Dead Inside

by Chandler Morrison

Self-awareness really doesn’t mean shit, though. It is, in fact, little more than psychological masturbation, and has about the same net worth as a wad of semen in a handful of crumpled tissues. No cockroach ever desired not to be a cockroach, just because it knew it was a cockroach.

Emotions gross me out, especially when they’re visible. People gross me out. Especially when they’re visible.

“I know,” she says, grin widening. “I read Fight Club, too.” “It’s one of my favorites.” “Invisible Monsters is better.”

“It’s realistic thinking. No matter how much of an individual you are, no matter how unique and different and nonconformist and antiestablishment, you can’t deny the inescapable effects that society has on everyone, including you and me.”