If you’re of the age to have returned that difficult game (I’m too trapped nowhere between gen Xers and millennials to pipe up about this or anything, though I favor the X for its aesthetic absurdities pluming in the early-to-mid 90s culture that raised me), or are of the mindset to grouse at the receipt for any difficult entertainment, then your whole life is probably you snitching on yourself under the guise of being genuine, and you should continue to embrace your deciphered and dimensionally rounded community of bullshit Star Wars enthusiasm which predominately infects the arts (or get fucked in your ball cap). 

Magnolia, Ambrosio, Valance stand still as three pillars. Amongst the ruins of the Roman Empire.

So here’s Anthony, twelve years later. He’s got this white pin on his right breast that reads MY INTERESTS ARE: ANIMALS & POSITIVITY.

Faith is a party you weren’t invited to, and God is a man
in a sheet with poked eyes to see;
you want to believe.

You slept for a few hours after that, but I stayed awake, mostly wondering why you hadn’t yet scraped the popcorn texture off of the ceiling in your house. 

[Previously on... Part 1]

The bodies under there, in the corridor, were at an ends; by the time each person entered the airport, their desires were all set about the rooms like a seasoned, wet palette.

The most comfortable place I have ever been is lying on my back on a massage table at the front of a room of the Embassy Suites Ontario Airport in Southern California. I was naked from the waist

If someone insists you smile, it might as well be rape. This movie found a way to nitpick itself the way these types nitpick everyone around them about presenting the right attitude. Someone in this land will always be subjecting you to the editorial fructose of their imperial fertility. If Bird’s intent was to satirize our fretful American condition, I didn’t understand, because I left the fucking theater right when the film began – about an hour in.

When we found the dead whale, we couldn’t recover the eye of it, and because I hadn’t lost my mother, I managed to survive. 

There’s so much freakshow in you, Charlie, I thought: I love you, but, look, you’ve been treated like a citizen enough to have cop friends. Sometimes I think you think all creative expression falls under Reganomics. Then he’s in my face with six reasons why I’m hardly pubic or adjusted. Yes, I’m a pussy. I get it.

QUERY 5: About half the time, your APOSTROPHES and your QUOTATION MARKS don’t curl around the way they should— “ or ” , not " , and ‘ or ’ , not ' —which is how I know you are writing half of all your articles on your cellphone.

Jeff is driving me nuts. he's a fucking showboating liar. Walking around here like he owns the place. He only owns us.

Destiny's Child third album track # 1 she plays as if I don't already know what’s up. She just wants me to remind her she's a queen so I play Coming to America, and we're okay for a few more years.

If you’ve ever been asked to place your anxiety on a litmus test of 1-10 and have no idea what a 10 would constitute, then you know how jarring and disconnected this question could be. I thought about running away from the office, I thought about knocking over one of her plants 

Later at night she looked by the fires of Ohio at the burn on her palm 

He wore these fuck-you neckties (one looked like a whole trout hanging down his chest) and bad jeans dyed mint green, lemon yellow, cake frosting blue.

She says the moon is just an overflowing ashtray with butts buried in the dark side.

In the staff meeting she thought about enemas.  

Only someone whose amazing art can no longer hide them from the petty philanthropy hopefully juxtaposing the asinine incest of their crimes would issue such a dollar bill of a sentence. 

Fourteen tourists had signed up for “Six Days in Glorious Vienna: Open Plan,” and since Kotoko and I were the only singles in the group, it was inevitable that we ended up rooming together at the hotel.

A boy in your science class starts sitting behind you on the school bus. He whispers into your hair that he’s known about atoms for as long as he can remember.

In nearly every used book—bought, borrowed, or salvaged—I’ve found them. 

You all don't seem too keen on fiddling here with bloody Henry.

I look down Rue Acorn. Along the red brick factory I live in. And at first all I see are parked cars. Shadows. And the slow moving Sunday traffic farther up the block. Along  Rue Saint-Rémi.

You were right, I tell myself with confidence, there are no fucking fallen dogs out here. Just a sack of rice or side of beef. Plain and simple.