“Girls like porn too,” she said. “Don’t be sexist.”

I go into parties wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt that says Bonjour on the front and Au
Revoir on the back, eating candy cigarettes.

That comment got 55 upvotes. I downvoted it. I don’t have friends anymore

Getting chemical poisoning together seemed romantic, the closest you could come to being entombed, Pompeii-style, in each other’s arms.

all these changes in my life were made without my consent

I was in an S &M relationship with myself.

This place looks haunted as shit.

You touch everything you see. You want everything you touch.

It was finally my turn around Christmas time. Sure, I was just one more cock in an endless line, sneaking up to that apartment, but I was not above free pussy.

Uncle Dale says, “We’re lucky that none of us can fly.”

The human race was absurd and overwrought. Men were feeble-minded narcissists and women, acoustic blowhorns with an endless flurry of wind.

Against cloudless skies, any of the available disorders are at your disposal.

I said to Martin Amis once, told him Augie March is a jazz beat novel and he said his son reckons that 

Now she wore a menacing permutation of the cheerful, customer-service smile he had seen her display earlier.

and what’s the point, really, of casual sex, except to melt the ghosts off someone’s face

There’s not a thought in the throb. Not an inkling in the coppery clatter of his mouth. There’s only the turn. Only the fist: fast, everything behind it.

She thought he was going to kill her this time, but that was one of the unspoken rules: no killing each other. Also: no kitchen knives, no purpose-built weapons of any kind. No screaming, either. Neighbors, the police—they wouldn’t understand.

My mother’s screams woke me up.

In late July, in the mid-nineties, I begged Mom and her fiancé Paul to buy me a big ball at Roses department store.

I'm sure a terrible something has occurred at every inhabitable coordinate. 

in the middle of the night i will sit on your leg on a swivel chair, watching your favorite music videos, galvanizing our similarities. we transport ourselves into the future.

The first time I met Nate he asked if I masturbate.

I borrowed my mother’s car and went to the mall a lot and stole things, which I then threw into the dumpster outside. One time I drank an entire bottle of Nyquil and almost died, but nobody noticed.

For two years I worked in the office of a famous Christian singer as he approached the end of his life.

I didn’t like him at first. Seemed like a motherfucker. Girls-dripping-off-him-type, but rough. Scared me & pissed me off, how he looked me up & down. That force, that asshole face, eyes like daggers daring me to see what would happen if I didn’t.