No one has studied the psychology of a dying party. It may be raging, howling, boiling, and then a fever sets in and a little silence and then quickly quickly it is gone, the guests go home or go to sleep or wander away to some other affair and they leave a dead body.
I stole it from Nik who stole it from a Queen. Not sure which one. Well this is depressing. What happened to the party?”
We’re young. We’re supposed to drink too much. We’re supposed to have bad attitudes and shag each other’s brains out. We are designed to party. This is it. Yeah, so a few of us will overdose or go mental. But Charles Darwin said you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. And that’s what it’s all about – breaking eggs! And by eggs, I do mean, getting twatted on a cocktail of Class A’s. If you could just see yourselves! It breaks my heart. You’re wearing cardigans! We had it all. We fucked up bigger and better than any generation that came before us. We were so beautiful! We’re screw-ups. I’m a screw-up and I plan to be a screw-up until my late 20s, maybe even my early 30s. And I will shag my own mother before I let her… or anyone else, take that away from me!
In a time of domestic crisis men of good will and generosity should be able to unite regardless of party or politics.
I’ve often stood silent at a party for hours listening to my movie idols turn into dull and little people.
I consider it completely unimportant who in the party will vote, or how; but what is extraordinarily important is this—who will count the votes, and how.
And there were a few other people there. You know, the sort of people who can talk about salad for five hours.
If there was 2000 people in this apartment right now, would we be celebrating? No, we’d be suffocating.