Glue

Life is a dynamic rather than a static process, and when we don't change it kills us. It's not running away, it's moving on.

We tend to be rather murky little ponds, containing many layers of suspended dirt and grime and our greatest depths are stirred by the strangest of currents.

We're all like the slaves in the fields now, putting on the front that says 'Everything's fine, boss' while we worry about how to make ends meet.

If only he loved himself as much as he loved the rest of the world.

Some people spend years in counselling trying to cope with being fucked up. I just move on. The fucked-upness always goes. The conventional wisdom is that you're running away, you should learn to cope with being fucked-up. I don't hold with that. Life is a dynamic rather than a static process, and when we don't change it kills us. It's not running away, it's moving on.

IF YOU FEEL HIGH OR LOW, MIND THAT NOTHING GOOD OR BAD LASTS FOREVER AND TODAY'S THE START OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

Aunque te diré una cosa, debe deprimirte cantar esas canciones. A mí me volvería loco. A mí lo que me va es el ska. Música feliz, ¿sabes?

Yuv goat tae huv crap sex occasionally, just tae git some perspective oan the barry shaggin. If every ride wis textbook porno, then it would be meaningless, cause thir'd be nae real reference point. That's the wey ye huv tae look at it.

She starts screaming at him now, calling him a Nazi n a fascist n aw that shite that posh students like tae call people, usually cause thir away fae hame fir the first time n they discover that they hate thir ma n dad and cannae handle it.

Carl's mind was in overdrive. If it would just get into harmony with his fucked body. That was the real torture of drink-and-drugs hangovers: the way they pushed your mind and body in different directions. Now Carl was considering the illusion of romance, which evaporates with the passing of youth. The ugliness of pragmatism and responsibility will wear down on you like waves on a rock if you let it. When you saw them on the screen telling us to be like this or do that, and buy this, and be that, and we sat at home, confused, complacent, tired and fearful, you knew they'd won. The big idea had gone and it was just about selling more product and controlling those who couldn't afford to buy. No utopias, no heroes. It wasn't an exciting time, as they constantly hyped it up to be, it was boring and exasperating and meaningless.

Strange as it was, they cared. They weren't world-weary or blasé. They cared about things; often stupid, trivial things, but they cared. And they cared because they were engaged in a world outside the constructed world of the media and showbusiness. You couldn't care about that world, not really, because it wasn't yours and it never could be.

It wasn't our bad habits which really scared us; we got too used to them, they only worried others. It was the odd, unpredictable, brutal impulse you fought to restrain, the one that the rest never even saw and hopefully never would.

They try to con you that making that kind of choice day in, day out, makes you feel free or alive or self-actualised. But it's shite, a lifebelt to stop us all from going fuckin mad at the lunacy of this fucked-up world we've let them shape around us.

Tae be touched by real love requires great fortune, it's no in your hands.