In Its Artless Cruelty, Dallas Is Superior

Y A-t-il Plus Belle Parodie De L'éthique De La Valeur Que De Se Soumettre Avec Toute L'intransigeance De La Vertu Aux Données Du Hasard Ou à L'absurdité D'une Règle?

Fiction Is Not Imagination. It Is What Anticipates Imagination By Giving It The Form Of Reality.

The Skylines Lit Up At Dead Of Night, The Air-conditioning Systems Cooling Empty Hotels In The Desert And Artificial Light In The Middle Of The Day All Have Something Both Demented And Admirable About Them. The Mindless Luxury Of A Rich Civilization, And Yet Of A Civilization Perhaps As Scared To See The Lights Go Out As Was The Hunter In His Primitive Night.

When The Real Is No Longer What It Used To Be, Nostalgia Assumes Its Full Meaning.

Holidays Are In No Sense An Alternative To The Congestion And Bustle Of The Cities And Work. Quite The Contrary. People Look To Escape Into An Intensification Of The Conditions Of Ordinary Life, Into A Deliberate Aggravation Of Those Conditions: Further From Nature, Nearer To Artifice, To Abstraction, To Total Pollution, To Well Above Average Levels Of Stress, Pressure, Concentration And Monotony - This Is The Ideal Of Popular Entertainment. No One Is Interested In Overcoming Alienation; The Point Is To Plunge Into It To The Point Of Ecstasy. That Is What Holidays Are For.