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Dirty Realism Quotes

Browse 24 quotes about Dirty Realism.

Dirty Realism Quotes

“I could see the road ahead of me. I was poor and I was going to stay poor. But I didn't particularly want money. I didn't know what I wanted. Yes, I did. I wanted someplace to hide out, someplace where one didn't have to do anything. The thought of being something didn't only appall me, it sickened me. The thought of being a lawyer or a councilman or an engineer, anything like that, seemed impossible to me. To get married, to have children, to get trapped in the family structure. To go someplace to work every day and to return. It was impossible. To do things, simple things, to be part of family picnics, Christmas, the 4th of July, Labor, Mother's Day . . . was a man born just to endure those things and then die? I would rather be a dishwasher, return alone to a tiny room and drink myself to sleep. My father had a master plan. He told me, "My son, each man during his lifetime should buy a house. Finally he dies and leaves that house to his son. Then his son gets his own house and dies, leaves both houses to his son. That's two houses. That son gets his own house, that's three houses . . ." The family structure. Victory over adversity through the family. He believed in it. Take the family, mix with God and Country, add the ten-hour day and you had what was needed. I looked at my father, at his hands, his face, his eyebrows, and I knew that this man had nothing to do with me. He was a stranger. My mother was non-existent. I was cursed. Looking at my father I saw nothing but indecent dullness. Worse, he was even more afraid to fail than most others. Centuries of peasant blood and peasant training. The Chinaski bloodline had been thinned by a series of peasant-servants who had surrendered their real lives for fractional and illusionary gains. Not a man in line who said, "I don't want a house, I want a thousand houses, now!" He had sent me to that rich high school hoping that the ruler's attitude would rub off on me as I watched the rich boys screech up in their cream-colored coupes and pick up the girls in bright dresses. Instead I learned that the poor usually stay poor. That the young rich smell the stink of the poor and learn to find it a bit amusing. They had to laugh, otherwise it would be too terrifying. They'd learned that, through the centuries. I would never forgive the girls for getting into those cream-colored coupes with the laughing boys. They couldn't help it, of course, yet you always think, maybe . . . But no, there weren't any maybes. Wealth meant victory and victory was the only reality. What woman chooses to live with a dishwasher?”

“To ask them to legalize pot is something like asking them to put butter on the handcuffs before they place them on you: something else is hurting you—that's why you need pot, or whiskey, or whips and rubber suits, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can't think. Or madhouses or mechanical cunts or 162 baseball games in a season. Or Vietnam or Israel or the fear of spiders.”

“No. This was a crude and adolescent way of talking to the fairer gender, it rarely works. When it does work, the woman that falls for it isn’t even suitable for a satisfying sexual encounter. A good way to weed out the poor decisions and unacceptable mistakes though, and a better way to catch a horrible case of the dick rot. Trial and error. A few hit points missing is better for skill gain anyway.”

“Most Tea Party members are old pride-filled morons who have no good reasoning to concern themselves with politics, just tired old self-righteous and self-proclaimed patriots wanting to start some type of Nazi-like revolution, mainly because they hate Obama and they have a dumb sense that their lives and generation is quickly coming to a halt and none of them like it. They claim they don’t want their rights stripped away from them, so they will do anything in their power to stop that, including stripping away the rights of others.”

“Perhaps when I was a child. Then my brain fully developed and I started thinking about the logic. The Christian life is no life for this man. I have a potent predilection for the whiskey, weed and women. I like to defile all three of them, sometimes simultaneously. But yeah, it isn’t the fairytale within the bible that makes me such an infidel, I just couldn’t suffer waking up early on Sundays to praise a magical being that lacks significant proof.”

“Now I stand on the edge of a new world, a new life; pondering what type of fortunes and catastrophes await me. Bring it on, I’ve handled a generous amount of profound and weird shit in my lifetime that the universe could sling at me and I have always walked away more seasoned. Through blunder and mishap I’ve grown wise and callused, and I’ve risen from the aftermath as a warrior, a grandmaster, a champion of bad virtues and noble intentions.”

“HISTORIA RADICALMENTE CONCENTRADA DE LA ERA POSTINDUSTRIAL Cuando fueron presentados, él hizo un comentario ingenioso porque quería caer bien. Ella soltó una risotada estrepitosa porque quería caer bien. Luego los dos cogieron sus coches y se fueron solos a sus casas, mirando fijamente la carretera, con la misma mueca en la cara. Al hombre que los había presentado no le caía demasiado bien ninguno de los dos, pero fingía que sí porque le preocupaba mucho tener buenas relaciones con todo el mundo. Después de todo, nunca se sabe, ¿verdad que no? ¿Verdad? ¿Verdad?”

“In this cell you are small. They’ve taken your belt and your shoelaces. You break a little. You put your hands over your face so they don’t see. They don’t listen when you shout for water, Please. Your tongue is so dry it feels too big for your mouth. You don’t sleep. Someone behind the door shouts BASTARDS BASTARDS. You think you can see an old man crouched and watching you in that dark corner over there. You try and make spit to drink but you can’t. In the morning they give you half a plastic cup of warm water. Across your tongue they drag a cotton bud which they drop into a plastic bag with your name on it. They take your fingerprints, your photograph, and then when you get home, she tells you she’s pregnant.”

“I investigated her topnotch features and allusive intentions. She was the typical glitter-headed scene-bitch that one expects to see in a place that is much more happening than a randown bar on the end of town. The type that lives the in-scene and bleeds vodka and cranberries. Fun now, fun for everyone around her, but in ten years, maybe less, she will be a lonely dental assistant or cocktail waitress wondering what happened, where did she go wrong?”