At The Heart Of Pornography Is Sexuality

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.

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

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.

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.

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.