God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables – slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.
Go away, bitch!
She has dropped a roll of paper from her breast. A stranger picks it up, shuts himself in his room all night, and reads the manuscript, which contains the following: When she ventured out with her silk net, on the end of a russ, chasing the wild, free hummingbird. Send me one and I, in return, will wreath a garland of violets, mint, and geraniums. I was not present at the event of which my daughter’s death was the result. If I had been, I would have defended that angel at the cost of my blood. Maldoror was passing with his bulldog. He sees a young girl sleeping in the shade of a plain tree. At first he took her for a rose. It is impossible to say which came first to his mind - the sight of this young girl or the resolution which followed. He undresses rapidly like a man who knows what he is going to do. He opens the angular claws of the steel hydra; and armed with a scalpel of the same kind, seeing that the green of the grass had not yet disappeared beneath all the blood which had been shed, he prepares, without planning, to dig his knife courageously into the unfortunate child. Widened hole, he pulls out one after one… corpses sleep again in the shade. Pig-snouted brutishness covered him with its protective wings and cast loving glances at him.