Fight Club

Just finished Fight Club. It’s my sister’s favorite book, so, sister duty. What I found most compelling honestly were the vivid descriptions of the main character biting his own tongue through his clenched teeth and the rest of his tongue just falling onto the floor. Just falling on the floor! And then how he kicked that little, lifeless piece of tongue muscle across said floor. It’s just not something you hear everyday, you know?

Little lifeless half of a tongue being kicked across the floor. That sort of thing will shock you. Because, like, ew.

I know there must have been a point to Fight Club but I’m not sure I caught it. The writing was just so weird and sporadic and filled with many instructions on how to make gunpowder or explosives, but I don’t really care about those things. I guess the thing is that he, “the narrator,” took down an entire world system by bucking the status quo and starting a series of sweaty clubs beneath bars where jacked up men hit each other till they were almost dead or whatever. Till they felt something or whatever.

I mean like, having your face pressed into the hard cement of a basement until your teeth emerge out of your cheek skin would definitely feel like something. Yeah, it would be a whole new sensation to be able to poke my tongue out of the side of my cheek.

Losing a tooth like it’s nothing, being rammed into the ground. Okay.

My type of self-mutilation has always been more of the self-sabotaging emotional variety, with the occasional physical diet restriction or self-harm escapade. But I get it.

To be beaten to the ground by hundreds of sweaty men, to cease to exist, to cease to care… That’s freedom. At least, a type of freedom. It’s a freedom from standards and rules and any self-respect and self-care. It’s like, fuck it. Fuck everything. Whatever. I just chewed off half my tongue and spit it on the ground. That’s how little I care. Whatever.

Yeah, I get it. That’s cool. And you get the added bonus of adrenaline and plenty of dopamine, plus a lack of attachment to your own well-being and therefore a complete disconnect from the well-being of others. Freedom.

It really is. Freedom.

It really is. Freedom.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s