It Is In Love With

Philosophy Leads To Death, Sociology Leads To Suicide.

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.

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

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.

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.