Power Floats Like Money, Like Language, Like

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.

One Of The Pleasures Of Travel Is To Dive Into Places Where Others Are Compelled To Live And Come Out Unscathed, Full Of The Malicious Pleasure Of Abandoning Them To Their Fate.

We Have Dreamt Of Every Woman There Is, And Dreamt Too Of The Miracle That Would Bring Us The Pleasure Of Being A Woman, For Women Have All The Qualities - Courage, Passion, The Capacity To Love, Cunning - Whereas All Our Imagination Can Do Is Naively Pile Up The Illusion Of Courage.

Illusion Is No Longer Possible, Because The Real Is No Longer Possible.

Freud Thought He Was Bringing The Plague To The U.s.a., But The U.s.a. Has Victoriously Resisted The Psychoanalytical Frost By Real Deep Freezing, By Mental And Sexual Refrigeration. They Have Countered The Black Magic Of The Unconscious With The White Magic Of "doing Your Own Thing," Air Conditioning, Sterilization, Mental Frigidity And The Cold Media Of Information.