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  • #1
    Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
    “My father was a gun nut, like Ernest
    Hemingway, mainly to prove that he wasn’t effeminate, even though he was an architect and a painter. He didn’t get drunk and slug people. Shooting animals was enough.”
    Kurt Vonnegut Jr., If This Isn't Nice, What Is?: The Graduation Speeches and Other Words to Live By

  • #2
    Fyodor Dostoevsky
    “In a morbid condition, dreams are often distinguished by their remarkably graphic, vivid, and extremely lifelike quality. The resulting picture is sometimes monstrous, but the setting and the whole process of the presentation sometimes happen to be so probable, and with details so subtle, unexpected, yet artistically consistent with the whole fullness of the picture, that even the dreamer himself would be unable to invent them in reality, though he were as much an artist as Pushkin or Turgenev. Such dreams, morbid dreams, are always long remembered and produce a strong impression on the disturbed and already excited organism of the person.Raskolnikov had a terrible dream.”
    Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

  • #3
    William S. Burroughs
    “Did I ever tell you about the man
    who taught his asshole to talk?

    His whole abdomen would move up and down,
    you dig, farting out the words.

    It was unlike anything I ever heard.

    Bubbly, thick, stagnant sound.

    A sound you could smell.

    This man worked for the carnival,you dig?

    And to start with it was
    like a novelty ventriloquist act.

    After a while,
    the ass started talking on its own.

    He would go in
    without anything prepared...

    and his ass would ad-lib
    and toss the gags back at him every time.

    Then it developed sort of teethlike...

    little raspy incurving hooks
    and started eating.

    He thought this was cute at first
    and built an act around it...

    but the asshole would eat its way through
    his pants and start talking on the street...

    shouting out it wanted equal rights.

    It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags.
    Nobody loved it.

    And it wanted to be kissed,
    same as any other mouth.

    Finally, it talked all the time,
    day and night.

    You could hear him for blocks,
    screaming at it to shut up...

    beating at it with his fists...

    and sticking candles up it, but...

    nothing did any good,
    and the asshole said to him...

    "It is you who will shut up
    in the end, not me...

    "because we don't need you
    around here anymore.

    I can talk and eat and shit."

    After that, he began waking up
    in the morning with transparentjelly...

    like a tadpole's tail
    all over his mouth.

    He would tear it off his mouth
    and the pieces would stick to his hands...

    like burning gasoline jelly
    and grow there.

    So, finally, his mouth sealed over...

    and the whole head...

    would have amputated spontaneously
    except for the eyes, you dig?

    That's the one thing
    that the asshole couldn't do was see.

    It needed the eyes.

    Nerve connections were blocked...

    and infiltrated and atrophied.

    So, the brain couldn't
    give orders anymore.

    It was trapped inside the skull...

    sealed off.

    For a while, you could see...

    the silent, helpless suffering
    of the brain behind the eyes.

    And then finally
    the brain must have died...

    because the eyes went out...

    and there was no more feeling in them
    than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk.”
    William S. Burroughs, Naked Lunch: The Restored Text

  • #4
    Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
    “Here's the news: I am going to sue the Brown & Williamson Tobacco Company, manufacturers of Pall Mall cigarettes, for a billion bucks! Starting when I was only twelve years old, I have never chain-smoked anything but unfiltered Pall Malls. And for many years now, right on the package, Brown & Williamson have promised to kill me.
    But I am eighty-two. Thanks a lot, you dirty rats. The last thing I ever wanted was to be alive when the three most powerful people on the whole planet would be named Bush, Dick and Colon.”
    Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country



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