What I Am, I Don't Know. I

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.