“The bloody neck part's covered by the grass, so it looked like that's what our lawn would've looked like if our lawn had a face and was sleeping,” p. 152
“I fanned his work out on my bed, and looked at it like pieces of a puzzle in which the picture will only be recognized once it is solved,” p. 156“Traffic moves through a corridor of hand-painted movie signs, which rise three stories high and block out the squatter areas like some Potemkin village of celluloid fantasies. It is not too strained a metaphor,” p. 157 (Getting defensive, aren’t we?)“These billboards are the iceberg's tip of the melodramatic tradition that links every genre...” p. 157“... the faces of the artistas tower like egos,” p. 157“I slide down in my seat, quick as an eel,” p. 158.“It passes unhindered through a roadblock of soldiers and disappears in the distance, like an apparition from the past,” p. 158"Manila's one big Roschach test," p. 254"... fucking her is like throwing a hot dog down the hallway,” p. 257"But the dancing artista is a bright nebula, it's like the music is coming from her. To a colorful, arcing bass line, a man with a voice like gravity sings about melodies that getcha so... Vita has her eyes shut and is doing this repetitive move where her face goes one way while her hips swing out in the opposite direction. Like a snake... The very snake who gave Eve that apple she gave to Adam,” p. 257 (I don’t even know how I survived this.)"The phone is like the moon and her face is being bathed in it,” p. 264 (Ergo, her face is bathing in the phone. Let me know how that works.)
He is pushed onto his back and seven-inch spikes are driven between his radii and carpals, his patibulum is lifted onto an upright stipe. Another spike is banged through the intermetatarsal spaces of his feet.
- p. 155
The cancer had chewed through Joe's scalp, munched his skull, then opened the membranes underneath... until it had laid bare this short-order cook's brain, pink and gray, and pulsating so that each beat a little pool of cerebral fluid quivered...
"Her room smells innocent, like a girl before fashion magazines turn her into a woman. In one corner sits a Fender Stratocaster... (Note: earlier, "vintage hip-hop [was flying] out" of her car, p. 173)... A brass bed is buried almost completely under stuffed animals... A pantheon of Steely Dan, the Spiders from Mars, and a sweat-drenched Neil Diamond stares at me from the wall. Sadie bends down to search a desk drawer, exposing her red thong panties and the tight crack of her plumber's butt. Atop the clutter on her desk is [sic] a Hello Kitty diary, a sketchbook, and a plastic pistol case open to reveal blackened rags and a disassembled Glock...”
- p. 177"... but where the fuck is my poetry diary?"Is it the Hello Kitty in front of you?""That's my dream diary.""How about the one with Fabio on it?""That's my diary diary.""What's the poetry diary look like?""It's green and, um... oh, here it is! I was sitting on it. Hehe."- p. 178
"Her hair has the scent of Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific shampoo... I tell Sadie: I'd have thought you use some fancy shampoo."
"Yeah, well. I'm just a simple kind of girl."- p. 272
"Night falls / like an overwrought theme; / in comes the tide / of a sea of bad metaphors. / O flower, / O rain, / O tree. / Ow! Formulaic poetry! / Will my great epiphany come at my last sentence?"