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Damien Blake’s Followers (4)
Damien Blake
Goodreads Author
Member Since
June 2021
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Harsh Generation
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published
2021
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3 editions
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* Note: these are all the books on Goodreads for this author. To add more, click here.
“On my way home, an everlasting tiredness dissipates me and the alcohol has caused my mind to project images, most of which are harsh and relentless: Passing by a derelict building and hearing a child sigh along with an older man, an elderly lady sitting by her window, tapping a long, skeletal finger against the glass, endlessly, every day, a girl I once had sex with whose back was so scarred from her boyfriend at the time that it looked like darkness was pouring out of the wounds, which crept like breathing mouths all over her naked body, people who were tethering on the brink of insanity, a by-product of living in the city, so empty and famished they drugged themselves daily to numb their ceaseless pain, and teens, most of them around my age, walking aimlessly in circles and, above all, beaming with its own empty light, the deprived husk of a message:
I have never cared for anyone and I hate people.”
― Harsh Generation
I have never cared for anyone and I hate people.”
― Harsh Generation
“He stamps the cigarette out on the floor with his foot and says, “Sometimes I feel like I’m doing a really shitty job at being me.”
I shrug and say, “There’s a rumor going around that no one’s perfect.”
“So I heard.”
― Harsh Generation
I shrug and say, “There’s a rumor going around that no one’s perfect.”
“So I heard.”
― Harsh Generation
“We take the road that leads to a club named Ragnarök and I say that maybe we should go for a walk.
She asks, “Where to?”
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
She takes my hand, a gesture that makes me feel weak to my knees, just one of the billions of humans passing through the world, and softly says, “No.”
― Harsh Generation
She asks, “Where to?”
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
She takes my hand, a gesture that makes me feel weak to my knees, just one of the billions of humans passing through the world, and softly says, “No.”
― Harsh Generation
“On my way home, an everlasting tiredness dissipates me and the alcohol has caused my mind to project images, most of which are harsh and relentless: Passing by a derelict building and hearing a child sigh along with an older man, an elderly lady sitting by her window, tapping a long, skeletal finger against the glass, endlessly, every day, a girl I once had sex with whose back was so scarred from her boyfriend at the time that it looked like darkness was pouring out of the wounds, which crept like breathing mouths all over her naked body, people who were tethering on the brink of insanity, a by-product of living in the city, so empty and famished they drugged themselves daily to numb their ceaseless pain, and teens, most of them around my age, walking aimlessly in circles and, above all, beaming with its own empty light, the deprived husk of a message:
I have never cared for anyone and I hate people.”
― Harsh Generation
I have never cared for anyone and I hate people.”
― Harsh Generation
“He stamps the cigarette out on the floor with his foot and says, “Sometimes I feel like I’m doing a really shitty job at being me.”
I shrug and say, “There’s a rumor going around that no one’s perfect.”
“So I heard.”
― Harsh Generation
I shrug and say, “There’s a rumor going around that no one’s perfect.”
“So I heard.”
― Harsh Generation
“We take the road that leads to a club named Ragnarök and I say that maybe we should go for a walk.
She asks, “Where to?”
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
She takes my hand, a gesture that makes me feel weak to my knees, just one of the billions of humans passing through the world, and softly says, “No.”
― Harsh Generation
She asks, “Where to?”
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
She takes my hand, a gesture that makes me feel weak to my knees, just one of the billions of humans passing through the world, and softly says, “No.”
― Harsh Generation
