Deep Down, The Us, With Its Space,

The Sumptuous Age Of Stars And Images Is Reduced To A Few Artificial Tornado Effects, Pathetic Fake Buildings, And Childish Tricks Which The Crowd Pretends To Be Taken In By To Avoid Feeling Too Disappointed. Ghost Towns, Ghost People. The Whole Place Has The Same Air Of Obsolescence About It As Sunset Or Hollywood Boulevard.

Santa Barbara Is A Paradise; Disneyland Is A Paradise; The U.s. Is A Paradise. Paradise Is Just Paradise. Mournful, Monotonous, And Superficial Though It May Be, It Is Paradise. There Is No Other.

A Society Which Allows An Abominable Event To Burgeon From Its Dung Heap And Grow On Its Surface Is Like A Man Who Lets A Fly Crawl Unheeded Across His Face Or Saliva Dribble From His Mouth -- Either Epileptic Or Dead.

The Price We Pay For The Complexity Of Life Is Too High. When You Think Of All The Effort You Have To Put In -telephonic, Technological And Relational -to Alter Even The Slightest Bit Of Behavior In This Strange World We Call Social Life, You Are Left Pining For The Straightforwardness Of Primitive Peoples And Their Physical Work.

But What If God Himself Can Be Simulated, That Is To Say Can Be Reduced To Signs That Constitute Faith? Then The Whole System Becomes Weightless, It Is No Longer Anything But A Gigantic Simulacrum - Not Unreal, But Simulacrum, That Is To Say Never Exchanged For The Real, But Exchanged For Itself, In An Uninterrupted Circuit Without Reference Or Circumference.