As The Son Of Holocaust

I Used To Feel That If I Say Something's Wrong, I Have To Say How It Could Be Made Right. But What I Learned From Kurt Vonnegut Was That I Could Write Stories That Say I May Not Have A Solution, But This Is Wrong - That's Good Enough.

And She Loved A Man Who Was Made Out Of Nothing. A Few Hours Without Him And Right Away She’d Be Missing Him With Her Whole Body, Sitting In Her Office Surrounded By Polyethylene And Concrete And Thinking Of Him. And Every Time She’d Boil Water For Coffee In Her Ground-floor Office, She’d Let The Steam Cover Her Face, Imagining It Was Him Stroking Her Cheeks, Her Eyelids And She’d Wait For The Day To Be Over, So She Could Go To Her Apartment Building, Climb The Flight Of Stairs, Turn The Key In The Door, And Find Him Waiting For Her, Naked And Still Between The Sheets Of Her Empty Bed.

Rabbits Are Played. Nowadays It's All About The Turtles. Tell Them It's A Ninja, They'll Freak.

I Think That Any Authentic Feeling One Has Of Life Should Be A Feeling Of Defeat. It's A Losing Game. You're Going To Die. Civilization Is Going To End. Our Society Is In Decline, And We Should Feel Ok About It Because Roman Society Was In Decline And Before It The Assyrian One Was, And They Disappeared Off This Earth And We Will Disappear Too.

My Mother, For Example, Told The German Officer Not To Kill Her. She'd Make It Worth His While. And Then, When They Were Doing It, She Pulled A Knife Out Of Her Belt And Sliced Open His Chest, Just Like She Used To Open Chicken Breasts To Stuff With Rice For The Sabbath Meal.