Reading "Lullaby" by Chuck Palahniuk makes no sense
This “Dark Comedy”
Imagine this story in a gruff monotone voice.
The sound is the same as its feeling.
Its only webbed logic is in the unneeded details.
Its sentences are short, not curt, but choppy.
Read and the desired effect is a long emotionless sigh.
Your young and frustrated, your edgy, and you don’t care.
This gray tone surrounds you, envelopes you.
It’s the spit on the asphalt, the puke on the edge of toilet bowl.
Its feeling with out aim, shapeless.
It’s the essence of the underbelly delivered to you in the safety
Of a stylishly grunge café.
The kind of person who masters this infection secretly fears the sight of blood.
Equivalent to a suburban gangster.
Its all the words in the dictionary synonymous with the word “rebel”
Looked up by a pansy.
“Yesss”, Ol’ Chester sighs with inflated ego, “Finally a worthy description.”
Imagine this story in a gruff monotone voice.
The sound is the same as its feeling.
Its only webbed logic is in the unneeded details.
Its sentences are short, not curt, but choppy.
Read and the desired effect is a long emotionless sigh.
Your young and frustrated, your edgy, and you don’t care.
This gray tone surrounds you, envelopes you.
It’s the spit on the asphalt, the puke on the edge of toilet bowl.
Its feeling with out aim, shapeless.
It’s the essence of the underbelly delivered to you in the safety
Of a stylishly grunge café.
The kind of person who masters this infection secretly fears the sight of blood.
Equivalent to a suburban gangster.
Its all the words in the dictionary synonymous with the word “rebel”
Looked up by a pansy.
“Yesss”, Ol’ Chester sighs with inflated ego, “Finally a worthy description.”