We Live In A World Where There

It Is The Corpse Of The Bourgeoisie That Separates Us. With Us, It Is That Class That Is The Carrier Of The Chromosome Of Banality.

There Is Nothing More Mysterious Than A Tv Set Left On In An Empty Room. It Is Even Stranger Than A Man Talking To Himself Or A Woman Standing Dreaming At Her Stove. It Is As If Another Planet Is Communicating With You.

Laughter On American Television Has Taken The Place Of The Chorus In Greek Tragedy. It Is Unrelenting; The News, The Stock-exchange Reports, And The Weather Forecast Are About The Only Things Spared.

[i]nside Every Computer, There Is A Hidden Man Being Bored.

The Repentant, Run-to-seed Ultra-leftists Who Have Converted To Humanitarianism, Artificial Inseminators Of The Widow And The Orphan, Themselves Orphans Of Reality And Malades Imaginaires Of Politics, Premature Ejaculators Of Posthistory And Hyperchondriacs Of The Dead Body Of Ideology And Morality.