Vol 3.1
American cinema is nothing short of the dramatization of the desires and fears of an entire people.
From this angle, it’s almost as if the narrative itself—an ethereal ghost story and a cautionary tale about land grabs—is inconsequential to the book’s real currency: its paradoxically prominent underappreciation.
If you have one hour and you write for that whole hour, suddenly there is a book or at least part of a book, and when you have part of a book, you can always finish it.
The thing about surveillance, there's a lot of boredom in it. This was part of the attraction, I think, to becoming detectives.
Queering the relationship between form and genre, troubling the notion of what makes a novel, working through questions of queerness and bodies and desire and space and language on the page.
Drug-eating is now drug consumption. Where "eating" implies a loamy process of co-constitution, "consumption" is a rote expression of your identity.
Desire renders life like a poem: it collapses space and time, it calls into focus images, sensations, new voices and forms of seeing and saying something.
The film cannot be said to be interested in persuading anybody of anything.
You're a man now, I'm your blanket.
Perhaps the literary community needs a lot more of the absurd, even in spades, and perhaps especially in relation to economics.
An error in the game was the realest feature. It formed a foundation. The developers thought how American. How reckless.