— Can I come in?
— He's not here.
— What?
— Tyler isn't here. Tyler went away. Tyler's gone.
Tyler Durden: Did you know that if you mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate, you can make napalm?
Narrator: No, I did not know that. Is that true?
Tyler Durden: That's right. One could make all kinds of explosives, using simple household items.
Narrator: Really...?
Tyler Durden: If one were so inclined.
A movie doesn't come all on one big reel. It comes on a few. So someone has to be there to switch the projectors, at the exact moment that one reel ends and the next one begins. If you look for them, you can see little dots, come into the upper right corner of the screen. That's the cue for a changeover. He flips the projectors, movie keeps right on going and nobody in the audience has any idea.
We all started seeing things differently. Everywhere we went, we were sizing things up.
— Murder, crime, poverty. These things don't concern me. What concerns me, are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine. Viagra. Olestra.
— Martha Stewart.
— Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man. So fuck off with your... sofa units and Strinne green stripe patterns.
No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.
— I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar.
— It was worth every penny.
— It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree — so special, then, bam, it's on the side of the road with tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim, underwear inside out, bound with electrical tape.
— Now promise me.
— Ok.
— You promise?
— Yeah, I promise.
— Promise.
— I just said, I promise! What...
— That's three times you promised.
If I didn't say anything, people assumed the worst. They cried harder. I cried harder.
