"It is a horrible idea that there is somebody who owns us, who makes us, who supervises us, waking, and sleeping, who knows our thoughts, who can convict us of thought-crime, who can judge us while we sleep for things that might occur to us in our dreams, who can create us sick, as apparently we are, and then order us – on pain of eternal torture – to be well again. To demand this, to wish this to be true, is to wish to live as an abject slave. It is a wonderful thing that we now have enough information, enough intelligence, and – I hope – enough intellectual and moral courage to say that this ghastly proposition is founded on a lie, and to celebrate that fact."

"Some things you want as a young person lose their relevance; some of them you could get, now, but can’t see the point. When I was in my larval form, before my ninth molt, I thought it would be fucking awesome to have Devastator and Omega Supreme have a big fight on the floor of my room. I could do that now, and please what remains of that young man in my current iteration, but I know that they’re just plastic now and the living part of them is gone."

"I regard the brain as a computer which will stop working when its components fail. There is no heaven or afterlife for broken down computers; that is a fairy story for people afraid of the dark."

"Don’t you drink? I notice you speak slightingly of the bottle. I have drunk since I was fifteen and few things have given me more pleasure. When you work hard all day with your head and know you must work again the next day what else can change your ideas and make them run on a different plane like whisky?"

"When I was 9, my parents threw a birthday party for some old great-aunt or -uncle or other and invited the whole massive extended family. We’re Irish, so it was packed. Last to arrive was my great-uncle Freddy, a jolly widower who had recently taken up painting. He showed up with a huge package and gave it to my parents. “This is for you,” he said. “Open it right now!” They did. It was a huge painting of my mother. HUGE. And it was…
“Oh! MY! FREDDY! This is…thank you!” My mom said, through the clenched teeth of the smile a mother smiles when company’s over.
After everyone went home, we sat at the dining room table and looked at that painting. It was just all wrong. The skin tone was cadaverous, the eyes were off center, and she had 900 teeth. It was CRAZY. And the thing was, we loved Uncle Freddy, and he did tend to drop by from time to time. So this big, dumb thing we didn’t ask for was going to have to be hung in our home. “Well,” my Dad sighed. “This is ours now.” That is exactly how I feel this morning, as a gay man, about “Born This Way."

"

Do the world a favor and douse your kit in gasoline and set it on fire and next time you have something to say just open up a mason jar and fill it up with your shit attitude and put it under your pillow for safe keeping. Maybe the CuntFairy will swing by some night and leave you some new Paiste cymbals which you would probably be stoked on.

Consider yourself unfollowed, unloved, and uninclined to ever sit behind a drum kit again.

"

"The most refined attempts to calculate the amount of dark energy suffusing space miss the measured value by a gargantuan factor of 10123 (that is, a 1 followed by 123 zeroes) — the single greatest mismatch between theory and observation in the history of science."