Chuck Palahniuk: "Torchbearer for the nihilistic generation."

We don't have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression.

I've met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas handing on the wall behind him, and God asks me, "Why?"
Why did I cause so much pain?
Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?
Can't I see how we're all manifestations of love?
I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God's got this all wrong.
We are not special.
We are not crap or trash, either.
We just are.
We just are, and what happens just happens.
And God says, "No, that's not right."
Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything.

 Tyler gets me a job as a waiter, after that Tyler's pushing a gun in my mouth and saying, the first step to eternal life is you have to die. For a long time though, Tyler and I were best friends. People are always asking, did I know about Tyler Durden.

"This isn't really death," Tyler says. "We'll be legend. We won't grow old."
I tongue the barrel into my cheek and say, Tyler, you're thinking of vampires.

It's so quiet this high up, the feeling you get is that you're one of those space monkeys. You do the little job you're trained to do. Pull a lever. Push a button. You don't understand any of it, and then you just die.

We have sort of a triangle thing going here. I want Tyler. Tyler wants Marla. Marla wants me. I don't want Marla, and Tyler doesn't want me around, not anymore. This isn't about love as in caring. This is about property as in ownership. Without Marla, Tyler would have nothing.


Without just one nest
A bird can call the world home
Life is your career

 Me with my punched-out eyes and dried blood in big black crusty stains on my pants, I'm saying HELLO to everybody at work. HELLO! Look at me. HELLO! I am so ZEN. This is BLOOD. This is NOTHING. Hello. Everything is nothing, and it's so cool to be ENLIGHTENED. Like Me.
Sigh.		 "I embrace my own festering diseased corruption," Marla tells the cherry on the end of her cigarette.
Nothing is static. Everything is falling apart. Marla started going to the support groups since it was easier to be around other human butt wipe. Everyone has something wrong. And for awhile, her heart just sort of flatlined. They've never met so Tyler thinks it's a bad thing Marla is going to die.
The fight goes on and on because I want to be dead. Because only in death do we have names. Only in death are we no longer part of Project Mayhem. "It's not love or anything," Marla shouts, "but I think I like you." "The girl in 8G has no faith in herself," Marla shouts, "and she's worried that as she grows older, she'll have fewer and fewer options."

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