Only the poor can create art.
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.
The real technology -behind all our other technologies- is language. It actually creates the world our consciousness lives in.
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.
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.
Money undergoes a conversion when one has more of it than is strictly necessary. When there is enough of it to move beyond the strict survival mode, money goes in search of beauty. That is to say, in search of the abstract and the imaginary. Just like poetry, which is the distillation of an excess of language. Too much money and too many words tend toward the poetic.
I want a house that’s mobile but stationary, situated in a safe place without borders, where the people are peace-loving.