The Car As We Know It Is

I Believe In The Power Of The Imagination To Remake The World, To Release The Truth Within Us, To Hold Back The Night, To Transcend Death, To Charm Motorways, To Ingratiate Ourselves With Birds, To Enlist The Confidences Of Madmen.

When The Modern Movement Began, Starting Perhaps With The Paintings Of Manet And The Poetry Of Baudelaire And Rimbaud, What Distinguished The Modern Movement Was The Enormous Honesty That Writers, Painters And Playwrights Displayed About Themselves. The Bourgeois Novel Flinches From Such Notions.

Along With Our Passivity, We're Entering A Profoundly Masochistic Phase Everyone Is A Victim These Days, Of Parents, Doctors, Pharmaceutical Companies, Even Love Itself. And How Much We Enjoy It. Our Happiest Moments Are Spent Trying To Think Up New Varieties Of Victimhood.

Art Exists Because Reality Is Neither Real Nor Significant.

Elaborate Burial Customs Are A Sure Sign Of Decadence.