Snowy Black Thursday

For whatever the noise made by the car being crushed, I make no apologies, in this instance, for it being my car.

The last thing I wanted was a bike that did 180mph, until I didn’t meet you.

Both the best and the worst sex of your life, is the sex which your parents had, 40 weeks prior.

I love the idea of people, and hate the ideas of people.

There are no religions, just actions and their consequences; no martyrs, just people who ruin other people’s lives.

Lies are merely the truths of human evolution.

If that smile was in any way honest, you would never want to see me again.

Not only do adverts want us to believe in them, but we dearly want to believe in adverts. Perhaps the saddest advert, of which there are countless examples, is the one which hawks love. The one through which your mild imperfections will be brutalised.

Yes, that’s right; I’m a sad fashion show clutching a bouquet of grey flowers.

‘I’m getting better all the time … now I only cry all day,’ she sobbed into the handset.

The bulletin board has a picture of a dart board, the dart board has a picture of a person, the person has a picture of two people; the two people in the picture are dead.

‘Well how do you explain these phenomena then?’
‘Easy … people are fucking liars.’

Nice shirt; and a poor, poor personality.

To have no regrets is to have a hospital bed with blue nylon straps; or a successful career as a psychopath.

To believe in countries is like believing in Santa Claus.

Thanks to advances in technology, childhood dream and wonder are now called shopping.

In the last three hours I’ve walked around twelve miles in a twenty-four-square-metre room, keeping to the backwards and forwards path, the same backwards and forwards thought, the thought of how I know I can only get better if I just don’t get worse.

Queue jumpers … I had forgotten. The urge was to launch my carton of low-fat soy milk at the wall and storm out, red faced, tearing off down the street on my 50cc scooter.

Making love is the most beautiful thing in the world – until five minutes later when you want to kill each other.

As you may or may not have noticed my dear, I’m no longer intoxicated; at least not in a pleasurable way.

RIGHT NOW, it feels as if I’m a dirty cockroach, lying on my back, being eaten alive, by god’s schizophrenic ego. (and it’s UPSETTING.)

My Dearest Jean, Thank you for 25 wonderful years and our four beautiful B’s. (P.S. I hate you)’

Who could know how it would ever turn out but those who gaze back at their successes and accept how mistaken they were?

Life is only sacred after death proves otherwise.

All those memories that never come flooding back.

The most pathetic aspect of the majority of things is that we are inclined to believe (in) them.

Tomorrow is a brand new day, a brand new day to be hurried away.

What’s either paradoxical, or just plain sad, is that one day it’s likely I’ll cry like a baby before a man who has given his life to helping others, who’s done well as a capitalist, who’s telling me my days are now so few that it’s too late for me to do the same.

Honey, did you see where I stashed my balls?

If it’s true that on your deathbed you’d do anything for just one more minute, well I’d do nothing for this minute.

Her embarrassment was nothing more than having bright orange skin, which not only ruined her social life, but actually killed her.

Yo cucaracha – give us a back flip baby.

Life is like life, love is like love, death is like death, and we are like us.

I care too much about shoes, and always buy uncomfortable ones.

Sadie, Sadie, Sadie, Sadie, Sadie; Nirvana Nevermind, freezing salty ‘Scottish’  water crashing off moss-covered granite, and perhaps even still the softest lips I have ever met; and two weeks later when I found out that wasn’t even your name.

Not for the first time I’m raking a bin for some cigarettes I crushed up earlier, wondering how they’ll taste without filters and with yoghurt splashed across them, without the lighter which got thrown from the balcony.

Tomorrow I have promised myself two things: to swim a hundred laps, and to buy a large padlock.

The correct thing to do is usually not the correct thing to do. (So you ask, well what is the correct thing to do? And I answer, look inside yourself and recreate the first revolution of the front wheel of your first bicycle.)

The best cure for insomnia is an overdose. Self-hanging I’ve never understood. Firearms I just don’t like.

Never had much in terms of real chest pains (apart from the collapsed lung) – just a constant fear of chest pain potential – having done so much in this life, and so little.

There are many trick questions, and many more trick answers. What occurs consequentially is a world which may only work successfully if everyone is willing to lie most of the time.

I like contradictions. But I don’t like bitter hypocrites in the same way I don’t feel ungrateful for not having died in a world war (yet).

I haven’t fallen for a girl in what seems like a long long time. However, I’ve flown down staircases recently.

Superiority is just inferiority in the same way twins may dress in the same outfit while sporting different drug addictions.

I hope I have committed a sufficient number of bad deeds these last 32 years, to have learned how to love someone.

Let’s not forget this alleged blue planet spinning the fireball, shall we?

I’m willing to accept that I may be a person who, instead of dealing with the problems at hand, finds problems with the hands that were dealt.

Call it a prophecy: I convulsed my way into this century and when I’d flushed the toilet and wiped the bile from my mouth, I thought to myself … Oh, fuck this.

And fire was supposed to be one of our great achievements as a species.

When it becomes impossible to tell whether the discolour in your face is either that of a suntan or cirrhosis; you should either stop drinking, or pull across a parasol.

I may yet choose happiness, yet happiness may not choose me.

What does ‘medical sickness’ mean?

If many of the fortunate among us were honest, a greater fear than death would be penury, and immigrants.

I want to laugh along, I want to laugh along, I want to laugh along, I want to laugh along.

You always get to where you’re meant to be, but usually that place is not where you want to be.

If it were a two horse race, between a horse called Happening, and a horse called Not Happening (shitty names for horses I know), I’d expect them both to be priced at even money, and to cross the finish line together in a dead heat.

Daddy, just by getting old, you’re breaking your baby’s heart.

Precious metals will seem ludicrous in the 24thcentury Anno Bullshit. More worryingly … almost everything else may not.

For all the times I’ve written LOL (which hitherto is none), and all the times someone’s written LOL with me in mind – you guessed it: I’ve never laughed out loud.

So, today’s passed by me like a bullet that didn’t miss by an inch.

All’s well that ends well, but nothing ends well.

The wind at your back, shoot straight ahead, whether you like it or not, you’ve got to kill them, stone dead.


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