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SUB ANN:
Hate.*
That's really an
overstatement. I don't actually hate anybody. I just feel so*…
Not hate. Um, what's
the word I'm looking for?*
Dissatisfied, or is it
unsatisfied?*
Either way, that's how
I feel.*
If the people I know
were entrees, it would be like: "The food was bad and such small
portions." You know that joke?*
What my life lacks in
quality, I try to make up in quantity. I'm pretty sure it's not
working. But then again, who can say?*
From what I can
see it's pretty much the same all over. It's a drag to think
this is it. This is life.*
To think it's the
same, no matter if you're in the*
suburbs, or penthouse,
or loft, or farm, or under a bridge.*
Or if you're a *
doctor, or oil tycoon,
or waiter, or bus driver, or Prince of Wales, or fabulously famous,
it's the same ol' shit.*
I used to think there
were people out there who were really doing something. Whose
lives were filled with
grand, important, moments.*
Where pettiness didn't even exist, because
these people were making the important decisions in art and
philosophy. My goal was to meet these people.*
To become one of them
and spend my days witnessing genius. But no,*
Woody and Mia had a
gruesome divorce, the Prince writes kiss and tell books and Ginsberg
wrote a poem about smoking. Totally disappointing.*
It's now not that I
may never find those people, it's that they don't exist. I
wanted them to exist.*
Andy Warhol was
completely right, and you know, that sucks.*
That really, really
sucks.
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ANN:
*I'll tell you what I
hate.
*The way they
decorated this place.
*Marsha for moving to
New York.
*My job.
*My boyfriend, such as
he is.
*My family.
*My butt.
*My life.
*Suburbs, penthouses,
lofts, farms.
*My apartment.
*Doctors, oil tycoons,
waiters, bus drivers, Prince Charles, anybody famous.
*What a pile of shit.
*I hate boredom.
*Boredom can make you do
dangerous things.
*Idle hands are the
Devil's playthings.
*I hate the government.
*The middle class, aw
hell, mankind in general.
*It really, really,
sucks.
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