Art Exists Because Reality Is Neither Real

All You Do Is Get On And Start Pedaling . . .

The Technological Landscape Of The Present Day Has Enfranchised Its Own Electorates - The Inhabitants Of The Marketing Zones In The Consumer Society, Television Audiences And News Magazine Readerships, Who Vote With Money At The Cash Counter Rather Than With Ballot Paper At The Polling Boot. These Huge And Passive Electorates Are Wide Open To Any Opportunist Using The Psychological Weaponry Of Fear And Anxiety, Elements That Are Carefully Blanched Out Of The World Of Domestic Products And Consumer Software.

Fiction Is A Branch Of Neurology: The Scenarios Of Nerve And Blood Vessels Are The Written Mythologies Of Memory And Desire.

Trying To Exhaust Himself, Vaughan Devised An Endless Almanac Of Terrifying Wounds And Insane Collisions: The Lungs Of Elderly Men Punctured By Door-handles; The Chests Of Young Women Impaled On Steering-columns; The Cheek Of Handsome Youths Torn On The Chromium Latches Of Quarter-lights. To Vaughan, These Wounds Formed The Key To A New Sexuality, Born From A Perverse Technology. The Images Of These Wounds Hung In The Gallery Of His Mind, Like Exhibits In The Museum Of A Slaughterhouse.

In His Mind Vaughan Saw The Whole World Dying In A Simultaneous Automobile Disaster, Millions Of Vehicles Hurled Together In A Terminal Congress Of Spurting Loins And Engine Coolant.