A Picture Was Once A Rare Sort

One Of The Functions Of Intelligence Is To Take Account Of The Dangers That Come From Trusting Solely To The Intelligence.

One's Worst Enormities Remain Within, And It Is Only One's Vulgar Commonplaces Of Error And Folly That Turn Into Murders And Suicides, Treasons, Infidelities, And Betrayals.

This Metropolitan World, Then, Is A World Where Flesh And Blood Is Less Real Than Paper And Ink And Celluloid.

Unfortunately, Once An Economy Is Geared To Expansion, The Means Rapidly Turn Into An End And "the Going Becomes The Goal." Even More Unfortunately, The Industries That Are Favored By Such Expansion Must, To Maintain Their Output, Be Devoted To Goods That Are Readily Consumable Either By Their Nature, Or Because They Are So Shoddily Fabricated That They Must Soon Be Replaced. By Fashion And Built-in Obsolescence The Economies Of Machine Production, Instead Of Producing Leisure And Durable Wealth, Are Duly Cancelled Out By The Mandatory Consumption On An Even Larger Scale.

A Multitude Of Uniform, Unidentifiable Houses, Lined Up Inflexibly, At Uniform Distances, On Uniform Roads, In A Treeless Communal Waste, Inhabited By People Of The Same Class, The Same Income, The Same Age Group, Witnessing The Same Television Performances, Eating The Same Tasteless Prefabricated Foods, From The Same Freezers, Conforming In Every Outward And Inward Respect To The Common Mold.