Death of a salesman
Biff: Hap,the trouble is we weren’t brought up to grub for money. I don’t know how to do it.
Willy: Everybody likes a kidder but nobody lends him money
Willy: You can’t eat the orange and throw the peel away- a man is not a piece of fruit.
Willy: Jenny, good to see you. How’re ya? Workin’? Or still honest?
Charley: The only thing you got in this world is what you can sell.
Charley: No man only needs a little salary.
Ham on Rye
Who ever heard of an infected back anyhow? You either lived or you died. The back was something the assholes had never figured out how to amputate
I walked around the library looking for books. I pulled them off the shelves, one by one. But they were all tricks. They were very dull. There were pages and pages of words that didn’t say anything. Or if they did say something they took too long to say it and by the time they said it you were already too tired to have it matter at all.
When someone else’s truth is the same as your truth and he seems to be saying it just for you, that’s great.
Gathered around me were the weak instead of the strong, the ugly instead of the beautiful, the loosers instead of the winners. It looked like it was my destiny to travel in their company through life. That didn’t bother me so much as the fact that I seemed irresistible to these dull idiot fellows.
I watched them come out of the water, glistening, smooth-skinned and young, undefeated. I wanted them to want me. But never out of pity. Yet, despite their smooth untouched bodies and minds they still were missing something because they were as yet basically untested. When adversity finally arrived in their lives it might come too late or too hard. I was ready. maybe.
News travels fast in places where nothing much happens.
They seemed very adult poised and superior…They seemed to know something I didn’t know.
Maybe I could live by my wits. The eight-hour day was impossible, yet almost everybody submitted to it. And the war, everybody was talking about the war in Europe. I wasn’t interested in World history, only my own. What crap. Your parents controlled your growing-up period., they pissed all over you. Then when you got ready to go out on your own, the others wanted to stick you into a uniform so you could get your ass shot off.
The life of the sane, average man was dull, worse than death. There seemed no possible alternative. Education also seemed to be a trap. The little education I had allowed myself had made me more suspicious. What were doctors, lawyers, scientists? They were just men who allowed themselves to be deprived of their freedom to think and act as individuals. I went back to my shack and drank.
The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they slice a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A white god-damned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidate who reminded them most of themselves.
Selma looked great. How did one get a Selma? The dogs of this world never ended up with a Selma. Dogs ended up with dogs. Selma served us breakfast. She was beautiful and one
man owned her, a college professor. That was not quite right, somehow. Educated hotshot smoothies. Education was the new god, and educated men the new plantation masters.
“You’re a whore.”
“Yeah? Well, if there’s anything worse than a whore it’s a bore.”
“If there’s anything worse than a bore it’s a boring whore.”
Few beautiful women were willing to indicate in public that they belonged to someone. I had known enough women to realize this.
For the first time I thought of marriage. I knew that there certainly were flaws in her that had not surfaced. The beginning of a relationship was always the easiest. After that the
unveiling began, never to stop. Still, I thought of marriage. I thought of a house, a dog and a cat, of shopping in supermarkets. Henry Chinaski was losing his balls. And didn’t care.
I never felt right being alone; sometimes it felt good but it never felt right.
Katherine knew that there was something about me that was not wholesome in the sense of wholesome is as wholesome does. I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind
of non-being, and I accepted it. It didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. One kind of behavior didn’t fit the other. I didn’t care.