“…there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there. It is hard for me to make sense on any given level. Myself is fabricated, an aberration. I am a noncontingent human being. My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago (probably at Harvard) if they ever did exist. There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed. Yet I am blameless. Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this—and I have countless times, in just about every act I’ve committed—and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any of this. This confession has meant nothing….”
― Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho
Transgression does not really get you rid of anxiety. I still have to actually read the book before I can say for sure.I almost spent last summer by myself. July was a big black hole. I wonder sometimes how it will be to spend my summers in New York. There’s no more snow on the pavement and I still don’t understand what Patrick Bateman is all about. I only know that in New York you can never truly escape yourself, which is actually fine. I’m not sure why he is suffering so much. Or if he is suffering at all. I like to think that this book is not about murdering people, but who knows? Christian Bale is handsome.
Patrick Bateman lives on 86th street on the Upper West Side, right across Central Park. Maybe I’ll pay him a visit soon.
pictures on film taken by Ion Sterpan