The real technology -behind all our other technologies- is language. It actually creates the world our consciousness lives in.
With the sound of gusting wind in the branches of the language trees of Babel, the words gave way like leaves, and every reader glimpsed another reality hidden in the foilage.
In the grand collage that is Dada, past and future are equally usable.
How did you fall in love with New Orleans? At once, madly. Looking back, sometimes I think it was predestined.
The worst part about zombies raging unchecked is the slow paralysis that they induce in people who aren’t quite zombies yet. The rest of us un-zombies turn our heads, hoping the ghouls will just go away.
These are the poems of a traveler and a lover who feels both the terror of time passing and the consolation of eternity. From such tension spring lovely poetic objects, ready for intelligent use.
The evaporation of 4 million who believe in this crap would leave the world a better place.
Only the poor can create art.
Nostalgia is masochism and masochism is something masochists love to share.
It is the job of the market to turn the base material of our emotions into gold.
The peasants of all lands recognize power and they salute it, whether it’s good or evil.