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Punk rock music carried the message that we were all a little twisted. And sometimes it felt good to shout about it.
“...sometimes different cities follow one another on the same site and under the same name, born and dying without knowing one another, without communication among themselves. At times even the names of the inhabitants remain the same, and their voices’ accent, and also the features of the faces; but the gods who live beneath names and above places have gone off without a word and outsiders have settled in their place. It is pointless to ask whether the new ones are better or worse than the old, since there is no connection between them, just as the old postcards do not depict Maurilia as it was, but a different city which, by chance, was called Maurilia, like this one.”
― Invisible Cities
― Invisible Cities
“Swamp Thing, in Hell: "Demon...How...could God...allow such a place?
Etrigan: Think you God built this place, wishing man ill and not lusts uncontrolled or swords unsheathed?
Not God, my friend. The truth's more hideous still: These halls were carved by men while yet they breathed.
God is no parent or policeman grim dispensing treats or punishments to all.
Each soul climbs or descends by its own whim. He mourns, but He cannot prevent their fall.
We suffer as we choose. Nothing's amiss. All torments are deserved...”
―
Etrigan: Think you God built this place, wishing man ill and not lusts uncontrolled or swords unsheathed?
Not God, my friend. The truth's more hideous still: These halls were carved by men while yet they breathed.
God is no parent or policeman grim dispensing treats or punishments to all.
Each soul climbs or descends by its own whim. He mourns, but He cannot prevent their fall.
We suffer as we choose. Nothing's amiss. All torments are deserved...”
―
“We are men without ambition, and all we want is to be left alone, in peace so that we can try and be happy. So few people will understand this simplicity.”
― English, August: An Indian Story
― English, August: An Indian Story
“For me performing has a lot to do with being fearless.”
― Girl in a Band
― Girl in a Band
“If you wear black, then kindly, irritating strangers will touch your arm consolingly and inform you that the world keeps on turning.
They're right. It does.
However much you beg it to stop.
It turns and lets grenadine spill over the horizon, sends hard bars of gold through my window and I wake up and feel happy for three seconds and then I remember.
It turns and tips people out of their beds and into their cars, their offices, an avalanche of tiny men and women tumbling through life...
All trying not to think about what's waiting at the bottom.
Sometimes it turns and sends us reeling into each other's arms. We cling tight, excited and laughing, strangers thrown together on a moving funhouse floor.
Intoxicated by the motion we forget all the risks.
And then the world turns...
And somebody falls off...
And oh God it's such a long way down.
Numb with shock, we can only stand and watch as they fall away from us, gradually getting smaller...
Receding in our memories until they're no longer visible.
We gather in cemeteries, tense and silent as if for listening for the impact; the splash of a pebble dropped into a dark well, trying to measure its depth.
Trying to measure how far we have to fall.
No impact comes; no splash. The moment passes. The world turns and we turn away, getting on with our lives...
Wrapping ourselves in comforting banalities to keep us warm against the cold.
"Time's a great healer."
"At least it was quick."
"The world keeps turning."
Oh Alec—
Alec's dead.”
― Swamp Thing, Vol. 5: Earth to Earth
They're right. It does.
However much you beg it to stop.
It turns and lets grenadine spill over the horizon, sends hard bars of gold through my window and I wake up and feel happy for three seconds and then I remember.
It turns and tips people out of their beds and into their cars, their offices, an avalanche of tiny men and women tumbling through life...
All trying not to think about what's waiting at the bottom.
Sometimes it turns and sends us reeling into each other's arms. We cling tight, excited and laughing, strangers thrown together on a moving funhouse floor.
Intoxicated by the motion we forget all the risks.
And then the world turns...
And somebody falls off...
And oh God it's such a long way down.
Numb with shock, we can only stand and watch as they fall away from us, gradually getting smaller...
Receding in our memories until they're no longer visible.
We gather in cemeteries, tense and silent as if for listening for the impact; the splash of a pebble dropped into a dark well, trying to measure its depth.
Trying to measure how far we have to fall.
No impact comes; no splash. The moment passes. The world turns and we turn away, getting on with our lives...
Wrapping ourselves in comforting banalities to keep us warm against the cold.
"Time's a great healer."
"At least it was quick."
"The world keeps turning."
Oh Alec—
Alec's dead.”
― Swamp Thing, Vol. 5: Earth to Earth
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