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« July 2007 | Main | September 2007 »
An alert child could tell you that life shrinks like a low island. Organised religion added Jesus to the food groups. The past is killed off by American marksmen. The obligation to possess money, the forced flowers of convention, replicated controversy, canned gunfire, the ordeal venom of litigation, the dwindling comb-over of western culture -- here, written in blood and English, is the hobbling of humanity. Mankind arms the threshold of inspiration lest it be taken by wit.
With Britpop still in its last high, and grunge well-killed, it came off as hollow, with shit bands, and a top-down cultural journalist response to nothing.
But it's '80s everywhere now. The same sort of social flinch for moving music backwards. Possibly even more embarrassing than anything Romo ever tried to do.
If they'd waited until now, they would've made millions.
The taps in the office were polished, but angled enough not to reflect a face. On the wall across from her, sad cartoons coughed and bent over.
When an infectious waste container caught her eye -- ' Do Not Open' on the side, a logic puzzle -- something hit the roof, something hard.
The problem, of course, was that she was locked in here.
Loud talk and lots of footsteps came from under the door, and she could make out that people were being evacuated.
Whatever it was, it was here for her.
This never would've happened in Europe.
"Batman and, later, Edward Scissorhands, upped the retro ante. What was new about the period nostalgia in these films was that it encompassed the entire twentieth century; fashion for the thirties, forties, fifties, eighties, and the future co-existed simultaneously. When nostalgia erupts so massively into the present, the forward movement of the historical continuum is arrested. The eighties were the decade when fashion -- and, with it, 'history' -- ended. Period-mixing in films marked an acceleration of 'retro' velocity to the point of inversion."
Christopher Dewdney
Everyone trusted them, but they'd collapse towns.
Once, one of the figures talked to a brick-builder about inflation, moving aside as the man put his tools down and left in one direction forever.
After a warden was asked what he thought when he stood in his child's bedroom, he said nothing and unlocked all of the prison's doors.
A farmer once had his heart stop when they all sang drinking songs in another language.
They had no names and no homes, but soon, they were everywhere.