Me ves y sufres (you see me, and suffer)

‘Blind, dumb shit,’ he spits, his breath like hot sandpaper in my ear. ‘Where’s this God you talk about? You think a caring intelligence would wipe out babies from hunger, watch decent folk scream and burn and bleed every second of the day and night? That ain’t no God. Just fuckin people. You stuck with the rest of us in this snake-pit of human wants, wants frustrated and calcified into needs, achin and raw.’
The outburst takes me aback. ‘Everybody needs something,’ I mutter.
‘then don’t come cryin to me becausen you got in the way of another man’s needs.’
‘But, Lasalle . . .’
‘Why you think the world chewin its own legs off? Becausen the goodies are right there, but we can’t fuckin get’em. Why can’t we get’em? Becausen the market for propmises need us not to. That ain’t the work of God. That’s human work, animals who dreamed up an outside God to take the heat.’ Lasalle pokes a trembling lip at my face. ‘Wise the fuck up. Intermingling needs make this world go round. Serve that intermingling, and you needs can get fulfilled. Ever hear say, “Give the people what they want?”’
‘Sure, but – where’s that leave God?’
‘Boy you really missed the boat. I’ll make it simple, so’s even fuckin you can understand. Papa God growed us up till we could wear long pants; then he licensed his name to dollar bills, left some car keys on the table, and got the fuck outta town.’ Water rushes to his eye-holes. ‘Don’t be lookin up at no sky for help. Look down here, at us twisted dreamers.’ He takes hold of my, spins me around, and punches me towards the mirror on the wall. ‘You’re the God. Take responsibility. Exercise your power.’ …….


‘But Lasalle, was that like – the secret of life?’
He tuts and shakes his head as the group march him to the door.
‘I mean – what’s the practical . . .?’
He holds a hand up to the gaurds. They stop. ‘You mean, how do you do it? Big yourself up – watch any animal for clues. As for us humans – check this . . .’ he pulls a lighter from his pocket, and motions us to hush. He clicks the lighter once, softly, then cranes an ear towards the toilet cubicles, where the other con still sits out of sight. After a moment, you hear rustling in the cubicle. Then a lighter clicks inside. We watch a puff of smoke rise up, as the con drags on a cigarette he didn’t even know he wanted. The power of suggestion. Lasalle turns to me with a smile, and clicks his lighter in the air. ‘Learn their needs, and they’ll dance to any fuckin tune you play.’
- VERNON GOD LITTLE by DBC Pierre

if you haven't read the book yet i suggest you get it and read it.