The Consumer Quotes

“When my sister was released from the mental hospital, she came to live with me in the tilting and crumbling one-bedroom house I'd bought with the small amount of money I inherited when our parents died. She arrived one afternoon unannounced in a taxi. She must have known instinctively that I'd take her in. I don't know how or why they released her. Probably due to overcrowding, and they had her scratch her name on a form then pushed her out the door. Or maybe she just slipped away when no one was looking (who'd notice in a place like that?)--she never did tell me and I didn't ask her. I was so happy to have her with me again that the last thing I wanted to do was break the spell by letting reality intrude. Ever since they'd dragged her away weeping with laughter and reaching out for me with our parents' blood still coating her hands with shiny red gloves, I'd felt amputated, like they'd pulled her kicking and screaming and insane out of my guts.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“The sun filters through the closed curtains like urine.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Masturbating, I imagined stabbing each one of them, then fucking the knife holes.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Her tongue was a velvet slug that burrowed into my mouth, then wound down my throat into my intestines , where it prepared the nest where she would grow.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“I watched the blank screen of the television reflect the glow of my cigarette and imagined the hovering red ember was me, and I lived in the arid world of tubes and electronics behind the glass.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“If I had a cock, I could suck it, committing suicide by poisoning myself on my own sperm.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“They're in the room at the end of the hall, feeding on each other, sucking, sweating into each others' mouths, penetrating. They're larvae. They are undulating worms. They're monsters. I'm insane, I'm inverting myself. I'm twisting like mud between my fingers.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“I'm conscious of my flesh being food. I'm aching to be eaten.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Dave-ey's ticklish! Scoogoodoodooloo! Dave-ey is tick-ickle-ish!”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Way down, waaaaaaaay down, waaaaaaaaaay down....”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“THE IDEAL WORKER

At work, I’m dead flesh, waiting to be eaten. I enjoy feeling that way. I want someone else to inhabit my body. I want them to use me. My time, otherwise, is useless. When I’m given a specific task, I’m not punished with my mind, which I despise. I need my superiors because they save me from myself. My only ambition is to become more pliable, more inert. I want my mind to be open to my superiors. I want them to be able to read it at all times. Then they’ll punish me for my involuntary hatreds. If they punish me correctly, they'll wipe my mind clean. That will feel good.

(1984)”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Ever since they'd dragged her away weeping with laughter and reaching out for me with our parents' blood still coating her hands with shiny red gloves, I'd felt amputated, like they'd pulled her kicking and screaming and insane out of my guts.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“I stick my mouth to the hole where your cock was and drink the blood until it stops. You enjoy it. I'm made to eat your cock, not suck it.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“When I'm upstairs safe in my apartment, I squat over my frying pan and release their sperm and my shit. I let it simmer over the fire , mixed with wine. As I eat, I play the scene over again in my mind, ingesting each man, one by one.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“My cunt smells like death, because it was made to choke cocks.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“The women are rotting, sucking each other and transferring their corrosive juices back and forth, sharing their disease
.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Eyeing the money, the manager drooled shamelessly, like an obsessive masturbator spying a fresh jar of vaseline.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“As my excitement increases, I ' m fellated with savage but gooey fervor by the President of the United States, whom I casually reprimand for not slaughtering enough Germans in the recent race wars by gouging out his eyes as I ejaculate nitric acid into his belly....”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Milk from my fat body, squeezed from my worm...”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“An oiled young stud does sit-ups on his Soloflex machine, eviscerates himself with an impossibly honed and gleaming kitchen knife, flings his dangling intestines over his shoulder like a sashaying transvestite in a mink stole and walks straight into a day school room full of naked shit-smeared children, who devour him in a bloody tornado of razor-sharp teeth.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“As the sun traveled behind the ceiling of smoke and tarnished clouds , the shadows projected on the underside became the drugged anthropomorphisms and apparitions of their chemical dreams.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Her neck extended high and elegant, like a swan, just like our mother's neck before she cut it open.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“I felt the light shooting straight through my eyes into my skull unfiltered, causing a tumor to grow in the center of my brain. The tumor was shaped like a rose and its petals were as sharp as razorblades. With each new thought, a petal would spiral away from the body of the flower and slice a passageway through the meat of my brain, slowly boring out large sections of my identity.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“Please forgive me, I didn't do anything.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer

“The place was as dim as a church. Roller coasters of tarnished brass and swelling seas of en­ crusted red velvet spread out in pe ersions of opu­ lence before him. Gold thread traced rococo patterns in the purple felt walls. The theater's logo - a cupid with a clutch of arrows in one hand and a severed head in the other - was sewn in embossed pink at regular intervals across the walls and carpets. Vicious, greasy teenagers prowled the lobby, pumped up on cheap violence, gore, and clinically depicted scenes of sexual denigration and mutilation. They loitered, coiled like springs anticipating release. They'd later spill out into the primordial chaos of the streets in an orgy of drive-bys, carjackings, murders and rapes, unleashed on the world like a marauding legion of rampaging demons escaped from a sewage hole lead­ ing up from hell, squirting hot hormonal juice out their pores, laboring and defiling the polluted night, Los Angeles laying there with its legs spread wide with tinsel tangled in its hair, bleeding from its gash like a freshly gang-raped transvestite weeping on the piss-soaked concrete floor of the L.A. County Jail.”
― Michael Gira, The Consumer