欧宝娱乐

“Do people really like the way they鈥檙e fucked? he thought. Do wives like their husband鈥檚 faces? Does my weak vocabulary annoy these intelligent CEOs? How long can I speak until I bother someone? They will all smile and shake your hand, but I am afraid I am just another omelet missing the ingredient they want. I am the wrong piano key fiercely played by a pianist鈥檚 regretful pinky finger in a concert hall blaring false to the audience鈥檚 disturbed ears that certainly caught the note but whose controlled heads do not dare betray their feigned enjoyment.”
― Karl Kristian Flores, A Happy Ghost

“Whenever he contemplated death, he felt he would miss thinking most of all. There was a delicate pleasure of thought and sensation. The awareness of it. The inner voice of thoughtless reasoning, effortless analyzing, ceaseless tingling. It was the only thing a person had if everything were taken away from them. It was what continued to exist before they touched any object or heard any sound once awaken from slumber. That personal conversation was irreplaceable. Andrei would be upset at death, whenever it came, because of what it entailed: no longer being able to look down and see one鈥檚 hands. No longer being able to feel a breathing belly. No longer able to wonder, or to remember a memory. It surprised him, in such a stupid, sad way, that there was no save button in life. Yes, yes, we die, I get it, he thought, but for some reason, he鈥檇 pathetically assumed he could take something with him. That death would be okay because at least he would still be able to reflect. In theory, he would die and get to say, 鈥淲hew, I died. Now let鈥檚 think about it.鈥� But he wouldn鈥檛. All the memories he had earned would wash away instantly. The work done on oneself could not be transferred. He would not trim his fingernails or have the chance to check out another woman鈥檚 ass ever again. Death was flat. Aliveness had texture.”
― Karl Kristian Flores, A Happy Ghost