all_i_want
Refugee
- Joined
- Dec 3, 2004
- Messages
- 1,180
american psycho, by brett easton ellis. i started reading it again, its such an awesome book. and actually, one chapter takes place in a U2 concert, during the joshua tree tour, 2 weeks after the band was on the cover of time magazine
here are some parts about the band:
patrick is our wall street psychopath btw.
courtney: the Edge is wearing armani
patrick: thats not armani, its emporio
c: no its armani
p: the grays are too muted and so are the taupes and navies. definite winged lapels, subtle plaids, polka dots and stripes are armani. NOT emporio. there is a difference. which one's the Ledge?
c: the drummer might be the Ledge
p: the drummer is not wearing anything by armani. or emporio for that matter
patrick (narrative) .. the lead singer, Bono is screeching out what sounds like 'Where the Beat Sounds The Same'...
patrick (narrative) ...when i sit down, something strange catches my eye. bono has now moved across the stage, following me to my seat, and he's staring into my eyes, kneeling at the edge of the stage, wearing black jeans maybe gitano) sandals, a leather vest with no shirt beneath it. His body is white, covered with sweat, and its not worked out enough, there's no muscle tone and what definition there might be is covered beneath a paltry amount of chest hair. he has a cowboy hat on and his hair is pulled back into a pony tail and he's moaning some dirge -- i catch the lyric 'a hero is an insect in this world' -- and he has a faint, barely noticeable but nonetheless intense smirk on his face and it grows, spreading across it confidently, and while his eyes blaze, the backdrop of the stage turns red and suddenly i get this tremendous surge of feeling, this rush of knowledge and my own heart beats faster because of this and its not impossible to believe that an invisible cord attached to bono has now encircled me and now the audience disappears and the music slows down, gets softer and its just bono onstage, the stadium's deserted, the band fades away... and then everyone, the audience, the band reappears and the music slowly swells up and bono turns away and im left tingling, my face flushed, an aching erection pulsing against my thigh, my hands clenched in fists of tension. but suddenly everything stops, as if a switch has been turned off, the backdrop flashes back to white. bono is on the other side of the stage now and everything, the feeling in my heart, the sensation combing my brain, vanishes...
evelyn (patrick's girlfriend) my god, are you telling me ive been.. trim-coordinated?
paul (some guy) i bet bono has a small dick, irish you know
evelyn: how does my hair look?
also, another part, not about U2 but totally hilarious.
patrick is looking for another victim in central park, NY
patrick (narrative) At Colombus Circle, a juggler wearing a trench coat and top hat, who is usually at this location afternoons and who calls himself Strech Man, performs in front of a small, uninterested crow; though i smell prey, and he seems fully worthy of my wrath, I move on in search of a less dorky target. though if he'd been a mime, odds are he'd already be dead.
psychotic humor at its best
here are some parts about the band:
patrick is our wall street psychopath btw.
courtney: the Edge is wearing armani
patrick: thats not armani, its emporio
c: no its armani
p: the grays are too muted and so are the taupes and navies. definite winged lapels, subtle plaids, polka dots and stripes are armani. NOT emporio. there is a difference. which one's the Ledge?
c: the drummer might be the Ledge
p: the drummer is not wearing anything by armani. or emporio for that matter
patrick (narrative) .. the lead singer, Bono is screeching out what sounds like 'Where the Beat Sounds The Same'...
patrick (narrative) ...when i sit down, something strange catches my eye. bono has now moved across the stage, following me to my seat, and he's staring into my eyes, kneeling at the edge of the stage, wearing black jeans maybe gitano) sandals, a leather vest with no shirt beneath it. His body is white, covered with sweat, and its not worked out enough, there's no muscle tone and what definition there might be is covered beneath a paltry amount of chest hair. he has a cowboy hat on and his hair is pulled back into a pony tail and he's moaning some dirge -- i catch the lyric 'a hero is an insect in this world' -- and he has a faint, barely noticeable but nonetheless intense smirk on his face and it grows, spreading across it confidently, and while his eyes blaze, the backdrop of the stage turns red and suddenly i get this tremendous surge of feeling, this rush of knowledge and my own heart beats faster because of this and its not impossible to believe that an invisible cord attached to bono has now encircled me and now the audience disappears and the music slows down, gets softer and its just bono onstage, the stadium's deserted, the band fades away... and then everyone, the audience, the band reappears and the music slowly swells up and bono turns away and im left tingling, my face flushed, an aching erection pulsing against my thigh, my hands clenched in fists of tension. but suddenly everything stops, as if a switch has been turned off, the backdrop flashes back to white. bono is on the other side of the stage now and everything, the feeling in my heart, the sensation combing my brain, vanishes...
evelyn (patrick's girlfriend) my god, are you telling me ive been.. trim-coordinated?
paul (some guy) i bet bono has a small dick, irish you know
evelyn: how does my hair look?
also, another part, not about U2 but totally hilarious.
patrick is looking for another victim in central park, NY
patrick (narrative) At Colombus Circle, a juggler wearing a trench coat and top hat, who is usually at this location afternoons and who calls himself Strech Man, performs in front of a small, uninterested crow; though i smell prey, and he seems fully worthy of my wrath, I move on in search of a less dorky target. though if he'd been a mime, odds are he'd already be dead.
psychotic humor at its best
