Harry Whitewolf’s Reviews > Notebooks of a Naked Youth > Status Update

"...when I was young I dressed in my mother's clothes, walked the streets exposing myself to passing traffic and had sex with the family dog. But that doesn't necessarily make me a dog lover."

"The disgusting thing about writing, in my opinion, is that it's aggressive and unnecessary and proves nothing but the conceit of the person who writes it. As if by somehow crying in public authors have proved their own personal misery to be so much more persistent and noteworthy than the next man's, woman's or child's...

...one thing is for sure: so-called 'well crafted' prose stinks worse than a ton of dog shit."

"...singing and performing, in my opinion, is just a cheap way of showing off. I am learning to play guitar, though my parents and a whole string of failed educators assure me that I lack all musical ability and talent and am, in fact, tone deaf. I have also been practising my singing. My dream is to be adored by a loving and admiring audience, though I would of course also loath this."

"(I) scrub my nails viciously with the scrubbing brush, until my cuticles start to bleed. Then, I have to put my fingers in my mouth and taste that there is no shit left under my nails. I bite at them and tear off little chunks of nail, then force myself to swallow them. I bow humbly to myself in the mirror thank myself for this delicious meal."

"The cistern in the downstairs bog is completely frozen and held in a block of ice. I sit and piss and refuse to allow myself to shit. Instead, I stand and I telly myself that I have to shit on the floor...I squat down on the floor and defecate. I turn and check the mess. A little spurt of pee has gone down my trouser leg. I bend down, scoop up my poo and make myself sniff it, putting my nose right up against it."

"Kursty says that I am full of spunk and wants to know if I could fit my balls into her as well."

"Actually, the thing that really keeps me from writing anything down is the fear that if I ever do write my book then maybe I will be compelled, out of some peculiar superstition, to write another one and then another one, and so on, and so forth, until I would have to become a disgusting professional who writes 'beautifully crafted lines'. In short, there would be no end to it."

"Of course, going to art college is silly and immature but then again it isn't. Our head tutor is soft and flabby and Mister Bennet is hard and arrogant. It will take all of my self-control not to imagine punching him in the teeth and knocking him arse-first down two flights of stairs."