The Abjection Of Our Political Situation Is

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

The Desert Is A Natural Extension Of The Inner Silence Of The Body. If Humanity's Language, Technology, And Buildings Are An Extension Of Its Constructive Faculties, The Desert Alone Is An Extension Of Its Capacity For Absence, The Ideal Schema Of Humanity's Disappearance.

It Is The Real, And Not The Map, Whose Vestiges Subsist Here And There, In The Deserts Which Are No Longer Those Of The Empire But Our Own: The Desert Of The Real Itself.

We Are All Hostages, And We Are All Terrorists. This Circuit Has Replaced That Other One Of Masters And Slaves, The Dominating And The Dominated, The Exploiters And The Exploited. It Is Worse Than The One It Replaces, But At Least It Liberates Us From Liberal Nostalgia And The Ruses Of History.

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.