The Simulacrum Is Never That

A Negative Judgment Gives You More Satisfaction Than Praise, Provided It Smacks Of Jealousy.

As The End Of The Century Approaches, All Our Culture Is Like The Culture Of Flies At The Beginning Of Winter. Having Lost Their Agility, Dreamy And Demented, They Turn Slowly About The Window In The First Icy Mists Of Morning. They Give Themselves A Last Wash And Brush-up, Their Oscillated Eyes Roll, And They Fall Down The Curtains.

If Everything On Television Is, Without Exception, Part Of A Low-calorie (or Even No-calorie) Diet, Then What Good Is It Complaining About The Adverts? By Their Worthlessness, They At Least Help To Make The Programmes Around Them Seem Of A Higher Level.

The Cities Of The World Are Concentric, Isomorphic, Synchronic. Only One Exists And You Are Always In The Same One. It's The Effect Of Their Permanent Revolution, Their Intense Circulation, Their Instantaneous Magnetism.

What I Am, I Don't Know. I Am The Simulacrum Of Myself.