The Desert Is A Natural

It Is In Love With Its Limitless Horizontality, As New York May Be With Its Verticality.

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.

The Desert Is A Natural Extension Of The Inner Silence Of The Body. If Humanity's Language, Technology, And Buildings Are An Extension Of Its Constructive Faculties, The Desert Alone Is An Extension Of Its Capacity For Absence, The Ideal Schema Of Humanity's Disappearance.

America Is The Original Version Of Modernity. We Are The Dubbed Or Subtitled Version. America Ducks The Question Of Origins; It Cultivates No Origin Or Mythical Authenticity; It Has No Past And No Founding Truth. Having Known No Primitive Accumulation Of Time, It Lives In A Perpetual Present.

We Are Becoming Like Cats, Slyly Parasitic, Enjoying An Indifferent Domesticity. Nice And Snug In The Social, Our Historic Passions Have Withdrawn Into The Glow Of An Artificial Coziness, And Our Half-closed Eyes Now Seek Little Other Than The Peaceful Parade Of Television Pictures.