Tyler's words coming out of my mouth
One morning, there's the dead jellyfish of a used condom floating in the toilet.
"When a man is hit by lightning," Tyler says, "his head burns down to a smoldering baseball and his zipper welds itself shut."
I say, did we hit bottom, tonight?
Tyler lies back and asks "If Marilyn Monroe was alive right now, what would she be doing?"
I say, goodnight.
The headliner hangs down in shreds from the ceiling, and Tyler says, "Clawing at the lid of her coffin."
The security guy asked my name and address and phone number, and then he asked me what was the difference between a condom and a cockpit.
"You can only get one prick into a condom," he said.
After Tyler and Marla had sex about ten times, Tyler says, Marla said she wanted to get pregnant. Marla said she wanted to have Tyler's abortion.
"You know, the condom is the glass slipper of a generation. You slip it on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, then you throw it away. The condom i mean. Not the stranger."
"Sticking feathers up your butt," Tyler says, "does not make you a chicken."
Think about the animals used in product testing.
Think about the monkeys shot into space.
"Without their death, their pain, without their sacrifice," Tyler says, "we would have nothing."
"Spiders," Tyler says, "could lay their eggs and larva could tunnel under your skin. That's how bad your life can get."
The mechanic says, "If you're male and you're Christian and living in America, your father is your model for God. And if you never know your father, if you father bails out or dies or is never at home, what do you believe about God?"
This is all Tyler Durden dogma. Scrawled on bits of paper while i was asleep and given to me to type and photocopy at work. I've read it all. Even my boss has probably read it all.
"What you end up doing," the mechanic says, "is you spend your life searching for a father and God."
"What you have to consider," he says, "is the possibility that God doesn't like you. Could be, God hates us. This is not the worst thing that could happen."
How Tyler saw it was that getting God's attention for being bad was better than getting no attention at all. Maybe because God's hate is better than His indifference.
If you could be either God's worst enemy or nothing, which would you choose?
We are God's middle children, according to Tyler, with no special place or history and no special attention.
Unless we get God's attention, we have no hope of damnation or redemption.
Which is worse, hell or nothing?
Only if we're caught and punished can we be saved.
"Burn the Lourve," the mechanic says, "and wipe your ass with the Mona Lisa. This way, at least, God would know our names."
The lower you fall, the higher you'll fly. The farther you run, the more God wants you back.
"If the prodigal son had never left home," the mechanic says, "the fatted calf would still be alive."
It's not enough to be numbered with the grains of sand on the beach and the stars in the sky.
"When a man is hit by lightning," Tyler says, "his head burns down to a smoldering baseball and his zipper welds itself shut."
I say, did we hit bottom, tonight?
Tyler lies back and asks "If Marilyn Monroe was alive right now, what would she be doing?"
I say, goodnight.
The headliner hangs down in shreds from the ceiling, and Tyler says, "Clawing at the lid of her coffin."
The security guy asked my name and address and phone number, and then he asked me what was the difference between a condom and a cockpit.
"You can only get one prick into a condom," he said.
After Tyler and Marla had sex about ten times, Tyler says, Marla said she wanted to get pregnant. Marla said she wanted to have Tyler's abortion.
"You know, the condom is the glass slipper of a generation. You slip it on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, then you throw it away. The condom i mean. Not the stranger."
"Sticking feathers up your butt," Tyler says, "does not make you a chicken."
Think about the animals used in product testing.
Think about the monkeys shot into space.
"Without their death, their pain, without their sacrifice," Tyler says, "we would have nothing."
"Spiders," Tyler says, "could lay their eggs and larva could tunnel under your skin. That's how bad your life can get."
The mechanic says, "If you're male and you're Christian and living in America, your father is your model for God. And if you never know your father, if you father bails out or dies or is never at home, what do you believe about God?"
This is all Tyler Durden dogma. Scrawled on bits of paper while i was asleep and given to me to type and photocopy at work. I've read it all. Even my boss has probably read it all.
"What you end up doing," the mechanic says, "is you spend your life searching for a father and God."
"What you have to consider," he says, "is the possibility that God doesn't like you. Could be, God hates us. This is not the worst thing that could happen."
How Tyler saw it was that getting God's attention for being bad was better than getting no attention at all. Maybe because God's hate is better than His indifference.
If you could be either God's worst enemy or nothing, which would you choose?
We are God's middle children, according to Tyler, with no special place or history and no special attention.
Unless we get God's attention, we have no hope of damnation or redemption.
Which is worse, hell or nothing?
Only if we're caught and punished can we be saved.
"Burn the Lourve," the mechanic says, "and wipe your ass with the Mona Lisa. This way, at least, God would know our names."
The lower you fall, the higher you'll fly. The farther you run, the more God wants you back.
"If the prodigal son had never left home," the mechanic says, "the fatted calf would still be alive."
It's not enough to be numbered with the grains of sand on the beach and the stars in the sky.