fevereiro 26, 2009

Choose Life...

Choose life. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electric tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit and arrange the fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wonder who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch, watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable hole, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats that you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life.
But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?
in Trainspoting

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