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A Sociosphere Of Contact, Control, Persuasion And Dissuasion, Of Exhibitions Of Inhibitions In Massive Or Homeopathic Doses...: This Is Obscenity. All Structures Turned Inside Out And Exhibited, All Operations Rendered Visible. In America This Goes All The Way From The Bewildering Network Of Aerial Telephone And Electric Wiresto The Concrete Multiplication Of All The Bodily Functions In The Home, The Litany Of Ingredients On The Tiniest Can Of Food, The Exhibition Of Income Or Iq.

-Jean Baudrillard

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A Sociosphere Of Contact,

Jean Baudrillard

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A Sociosphere Of Contact, Control, Persuasion And Dissuasion, Of Exhibitions Of Inhibitions In Massive Or Homeopathic Doses...: This Is Obscenity. All Structures Turned Inside Out And Exhibited, All Operations Rendered Visible. In America This Goes All The Way From The Bewildering Network Of Aerial Telephone And Electric Wiresto The Concrete Multiplication Of All The Bodily Functions In The Home, The Litany Of Ingredients On The Tiniest Can Of Food, The Exhibition Of Income Or Iq.

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You Have To Know How To Disappear.

What I Am, I Don't Know. I Am The Simulacrum Of Myself.

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?

At The Heart Of Pornography Is Sexuality Haunted By Its Own Disappearance.

The Need To Speak, Even If One Has Nothing To Say, Becomes More Pressing When One Has Nothing To Say, Just As The Will To Live Becomes More Urgent When Life Has Lost Its Meaning.

The Day The World Ends, No One Will Be There, Just As No One Was There When It Began. This Is A Scandal. Such A Scandal For The Human Race That It Is Indeed Capable Collectively, Out Of Spite, Of Hastening The End Of The World By All Means Just So It Can Enjoy The Show.

This Is What Terrorism Is Occupied With As Well: Making Real, Palpable Violence Surface In Opposition To The Invisible Violence Of Security.

Forgetting The Extermination Is Part Of The Extermination Itself.

The Very Definition Of The Real Becomes: That Of Which It Is Possible To Give An Equivalent Reproduction. The Real Is Not Only What Can Be Reproduced, But That Which Is Always Already Reproduced. The Hyper Real.

Man Has Lost The Basic Skill Of The Ape, The Ability To Scratch Its Back. Which Gave It Extraordinary Independence, And The Liberty To Associate For Reasons Other Than The Need For Mutual Back-scratching.

Politicians - Power Itself - Are Abject Because They Merely Embody The Profound Contempt People Have For Their Own Lives. One Should Be Grateful To The Politicians For Accepting The Abstractness Of Power, And Ridding Others Of Its Burden. This Inevitably Kills Them But They Get Their Revenge By Passing Onto Others The Corpse Of Power.

Deep Down, No One Really Believes They Have A Right To Live. But This Death Sentence Generally Stays Tucked Away, Hidden Beneath The Difficulty Of Living. If That Difficulty Is Removed From Time To Time, Death Is Suddenly There, Unintelligibly.

It Is Always The Same: Once You Are Liberated, You Are Forced To Ask Who You Are.

You Are Born Modern, You Do Not Become So.

Kitschis One Of The Major Categories Of The Modern Object. Knick-knacks, Rustic Odds-and-ends, Souvenirs, Lampshades, And African Masks: The Kitsch-object Is Collectively This Whole Plethora Of "trashy," Sham Or Faked Objects, This Whole Museum Of Junk Which Proliferates Everywhere.... Kitsch Is The Equivalent To The "cliché" In Discourse.

You Need An Infinite Stretch Of Time Ahead Of You To Start To Think, Infinite Energy To Make The Smallest Decision. The World Is Getting Denser. The Immense Number Of Useless Projects Is Bewildering. Too Many Things Have To Be Put In To Balance Up An Uncertain Scale. You Can't Disappear Anymore. You Die In A State Of Total Indecision.

The Sickly Cultural Pathos Which The Whole Of France Indulges In, That Fetishism Of The Cultural Heritage.

It Is In Love With Its Limitless Horizontality, As New York May Be With Its Verticality.

For The Heavenly Fire No Longer Strikes Depraved Cities, It Is Rather The Lens Which Cuts Through Ordinary Reality Like A Laser, Putting It To Death.

Smile And Others Will Smile Back.

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.

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.

Governing Today Means Giving Acceptable Signs Of Credibility. It Is Like Advertising And It Is The Same Effect That Is Achieved - Commitment To A Scenario.

Like Dreams, Statistics Are A Form Of Wish Fulfillment.

The New Shopping Malls Make Possible The Synthesis Of All Consumer Activities, Not Least Of Which Are Shopping, Flirting With Objects, Idle Wandering, And All The Permutations Of These.

The Surprises Of Thought Are Like Those Of Love: They Wear Out. But Here Too You Can Carry On For A Long Time Doing Your Conjugal Duty.

Deep Down, The Us, With Its Space, Its Technological Refinement, Its Bluff Good Conscience, Even In Those Spaces Which It Opens Up For Simulation, Is The Only Remaining Primitive Society.

The Price We Pay For The Complexity Of Life Is Too High. When You Think Of All The Effort You Have To Put In -telephonic, Technological And Relational -to Alter Even The Slightest Bit Of Behavior In This Strange World We Call Social Life, You Are Left Pining For The Straightforwardness Of Primitive Peoples And Their Physical Work.

I Hesitate To Deposit Money In A Bank. I Am Afraid I Shall Never Dare To Take It Out Again

There Are Only A Few Images That Are Not Forced To Provide Meaning, Or Have To Go Through The Filter Of A Specific Idea.

One Of Life's Primal Situations; The Game Of Hide And Seek. Oh, The Delicious Thrill Of Hiding While The Others Come Looking For You, The Delicious Terror Of Being Discovered, But What Panic When, After A Long Search, The Others Abandon You! You Mustn't Hide Too Well. You Mustn't Be Too Good At The Game. The Player Must Never Be Bigger Than The Game Itself.

Every Woman Is Like A Time-zone. She Is A Nocturnal Fragment Of Your Journey. She Brings You Unflaggingly Closer To The Next Night.

We Live In A World Where There Is More And More Information, And Less And Less Meaning.

Too Much Information

Information Overload

Depression Moods Lead, Almost Invariably, To Accidents. But, When They Occur, Our Mood Changes Again, Since The Accident Shows We Can Draw The World In Our Wake, And That We Still Retain Some Degree Of Power Even When Our Spirits Are Low. A Series Of Accidents Creates A Positively Light-hearted State, Out Of Consideration For This Strange Power.

You Think You Photograph A Particular Scene For The Pleasure It Gives. In Fact It's The Scene That Wants To Be Photographed. You're Merely An Extra In The Production.

It Is A World Completely Rotten With Wealth, Power, Senility, Indifference, Puritanism And Mental Hygiene, Poverty And Waste, Technological Futility And Aimless Violence, And Yet I Cannot Help But Feel It Has About It Something Of The Dawning Of The Universe. Perhaps Because The Entire World Continues To Dream Of New York, Even As New York Dominates And Exploits It.

The Desert Is A Natural Extension Of The Inner Silence Of The Body.

The Most Embarrassing Part Of The Film Is That The New Problem Posed By Simulation Is Confused With Its Classical, Platonic Treatment ... The Matrix Is Surely The Kind Of Film About The Matrix That The Matrix Would Have Been Able To Produce.

The Obese Is In A Total Delirium. For He Is Not Only Large, Of A Size Opposed To Normal Morphology: He Is Larger Than Large. He No Longer Makes Sense In Some Distinctive Opposition, But In His Excess, His Redundancy.

America Is The Original Version Of Modernity. We Are The Dubbed Or Subtitled Version. America Ducks The Question Of Origins; It Cultivates No Origin Or Mythical Authenticity; It Has No Past And No Founding Truth. Having Known No Primitive Accumulation Of Time, It Lives In A Perpetual Present.

It Is Exciting To Hear One Of Your Fondest Ideas Formulated In One Fell Swoop, Better Than You Could Have Done Yourself.

Postmodernity Is Said To Be A Culture Of Fragmentary Sensations, Eclectic Nostalgia, Disposable Simulacra, And Promiscuous Superficiality, In Which The Traditionally Valued Qualities Of Depth, Coherence, Meaning, Originality, And Authenticity Are Evacuated Or Dissolved Amid The Random Swirl Of Empty Signals.

Boredom Is Like A Pitiless Zooming In On The Epidermis Of Time. Every Instant Is Dilated And Magnified Like The Pores Of The Face.

Laughter On American Television Has Taken The Place Of The Chorus In Greek Tragedy. In Other Countries, The Business Of Laughing Is Left To The Viewers. Here, Their Laughter Is Put On The Screen, Integrated Into The Show. It Is The Screen That Is Laughing And Having A Good Time. You Are Simply Left Alone With Your Consternation.

The Sad Thing About Artificial Intelligence Is That It Lacks Artifice And Therefore Intelligence.

The Confrontation Between America And Europe Reveals Not So Much A Rapprochement As A Distortion, An Unbridgeable Rift. There Isn't Just A Gap Between Us, But A Whole Chasm Of Modernity.

What Is A Society Without A Heroic Dimension?

It Is Perhaps Not A Surprise That Photography Developed As A Technological Medium In The Industrial Age, When Reality Started To Disappear. It Is Even Perhaps The Disappearance Of Reality That Triggered This Technical Form. Reality Found A Way To Mutate Into An Image.

We Are Becoming Like Cats, Slyly Parasitic, Enjoying An Indifferent Domesticity. Nice And Snug In The Social, Our Historic Passions Have Withdrawn Into The Glow Of An Artificial Coziness, And Our Half-closed Eyes Now Seek Little Other Than The Peaceful Parade Of Television Pictures.

But What If God Himself Can Be Simulated, That Is To Say Can Be Reduced To Signs That Constitute Faith? Then The Whole System Becomes Weightless, It Is No Longer Anything But A Gigantic Simulacrum - Not Unreal, But Simulacrum, That Is To Say Never Exchanged For The Real, But Exchanged For Itself, In An Uninterrupted Circuit Without Reference Or Circumference.

The Cities Of The World Are Concentric, Isomorphic, Synchronic. Only One Exists And You Are Always In The Same One. It's The Effect Of Their Permanent Revolution, Their Intense Circulation, Their Instantaneous Magnetism.

Driving Is A Spectacular Form Of Amnesia. Everything Is To Be Discovered, Everything To Be Obliterated.

Here In The U.s., Culture Is Not That Delicious Panacea Which We Europeans Consume In A Sacramental Mental Space And Which Has Its Own Special Columns In The Newspapers - And In People's Minds. Culture Is Space, Speed, Cinema, Technology. This Culture Is Authentic, If Anything Can Be Said To Be Authentic.

Seduction Is Always More Singular And Sublime Than Sex And It Commands The Higher Price.

Philosophy Leads To Death, Sociology Leads To Suicide.

So-called "realist" Photography Does Not Capture The "what Is." Instead, It Is Preoccupied With What Should Not Be, Like The Reality Of Suffering For Example.

Everywhere One Seeks To Produce Meaning, To Make The World Signify, To Render It Visible. We Are Not, However, In Danger Of Lacking Meaning; Quite The Contrary, We Are Gorged With Meaning And It Is Killing Us.

Meaning Of Life

If Everything Is Perfect, Language Is Useless. This Is True For Animals. If Animals Don't Speak, It's Because Everything's Perfect For Them. If One Day They Start To Speak, It Will Be Because The World Has Lost A Certain Sort Of Perfection.

Smile And Others Will Smile Back. Smile To Show How Transparent, How Candid You Are. Smile If You Have Nothing To Say. Most Of All, Do Not Hide The Fact You Have Nothing To Say Nor Your Total Indifference To Others. Let This Emptiness, This Profound Indifference Shine Out Spontaneously In Your Smile.

All Societies End Up Wearing Masks.

The Opposite Of Knowledge Is Not Ignorance, But Deceit And Fraud.

If We Consider The Superiority Of The Human Species, The Size Of Its Brain, Its Powers Of Thinking, Language And Organization, We Can Say This: Were There The Slightest Possibility That Another Rival Or Superior Species Might Appear, On Earth Or Elsewhere, Man Would Use Every Means At His Disposal To Destroy It.

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

Power Floats Like Money, Like Language, Like Theory.

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

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

Power Is Only Too Happy To Make Football Bear A Diabolical Responsibility For Stupefying The Masses.

All Of [the] Activities Here Have A Surreptitious End-of-the-world Feel To Them:... These Joggers Sleepwalking In The Mist Like Shadow's Who Have Escaped From Plato's Cave

The World Is Not Dialectical - It Is Sworn To Extremes, Not To Equilibrium, Sworn To Radical Antagonism, Not To Reconciliation Or Synthesis. This Is Also The Principle Of Evil.

The Neighborhood Is Nothing But A Protective Zone- Remodeling, Disinfection, A Snobbish And Hygenic Design- But Above All In A Figurative Sense: It Is A Machine For Making Emptiness.

Information...exhausts Itself In The Staging Of Meaning...[and Leads] Not At All To A Surfeit Of Innovation But To The Very Contrary, To Total Entropy

There Exists, Between People In Love, A Kind Of Capital Held By Each. This Is Not Just A Stock Of Affects Or Pleasure, But Also The Possibility Of Playing Double Or Quits With The Share You Hold In The Other's Heart.

The Multiplication Of Individual Sects Should Not Fool Us: The Important Point Is That The Whole Of America Is Preoccupied With The Sect As A Moral Institution, With Its Immediate Demand For Beatification, Its Material Efficacity, Its Compulsion For Justification, And Doubtless Also With Its Madness And Frenzy.

For Me, The Photography, In Its Purest Form, Is A Variant Of The Fable. Another Way Of Saving The Appearances - A Way Of Signifying, Through This Fabulous Capture, That This Supposed Real World Is Always About To Lose Its Meaning And Its Reality.

A Series Of Accidents Creates A Positively Light-hearted State, Out Of Consideration For This Strange Power.

In The Same Way That We Need Statesmen To Spare Us The Abjection Of Exercising Power, We Need Scholars To Spare Us The Abjection Of Learning.

Disneyland Is Presented As Imaginary In Order To Make Us Believe That The Rest Is Real.

It Is Not Enough For Theory To Describe And Analyze, It Must Itself Be An Event In The Universe It Describes. In Order To Do This Theory Must Partake Of And Become The Acceleration Of This Logic. It Must Tear Itself From All Referents And Take Pride Only In The Future. Theory Must Operate On Time At The Cost Of A Deliberate Distortion Of Present Reality.

Every Photographed Object Is Merely The Trace Left Behind By The Disappearance Of All The Rest. It Is An Almost Perfect Crime, An Almost Total Resolution Of The World, Which Merely Leave The Illusion Of A Particular Object Shining Forth, The Image Of Which Then Becomes An Impenetrable Enigma.

Postmodernity Is The Simultaneity Of The Destruction Of Earlier Values And Their Reconstruction. It Is Renovation Within Ruination.

Neither Dead Nor Alive, The Hostage Is Suspended By An Incalculable Outcome. It Is Not His Destiny That Awaits For Him, Nor His Own Death, But Anonymous Chance, Which Can Only Seem To Him Something Absolutely Arbitrary. He Is In A State Of Radical Emergency, Of Virtual Extermination.

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.

In Years To Come Cities Will Stretch Out Horizontally And Will Be Non-urban (los Angeles). After That, They Will Bury Themselves In The Ground And Will No Longer Have Names. Everything Will Become Infrastructure Bathed In Artificial Light And Energy. The Brilliant Superstructure, The Crazy Verticality Will Have Disappeared. New York Is The Final Fling Of This Baroque Verticality, This Centrifugal Excentricity, Before The Horizontal Dismantling Arrives, And The Subterranean Implosion That Will Follow.

A Successful Object Is One Which Exists Beyond Its Own Reality, Which Creates A Dual (and Not Merely Interactlve) Relation (with Its Users Also), A Relation Of Contradiction, Misappropriation And Destablilisation.

To Love Someone Is To Isolate Him From The World, Wipe Out Every Trace Of Him, Dispossess Him Of His Shadow, Drag Him Into A Murderous Future. It Is To Circle Around The Other Like A Dead Star And Absorb Him Into A Black Light.

The Only Thing Worse Than Being Bored Is Being Boring.

The Order Of The World Is Always Right - Such Is The Judgment Of God. For God Has Departed, But He Has Left His Judgment Behind, The Way The Cheshire Cat Left His Grin.

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.

The Secret Of Theory Is That Truth Does Not Exist.

This False Distance Is Present Everywhere: In Spy Films, In Godard, In Modern Advertising, Which Uses It Continually As A Cultural Allusion. It Is Not Really Clear In The End Whether This 'cool' Smile Is The Smile Of Humour Or That Of Commercial Complicity. This Is Also The Case With Pop, And Its Smile Ultimately Encapsulates All Its Ambiguity: It Is Not The Smile Of Critical Distance, But The Smile Of Collusion

Fiction Is Not Imagination. It Is What Anticipates Imagination By Giving It The Form Of Reality. This Is Quite Opposite To Our Own Natural Tendency Which Is To Anticipate Reality By Imagining It, Or To Flee From It By Idealizing It. That Is Why We [europeans] Shall Never Inhabit True Fiction; We Are Condemned To The Imaginary And Nostalgia For The Future.

Art Is No Longer Anything More Than A Kind Of Meta-language For Banality.

Sadder Than Destitution, Sadder Than A Beggar Is The Man Who Eats Alone In Public. Nothing More Contradicts The Laws Of Man Or Beast, For Animals Always Do Each Other The Honor Of Sharing Or Disputing Each Other's Food.

There Is Nothing Funny About Halloween. This Sarcastic Festival Reflects, Rather, An Infernal Demand For Revenge By Children On The Adult World.

We Are No Longer In A State Of Growth; We Are In A State Of Excess. We Are Living In A Society Of Excrescence. The Boil Is Growing Out Of Control, Recklessly At Cross Purposes With Itself, Its Impacts Multiplying As The Causes Disintegrate.

If You Assume Any Rate Of Improvement At All Then The Games Will Become Indistinguishable From Reality. It Would Seem To Follow That The Odds That We Are In Base Reality Would Be One In Billions.

As For Freedom, It Will Soon Cease To Exist In Any Shape Or Form. Living Will Depend Upon Absolute Obedience To A Strict Set Of Arrangements, Which It Will No Longer Be Possible To Transgress. The Air Traveler Is Not Free. In The Future, Life's Passengers Will Be Even Less So: They Will Travel Through Their Lives Fastened To Their (corporate) Seats.

One Can Speak Of An Alterity Of Desire - A Paradigm Defined Outside The Tired, Tacitly Accepted Regime, But One Comes Up Short When Attempting To Posit A Framework Of Desire Beyond Available, Known Desires.

Art Does Not Die Because There Is No More Art. It Dies Because There Is Too Much.

The Desert Is No Longer A Landscape, It Is A Pure Form Produced By The Abstraction Of All Others.

At Male Strip Shows, It Is Still The Women That We Watch, The Audience Of Women And Their Eager Faces. They Are More Obscene Than If They Were Dancing Naked Themselves.

Today's Terrorism Is Not The Product Of A Traditional History Of Anarchism, Nihilism, Or Fanaticism. It Is Instead The Contemporary Partner Of Globalization.

The Futility Of Everything That Comes To Us From The Media Is The Inescapable Consequence Of The Absolute Inability Of That Particular Stage To Remain Silent. Music, Commercial Breaks, News Flashes, Adverts, News Broadcasts, Movies, Presenters—there Is No Alternative But To Fill The Screen; Otherwise There Would Be An Irremediable Void.... That’s Why The Slightest Technical Hitch, The Slightest Slip On The Part Of The Presenter Becomes So Exciting, For It Reveals The Depth Of The Emptiness Squinting Out At Us Through This Little Window.

Contact With Men Who Wield Power And Authority Still Leaves An Intangible Sense Of Repulsion. It's Very Like Being In Close Proximity To Fecal Matter, The Fecal Embodiment Of Something Unmentionable, And You Wonder What It Is Made Of And When It Acquired Its Historically Sacred Character.

The Liberated Man Is Not The One Who Is Freed In His Ideal Reality, His Inner Truth, Or His Transparency; He Is The Man Who Changes Spaces, Who Circulates, Who Changes Sex, Clothes, And Habits According To Fashion, Rather Than Morality, And Who Changes Opinions Not As His Conscience Dictates But In Response To Opinion Polls.

Challenge, And Not Desire, Lies At The Heart Of Seduction.

Computer Science Only Indicates The Retrospective Omnipotence Of Our Technologies. In Other Words, An Infinite Capacity To Process Data (but Only Data -- I.e. The Already Given) And In No Sense A New Vision. With That Science, We Are Entering An Era Of Exhaustivity, Which Is Also An Era Of Exhaustion.

The Marxist Critique Is Only A Critique Of Capital, A Critique Coming From The Heart Of The Middle And Petit Bourgeois Classes, For Which Marxism Has Served For A Century As A Latent Ideology.... The Marxist Seeks A Good Use Of Economy. Marxism Is Therefore Only A Limited Petit Bourgeois Critique, One More Step In The Banalization Of Life Toward The "good Use" Of The Social!

Animals Have No Unconscious, Because They Have A Territory. Men Have Only Had An Unconscious Since They Lost A Territory.

Americans May Have No Identity, But They Do Have Wonderful Teeth.

If Everything On Television Is, Without Exception, Part Of A Low-calorie (or Even No-calorie) Diet, Then What Good Is It Complaining About The Adverts? By Their Worthlessness, They At Least Help To Make The Programmes Around Them Seem Of A Higher Level.

If There Is A Species Which Is More Maltreated Than Children, Then It Must Be Their Toys, Which They Handle In An Incredibly Off-hand Manner. Toys Are Thus The End Point In That Long Chain In Which All The Conditions Of Despotic High-handedness Are In Play Which Enchain Beings One To Another, From One Species To Another --cruel Divinities To Their Sacrificial Victims, From Masters To Slaves, From Adults To Children, And From Children To Their Objects.

The Price We Pay For The Complexity Of Life Is Too High.

Protect Everything, Detect Everything, Contain Everything - Obsessional Society. Save Time. Save Money. Save Our Souls - Phobic Society. Low Tar. Low Energy. Low Calories. Low Sex. Low Speed - Anorexic Society.

I Hesitate To Deposit Money In A Bank. I Am Afraid I Shall Never Dare To Take It Out Again. When You Go To Confession And Entrust Your Sins To The Safe-keeping Of The Priest, Do You Ever Come Back For Them?

[i]nside Every Computer, There Is A Hidden Man Being Bored.

Terror Is As Much A Part Of The Concept Of Truth As Runniness Is Of The Concept Of Jam. We Wouldn't Like Jam If It Didn't, By Its Very Nature, Ooze. We Wouldn't Like Truth If It Wasn't Sticky, If, From Time To Time, It Didn't Ooze Blood.

Large Department Stores, With Their Luxuriant Abundance Of Canned Goods, Foods, And Clothing, Are Like The Primary Landscape And The Geometrical Locus Of Affluence. Streets With Overcrowded And Glittering Store Windowsthe Displays Of Delicacies, And All The Scenes Of Alimentary And Vestimentary Festivity, Stimulate A Magical Salivation. Accumulation Is More Than The Sum Of Its Products: The Conspicuousness Of Surplus, The Final And Magical Negation Of Scarcitymimic A New-found Nature Of Prodigious Fecundity.

History That Repeats Itself Turns To Farce. Farce That Repeats Itself Turns To History.

Feelings Are Never True. They Play With Their Mirrors.

Nothing Is Wholly Obvious Without Becoming Enigmatic. Reality Itself Is Too Obvious To Be True .

Images Have Become Our True Sex Objects. It Is This Promiscuity And The Ubiquity Of Images, This Viral Contamination Of Images Which Are The Fatal Characteristics Of Our Culture.

If You Are Prepared To Accept The Consequences Of Your Dreams Then You Must Still Regard America Today With The Same Naive Enthusiasm As The Generations That Discovered The New World.

A Society Which Allows An Abominable Event To Burgeon From Its Dung Heap And Grow On Its Surface Is Like A Man Who Lets A Fly Crawl Unheeded Across His Face Or Saliva Dribble From His Mouth -- Either Epileptic Or Dead.

The Image Is Not A Medium For Which We Have To Find The Proper Use. It Is What It Is And It Is Beyond All Our Moral Considerations. It Is By Its Essence Immoral, And The World's Becoming-image Is An Immoral Process.

The Abjection Of Our Political Situation Is The Only True Challenge Today. Only Facing Up To This Situation In All Its Desperation Can Help Us Get Out Of It.

The Simulacrum Is Never That Which Conceals The Truth--it Is The Truth Which Conceals That There Is None. The Simulacrum Is True.

The Era Of The Political Was One Of Anomie: Crisis, Violence, Madness And Revolution. The Era Of The Trans-political Is That Of Anomaly: An Aberration Of No Consequence, Contemporaneous With The Event Of No Consequence.

In Its Artless Cruelty, Dallas Is Superior To Any "intelligent" Critique That Can Be Made Of It. That Is Why Intellectual Snobberymeets Its Match Here.

With The Truth, You Need To Get Rid Of It As Soon As Possible And Pass It On To Someone Else. As With Illness, This Is The Only Way To Be Cured Of It. The Person Who Keeps Truth In His Hands Has Lost.

Photography Is Our Exorcism. Primitive Society Had Its Masks, Bourgeois Society Its Mirrors. We Have Our Images.

Simulation Is The Situation Created By Any System Of Signs When It Becomes Sophisticated Enough, Autonomous Enough, To Abolish Its Own Referent And To Replace It With Itself.

Genius Is Childhood Recaptured.

Television Knows No Night. It Is Perpetual Day. Tv Embodies Our Fear Of The Dark, Of Night, Of The Other Side Of Things.

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.

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.

The Repentant, Run-to-seed Ultra-leftists Who Have Converted To Humanitarianism, Artificial Inseminators Of The Widow And The Orphan, Themselves Orphans Of Reality And Malades Imaginaires Of Politics, Premature Ejaculators Of Posthistory And Hyperchondriacs Of The Dead Body Of Ideology And Morality.

One Has Never Said Better How Much "humanism", "normality", "quality Of Life" Were Nothing But The Vicissitudes Of Profitability.

The Yuppies Are Not Defectors From Revolt, They Are A New Race, Assured, Amnestied, Exculpated, Moving With Ease In The World Of Performance, Mentally Indifferent To Any Objective Other Than That Of Change And Advertising.

We Shall Never Resolve The Enigma Of The Relation Between The Negative Foundations Of Greatness And That Greatness Itself.

Cities Are Distinguished By The Catastrophic Forms They Presuppose And Which Are A Vital Part Of Their Essential Charm. New York Is King Kong, Or The Blackout, Or Vertical Bombardment: Towering Inferno. Los Angeles Is The Horizontal Fault, California Breaking Off And Sliding Into The Pacific: Earthquake.

... The Age Of Simulation Thus Begins With A Liquidation Of All Referentials - Worse: By Their Artificial Resurrection In Systems Of Signs, A More Ductile Material Than Meaning... It Is No Longer A Question Of Imitation, Nor Of Reduplication, Nor Even Of Parody. It Is Rather A Question Of Substituting Signs Of The Real For The Real Itself.

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.

We Are No Longer Dealing With Historical Events, But With Places Of Collapse.

The Us ... Cultivates No Origin Or Mythical Authenticity; It Has No Past And No Founding Truth ... It Lives In A Perpetual Present. In The Us Everything Human Is Artificial. The Country Is Without Hope. What Is Arresting Here Is ... Both The Absence Of Architecture In The Cities And The Dizzying Absence Of Emotion And Character In The Faces And Bodies.

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.

Perhaps Our Eyes Are Merely A Blank Film Which Is Taken From Us After Our Deaths To Be Developed Elsewhere And Screened As Our Life Story In Some Infernal Cinema Or Dispatched As Microfilm Into The Sidereal Void.

A Negative Judgment Gives You More Satisfaction Than Praise, Provided It Smacks Of Jealousy.

Information Can Tell Us Everything. It Has All The Answers. But They Are Answers To Questions We Have Not Asked, And Which Doubtless Don't Even Arise.

Never Resist A Sentence You Like, In Which Language Takes Its Own Pleasure And In Which, After Having Abused It For So Long, You Are Stupefied By Its Innocence.

It Only Takes A Politician Believing In What He Says For The Others To Stop Believing Him.

Prophesying Catastrophe Is Incredibly Banal. The More Original Move Is To Assume That It Has Already Happened.

Democracy Is The Menopause Of Western Society, The Grand Climacteric Of The Body Social. Fascism Is Its Middle-aged Lust.

Democracies Have

Terrorism, Like Viruses, Is Everywhere. There Is A Global Perfusion Of Terrorism, Which Accompanies Any System Of Domination As Though It Were Its Shadow, Ready To Activate Itself Anywhere, Like A Double Agent.

In Our Culture, Futility Plays The Role Of Transgression And Fashion Is Condemned For Having Within It The Force Of The Pure Sign Which Signifies Nothing.

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.

The Great Person Is Ahead Of Their Time, The Smart Make Something Out Of It, And The Blockhead, Sets Themselves Against It.

Mistakes, Scandals, And Failures No Longer Signal Catastrophe. The Crucial Thing Is That They Be Made Credible, And That The Public Be Made Aware Of The Efforts Being Expended In That Direction. The Marketing Immunity Of Governments Is Similar To That Of The Major Brands Of Washing Powder.

In Days Gone By, We Were Afraid Of Dying In Dishonor Or A State Of Sin. Nowadays, We Are Afraid Of Dying Fools. Now The Fact Is That There Is No Extreme Unction To Absolve Us Of Foolishness. We Endure It Here On Earth As Subjective Eternity.

The Sumptuous Age Of Stars And Images Is Reduced To A Few Artificial Tornado Effects, Pathetic Fake Buildings, And Childish Tricks Which The Crowd Pretends To Be Taken In By To Avoid Feeling Too Disappointed. Ghost Towns, Ghost People. The Whole Place Has The Same Air Of Obsolescence About It As Sunset Or Hollywood Boulevard.

Laughter On American Television Has Taken The Place Of The Chorus In Greek Tragedy. It Is Unrelenting; The News, The Stock-exchange Reports, And The Weather Forecast Are About The Only Things Spared.

Pornography Is The Quadraphonics Of Sex. It Adds A Third And Fourth Track To The Sexual Act. It Is The Hallucination Of Detail That Rules. Science Has Already Habituated Us To This Microscopics, This Excess Of The Real In Its Microscopic Detail, This Voyeurism Of Exactitude.

A Sociosphere Of Contact, Control, Persuasion And Dissuasion, Of Exhibitions Of Inhibitions In Massive Or Homeopathic Doses...: This Is Obscenity. All Structures Turned Inside Out And Exhibited, All Operations Rendered Visible. In America This Goes All The Way From The Bewildering Network Of Aerial Telephone And Electric Wiresto The Concrete Multiplication Of All The Bodily Functions In The Home, The Litany Of Ingredients On The Tiniest Can Of Food, The Exhibition Of Income Or Iq.

There Is No Human Reason To Be Here, Except For The Sheer Ecstasy Of Being Crowded Together.

The War Was Won On Both Sides: By The Vietnamese On The Ground, By The Americans In The Electronic Mental Space. And If The One Side Won An Ideological And Political Victory, The Other Made Apocalypse Now And That Has Gone Right Around The World.

Sadder Than The Beggar Is The Man Who Eats Alone In Public.

It Is The Corpse Of The Bourgeoisie That Separates Us. With Us, It Is That Class That Is The Carrier Of The Chromosome Of Banality.

Imagine The Amazing Good Fortune Of The Generation That Gets To See The End Of The World. This Is As Marvelous As Being There In The Beginning.

If You Say, I Love You, Then You Have Already Fallen In Love With Language, Which Is Already A Form Of Break Up And Infidelity.

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.

Business Owners Are Like Joggers. If You Stop A Jogger, He Goes On Running On The Spot. If You Drag An Owner Away From His Business, He Goes On Running On The Spot, Pawing The Ground, Talking Business. He Never Stops Hurtling Onwards, Making Decisions And Executing Them.

Today, Every Principle Of Identity Is Affected By Fashion, Precisely Because Of Its Potential To Revert All Forms To Non-origin And Recurrence. Fashion Is Always Retro, But Always On The Basis Of The Abolition Of The Passé (the Past): The Spectral Death And Resurrection Of Forms. Its Proper Actuality (its 'up-to-dateness', Its 'relevance') Is Not A Reference To The Present, But An Immediate And Total Recycling.

It Is The Task Of Radical Thought, Since The World Is Given To Us Unintelligibly, To Make It More Unintelligible, More Enigmatic, More Fabulous.

There Is Nothing More Mysterious Than A Tv Set Left On In An Empty Room. It Is Even Stranger Than A Man Talking To Himself Or A Woman Standing Dreaming At Her Stove. It Is As If Another Planet Is Communicating With You.

It Is Not Enough For Theory To Describe And Analyze, It Must Itself Be An Event In The Universe It Describes.

What You Have To Do Is Enter The Fiction Of America, Enter America As Fiction. It Is, Indeed, On This Fictive Basis That It Dominates The World.

Welcome To The Desert Of The Real.

Cowardice And Courage Are Never Without A Measure Of Affectation. Nor Is Love. Feelings Are Never True. They Play With Their Mirrors.

There Is No Aphrodisiac Like Innocence.

A Woman Spent All Christmas Day In A Telephone Box Without Ringing Anyone. If Someone Comes To Phone, She Leaves The Box, Then Resumes Her Place Afterwards. No One Calls Her Either, But From A Window In The Street, Someone Watched Her All Day, No Doubt Since They Had Nothing Better To Do. The Christmas Syndrome.

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Kamla Persad-Bissessar

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