Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
A book of poetry will be always unfinished, words are butterflies that fly away and bounce back.
A book of prose should bring you to a level of hate, rejection, nausea.
It all depends: some will just feel that it is over, others will feed a continuous grudge, they will reject it, they will despise it.
Theoretically one never finishes anything, but there will be the day that you will know that the relationship with that novel is over.
What is left is just memory.
Once an actor finishes a movie he needs some time to put asleep the character.
I guess you will need some time to wean.
But soon your book will be over and you will get over.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
"He had an okay body. Not fat at all. And naturally toned abs. She could pour a shot of tequila down his belly and slurp it out of his navel without getting splashed in the face."
"Yum. Johnny Hulk tasted like fresh gorilla."
"Any juicehead will get some nut shrinkage. And bacne. They fly into a 'roid rage, it is a 'road' 'roid rage."
"Gia danced around a little, shaking her peaches for show. She shook it hard. Too hard. In the middle of a shimmy, her stomach cramped. A fart slipped out. A loud one. And stinky."
"Gia had never before been in jail. It wasn't nearly as gritty and disgusting as she'd seen on TV prison shows. The Seaside Heights drunk tank -- on a weekday afternoon -- was as clean and quiet as a church."
"I love food. I love drinking, boys, dancing until my feet swell. I love my family, my friends, my job, my boss. And I love my body, especially the badonk."