You wake up at Seatac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O’Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time. You wake up at Air Harbor International. If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?
This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.
It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.
When you have insomnia, you’re never really asleep… and you’re never really awake.
Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.
The things you own end up owning you.
[while burning the Narrator’s hand with lye]
Tyler Durden: Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God?
Narrator: No, no, I… don’t…
Tyler Durden: Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen.
Narrator: It isn’t?
Tyler Durden: We don’t need him!
I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.
After fighting, everything else in your life got the volume turned down.
With insomnia, nothing’s real. Everything’s far away. Everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.