(FC = Fight Club)
You’re in office.
Your boss hands you reports to analyze.
You’ve been reading FC while you could.
Your boss, your girlfriend, the coffee machine; all of them are like bees buzzing outside your head.
Last night you weren’t in town. No one knows that.
Last night you were in town. Everyone thinks so.
The lunch is dry and unpalatable. You’re reading FC.
The Boss asks if the reports are analyzed.
You shake your head—he’s got to wait. You’re not in a hurry. Since last night, you’re not in a hurry to get anywhere.
You’re in a metro. You’re going to your apartment.
Chuck Palahniuk’s finest work is in your hands.
You’re gliding through the crowd after last night. They can honk at you, you’re as cool as a cucumber; you can’t hear them.
The writing is like your reading of the book: FC-cut-work-cut-FC-cut-coffee-cut-FC-cut-work-cut-FC-cut-home-cut-FC.
Cut. Cut. Cut. And you’ve visualized how to make soap.
Soap: a marvellous invention. FC: another marvellous invention. You can’t just make another bar of soap. You can’t just create another piece of literature like FC.
You’re living this life and doing all that you think you can. And all that you wished you didn’t.
Ever wondered how much have you really lived?
Ever wondered what “living” constitutes of?
“This is your life and it is ending one minute at a time.”
You’re in office. The boss asks if the reports are analysed. You know seven rules. You just want to tell him: No questions.
Your girlfriend calls. She asks you if you love her. You want to tell her:
“A tiger can smile
A snake will say it loves you.
Lies make us evil.”
You say, “Honey, I love you.”
Your boss pops in again.
You’re “Joe’s Boiling Point.”
You hand in the analysis by evening.
You’re reading Palahniuk again. You’re in a metro.
You wonder what to think of liposuction.
You wish you were in a speeding car and someone had a gun to your head asking you, “What is the one thing you’d want to do before you die?” You’re furiously thinking what would you do and you’re fervently praying the car doesn’t crash. Deep down you actually wish it does crash.
“…the first step to eternal life is you have to die.”
The car doesn’t crash. Or maybe it does. You decide.
You either live to die.
Or you die to live.
You’re done reading the afterword.
“If you could wake up in a different place, at a different time, could you wake up as a different person?”
You just did.
1) Thank you Chuck Palahniuk for Fight Club. For Tyler and Marla. And for the narrator.
2) All quotes in italic are taken from the book Fight Club.