“writers who claim to want to help you or make you better or claim to want to do anything other than make something are full of shit and shouldn’t be trusted. nobody has any idea what it’s like to live even three seconds of your life. wanting to ‘help’ someone means that you close them off as a concept, with an arbitrary goal. you make someone into a fucking idea. you make his/her life into an idea. if someone’s writing helps you in some way, thank him/her and move on. i’m thankful whenever says something i wrote helped them or made them feel better but that’s not what i’m trying to do. writing barely even helps me understand my life, let alone anyone else’s. i have no idea how to help people and i also have no idea whose life should be made better or what that would even mean. mostly, i envision the whole writer/reader/living process as an endless dark body of water where everyone is always sinking and sometimes you get close enough to someone to see them, but they’re sinking too and you both just shrug and keep sinking. the only kind of writers/writing that can help you, is ‘how to’ books on like, building a cabinet or something science related, and that’s only if you are building a cabinet or trying to do some science. not trying to be a ‘salty-ass dick’ here but like, whenever i read writers ‘getting their bullshit on’ during an interview it’s really ignorant. at the same time, this is coming from someone whose best friend is a cat._Sam Pinkhttp://www.impersonalelectroniccommunication.com/2013/05/no-friends.html”Sam Pink
“when you dont have a lot of spending money, the city feels like a shitty videogame you accidentally found a way to enter yourself into. but there’s no goal. no way to ‘power up’ or get a ‘free guy.’ the only thing you can do is walk around looking at things. every store, restaurant, art gallery, yoga place, dance place, carwash place, etc, they just look at you like “fuck do you want.” and you walk by scowling at people enjoying themselves. but you don’t even want to be there with them. you want to ask them what they’re doing. like, you can see what they’re doing, but no, like, really, ‘what are you doing.’ and you start thinking you’d trade a million friends for one or two solid, indestructible enemies. a war. you think about how if a war suddenly broke out in chicago, you’d immediately know what to do. you’d have a purpose. people would follow you. they’d look at you and you’d go from ‘shithead scowling on street’ to someone they needed. and after you won the war, you’d put everybody back into the restaurants/stores and lock them in, to be looked at by people passing by outside.”Sam Pink
“I’m going to kill the president.
Ben Lerner, The Lichtenberg Figures
I promise. I surrender. I’m sorry.
I’m gay. I’m pregnant. I’m dying.
I’m not your father. You’re fired.
Fire. I forgot your birthday.
You will have to lose the leg.
She was asking for it.
It ran right under the car.
It looked like a gun. It’s contagious.
She’s with God now.
Help me. I don’t have a problem.
I’ve swallowed a bottle of aspirin.
I’m a doctor. I’m leaving you.
I love you. Fuck you. I’ll change.”