Title: Transmetropolitan: Back on the Street.
Author: Warren Ellis.
Artist: Darick Robertson.
Genre: Graphic novel, fiction, science fiction, cyberpunk.
Publication Date: January 1998.
My rating: 8.5/10
♥ This city never allowed itself to decay or degrade. It's wildly, intensely growing. It's a loud bright stinking mess. It takes strength from its thousands of cultures. And the thousands more than grow anew each day. It isn't perfect. It lies and cheats. It's no Utopia and it ain't the mountain by a long shot -- but it's alive. I can't argue that.
♥ "The fans, Royce. They held me down in Bank Street once and tried to steal my gizzard. The fans and the noise and the TV and the bullshit and... I couldn't get at the truth anymore."
♥ There's one hole in every revolution, large or small. And it's one word long - people. No matter how big the idea they all stand under, people are small and weak and cheap and frightened. It's people that kill every revolution.
♥ "Journalism is just a gun. It's only got one bullet in it, but if you aim right, that's all you need. Aim it right, and you can blow a kneecap off the world..."
I could never write unless I was in the city. But when I was here, and I was on, I could blow the kneecaps off anything.
♥ I'm sorry. Is that too harsh an observation for you? Does that sound too much like the Truth?
If anyone in this shithole city gave two tugs of a dead dog's cock about Truth, this wouldn't be happening. I would be seeing a Transient woman with blood on her face huddled in a porn-store doorway, clutching her belly. I wouldn't be looking down at a dead boy, thirteen if he's a day, draped over the hood of a police wagon. No one's eyes would be bleeding from incapacity sprays from the nerve bomblets the cops are launching down Cranberry. I wouldn't be surrounded up here by the people who have to live and work here, weeping openly.
Enjoying this? You like the way I describe disgusting shit happening to people you probably walked past in the street last week?
Good. You earned it. With your silence.
♥ "The boyfriend's no good, is he? I can tell. He's got that look in his eye that I had when I was his age. The look that says he's here until he leaves."
♥ "You people don't know what the truth is! It's there, just under their bullshit, but you never look! That's what I hate most about this fucking city -- Lies are news and truth is obsolete!"
♥ "Read my fucking scripture! That's it! That is the absolute fucking limit! You are all in for it now, you bunch of cheap scam artists! All of you!
"Thieves, the goddamn lot of you! Thieves and leeches! Fucking vampires sucking the will from people whose only goddamn crimes were to be frightened and tired! And you don't help them! You don't listen to them! They get no truth from you! All you do is scare them with stories of something that doesn't exist!
"And you bastards are winning! Hundreds more of you every day! Getting away with it in a place so noisy that no one could hear the truth if it were ever told -- And I can't fight you alone, you fucks, couldn't when I was a kid and Dad went cultist and I can't now --
"All I can do it tell the truth."