“We're building prisons all over the world and calling them luxury condos.” J.G. Ballard, Cocaine Nights "Qu'est ce que je peux faire ? J'sais pas quoi faire ! Qu'est ce que je peux faire ? J'sais pas quoi faire ! Qu'est ce que je peux faire ? J'sais pas quoi faire !" Marianne in Pierrot le Fou, Jean-Luc Godard “the ragged skyline of the city resembled the disturbed encephalograph of an unresolved mental crisis.” J.G. Ballard “We live in a world ruled by fictions of every kind—mass merchandising, advertising, politics conducted as a branch of advertising, the instant translation of science and technology into popular imagery, the increasing blurring and intermingling of identities within the realm of consumer goods, the preempting of any free or original imaginative response to experience by the television screen. We live inside an enormous novel. For the writer in particular it is less and less necessary for him to invent the fictional content of his novel. The fiction is already there. The writer's task is to invent the reality.” J.G. Ballard, Crash "Après tout, je suis idiot, moi. Merde, merde !"
Ferdinand in Pierrot le Fou, Jean-Luc Godard
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"Woyzeck What's wrong, Doctor? Doctor I saw it, Woyzeck, you pissed on the street, pissed on the wall like a dog. And you get two cents a day. Woyzeck, that's bad. The world is getting bad, very bad. Woyzeck But the call of nature, Doctor..." - Georg Büchner, Woyzeck “Ask the Outsider what he ultimately wants, and he will admit he doesn't know. Why? Because he wants it instinctively, and it is not always possible to tell what your instincts are driving towards.” - Colin Wilson, The Outsider “Once upon a time there was a poor child with no father and no mother everything was dead and no one was left in the whole world. Everything was dead and it went and searched day and night And since nobody was left on the earth it wanted to go up to the heavens and the moon was looking at it so friendly and when it finally got to the moon the moon was a piece of rotten wood and then it went to the sun and when it got there the sun was a wilted sunflower and when it got to the stars they were little golden flies stuck up there like the shrike sticks 'em on the blackthorn and when it wanted to go back down to earth the earth was an overturned piss pot! and was all alone.” - Georg Büchner, Woyzeck "It's not really my problem if they think I'm weird." - Sid Vicious |
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May 2018
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