь говно. И чувства говно. Я скала. И урод. Я наплевательский мудак – и горжусь этим.
   Как бы НЕ поступил Иисус?

Чак Паланик. Удушие

Razors pain you
Monday, December 08, 2008

Дороти Паркер (Dorothy Parker)


Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

В замечательном переводе [info]natsla:

Бритвой больно,
В речку - сыро,
Пeтлю страшно затянуть.
Уксус жгучий,
Газ вонючий.
Поживем еще чуть-чуть.

via avva

Два подарка
Wednesday, December 03, 2008

(1:08:27 PM) Merkredy: Адам с Евой резвятся в саду, спускается к ним Бог и говорит: - Дети мои, у меня есть вам два подарка, только вы должны решить кому какой.. Первый подарок - писать стоя.. Ну Адам громче всех орал и бился головой об деревья, что он хочет писать стоя, что всю жизнь мечтал. Ева ему уступила.. И Адам побежал по саду, радовался, прыгал, кричал, ссал на все подряд! На деревья, на цветы, на каждую букашку и просто на землю! Ева встала рядом с Богом.. В молчании смотрели они вместе на это безумие.. И тут Ева спросила: - Боже мой, а второй-то подарок какой?.. И молвил Бог: - Мозги, Ева.. Мозги..! Но мозги, Ева, придется тоже отдать Адаму, иначе он тут все обоссыт

Небо уронит ночь на ладони...
Monday, December 01, 2008

Сегодня я опережаю своего ближайшего соперника (а по совместительству еще и моего arch-nemesis) на два миллиарда очков опыта. Подсчет недельных результатов - завтра. "Небо уронит ночь на ладони... нас не догонят... нас не догонят...".