You will be much more successful, and make more sense of your lives, if you believe what the TV advertisements tell you than if you are sceptical of them.
J G Ballard bot
@ballardbot.bsky.social
a thought from JG Ballard every day by: @mbonsall.bsky.social using: https://bluebotsdonequick.com more: https://fentonville.co.uk/digital-ballard/
I never said that I think car crashes are sexually exciting.
In a film like this, one gets the sense of a speeding replica of the twentieth century caught upon a spinning carousel.
One can describe a car crash in a kind of Mickey Spillane language with powerful adverbs and adjectives.
They have had their time -- they belong to the 19th-century, when people needed to be physically in (close) proximity in order to carry out trade, commerce, the exchange of goods and ideas.
Ordinary reality is too messy and confusing -- why not construct a replica to satisfy all your instant needs for heritage?
But a small minority will soon be bored, and realize that in a totally sane society madness is the only freedom.
Three bikers in metallized boots and Mad Max leathers sat at the outdoor tables.
You're like all men -- violence is your real turn-on, not sex.
What I have said is that the idea of car crashes is sexually exciting, which is very different and, in a way, much more disturbing.
Sex times technology equals the future -- that's one of the most powerful equations there is going.
Airports and airfields have always held a special magic, gateways to the infinite possibilities that only the sky can offer.
It may be a disguised way of thinking small -- for all that superabundance of light years, an infinitude of nothingness is still nothing.
It isn't often that one reads a book and is convinced that it's an instant classic, but I'm sure that lain Sinclair's London Orbital will be read 50 years from now.
Now that technical mastery is simply a question of pushing a button, selecting meter, rhyme, assonance on a dial, there's no need for sacrifice, no ideal to invent to make the sacrifice worthwhile.
Dr Bowen had said that she was dead, but Dr Ransome squeezed her heart under her ribs and suddenly her eyes swivelled and looked at Jim.
If these ideas were in the middle of a short story people could ignore them.
I assume one is dealing with a process very close to that of dreams -- a set of scenarios devised to make sense of apparently irreconcilable ideas.
But by the same token, they also lost interest in the past.
On one of the empty coffin shelves was a collection of metal objects stripped from his car, a wing mirror and manufacturer's medallion, strips of chromium trim, laid out like an elaborate altarpiece on which would one day repose the bones of a revered saint.
Twister is a very good example: no character development, no real story.
These days most people's idea of the past is a rerun of Casablanca.
It's a myth to think that the middle classes are incapable of violence.