first few lines

Cover of the Book is also nice :)

TRAINSPOTTING [1993] Irvine Welsh


"Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday night. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?"

Hot, liquid and viscous life's flowing through the iron duct, smoothly in shape and carrying rhythm that every other fails to understand and therefore a why

all white an no black

Their Blood is in me, their lusts my waves. I moved among them on the frozen Liffey, that I, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. I spoke to no-one: none to me

.As I am. As I am. All or not at all

James Joyce

###$$$$####

spending time with oneself is so addictive that now..............after one month of workin at a new place i have to set a deadline that will start work from 1'clock today...

......ooo...hhhh....eeee..rrr

The positivest of all positive
HOWEVER I STILL EXIST

....

My bravery has its limits, certainly, but so does what i am willing to swallow. Everything that begins as comedy ends as tragicomedy

By Roberto bolano

hmmmm....thats something

Despite its slippery way with time and space and narrative and Mr. Kaufman’s controlled grasp of the medium, “Synecdoche, New York” is as much a cry from the heart as it is an assertion of creative consciousness. It’s extravagantly conceptual but also tethered to the here and now, which is why, for all its flights of fancy, worlds within worlds and agonies upon agonies, it comes down hard for living in the world with real, breathing, embracing bodies pressed against other bodies. To be here now, alive in the world as it is rather than as we imagine it to be, seems a terribly simple idea, yet it’s also the only idea worth the fuss, the anxiety of influence and all the messy rest, a lesson hard won for Caden. Life is a dream, but only for sleepers.
BY MANOHLA DARGIS