Bret Easton Ellis

My skin seems darker because of the candlelight and I notice how good the haircut I got at Gio's last Wednesday looks.

He places the Walkman in the case alongside a Panasonic wallet-size cordless portable folding Easa-phone (he used to own the NEC 9000 Porta portable) and pulls out today's newspaper. "In one issue – in one issue – let's see here… strangled models, babies thrown from tenement rooftops, kids killed in the subway, a Communist rally, Mafia boss wiped out, Nazis" – he flips through the pages excitedly – "baseball players with AIDS, more Mafia shit, gridlock, the homeless, various maniacs, faggots dropping like flies in the streets, surrogate mothers, the cancellation of a soap opera, kids who broke into a zoo and tortured and burned various animals alive, more Nazis… and the joke is, the punch line is, it's all in this city – nowhere else, just here, it sucks, whoa wait, more Nazis, gridlock, gridlock, baby-sellers, black-market babies, AIDS babies, baby junkies, building collapses on baby, maniac baby, gridlock, bridge collapses–"

everybody hates their job, I hate my job, you’ve told me you hate yours.

Hip my friend, very hip.”

for Christ sakes—you can get dyslexia from pussy—”

“Disappear Here” the book keeps insisting, quoting a billboard on Sunset Boulevard that haunts Clay.

If everything’s available without any effort or dramatic narrative whatsoever, who cares if you like it or if you don’t?

This occasionally reminds you that sometimes artlessness can be an aesthetic, too.

Because once you start choosing how people can and cannot express themselves then this opens the door to a very dark room in the corporation from which there’s really no escape. Can’t they in return police your thoughts, and then your feelings and then your impulses? And, finally, can they police, ultimately, your dreams?

I buy Lesbian Vibrator Bitches and Cunt on Cunt