This Is America, You Live In It,

Not Me, Paranoia's The Garlic In Life's Kitchen, Right, You Can Never Have Too Much.

It All Comes Down, As It Must, To The Desires Of Individual Men. Oh, And Women Too Of Course, Bless Their Empty Little Heads.

[oedipa Maas] Awoke At Last To Find Herself Getting Laid.

It Is A Curve Each Of Them Feels, Unmistakably. It Is The Parabola. They Must Have Guessed, Once Or Twice - Guessed And Refused To Believe - That Everything, Always, Collectively, Had Been Moving Toward That Purified Shape Latent In The Sky, That Shape Of No Surprise, No Second Chance, No Return. Yet They Do Move Forever Under It, Reserved For Its Own Black-and-white Bad News Certainly As If It Were The Rainbow, And They Its Children...

So Generation After Generation Of Men In Love With Pain And Passivity Serve Out Their Time In The Zone, Silent, Redolent Of Faded Sperm, Terrified Of Dying, Desperately Addicted To The Comforts Others Sell Them, However Useless, Ugly Or Shallow, Willing To Have Life Defined For Them By Men Whose Only Talent Is For Death.