Quote Whore: Invisible Monsters

I’ve grown this habit of underlining my favorite dialogues, sentences and phrases from a book. Now that I’m finished with Invisible Monsters, I can (maybe) let you in on the dramatic and exaggerated world of Brandy Alexander/Shane McFarland and Bubba-Joan/Shannon McFarland/Daisy St. Patience.

Very Merry

Bearded and unshaven,
he stumbled upon my door.
Neither right nor wrong,
it was just.

In the ravageness of the moment,
he fumbled into my lips.
Neither good nor bad,
it simply was.

On two shattered coffee cups,
he finds my flesh.
Neither hot nor cold,
it ended in five.

Book Club Read: Invisible Monsters

Invisible Monsters

I have no idea how book clubs work but I don’t care really. I just like to read. Our first assignment (er, is that what you call it?) is Chuck Palahniuk’s Invisible Monsters. I’ve been looking for this book for quite some time now but due to some rotten luck, I always leave a book store disappointed because they never have it in stock! Until, of course, I dropped by another Power Books store and (luckily) found one copy neatly stacked behind Palahniuk’s other novels–Haunted and Snuff.

I’m not done reading the book yet but I know I’ll enjoy this novel. The first few chapters already reflect the Palahniuk that I adore–fast-paced, flamboyant and brutally honest. In contrast to another favorite, Haruki Murakami, Palahniuk writes like it’s nobody’s business. With his works, don’t expect him to romanticize words or linger upon phrases.

If Palahniuk’s writing doesn’t excite you already, the book by the way tells the story of a female model who ends up with a terribly disfigured face, changing her life forever. A journey about finding one’s identity, the book doesn’t strive to scratch the surface of conceitedness, vanity or self-worth–it smashes them wide open.

“When we don’t know who to hate, we hate ourselves.”

Ballerina

To starry walls, she spreads her arms,

like waiting for a beckoning touch.

In the darkness her secrets swing open,

a chest unfastened in mid-flight.

Pirouetting on fire,

to the song she has grown into,

the dance she was shaped after.

Collapsing in a sea of bewildered applause,

her bright sixteen lives–

quickly dims under colored suns.