Everywhere One Seeks To Produce Meaning, To

We Are No Longer In A State Of Growth; We Are In A State Of Excess. We Are Living In A Society Of Excrescence. The Boil Is Growing Out Of Control, Recklessly At Cross Purposes With Itself, Its Impacts Multiplying As The Causes Disintegrate.

It Is The Real, And Not The Map, Whose Vestiges Subsist Here And There, In The Deserts Which Are No Longer Those Of The Empire But Our Own: The Desert Of The Real Itself.

The Obese Is In A Total Delirium. For He Is Not Only Large, Of A Size Opposed To Normal Morphology: He Is Larger Than Large. He No Longer Makes Sense In Some Distinctive Opposition, But In His Excess, His Redundancy.

The Image Is Not A Medium For Which We Have To Find The Proper Use. It Is What It Is And It Is Beyond All Our Moral Considerations. It Is By Its Essence Immoral, And The World's Becoming-image Is An Immoral Process.

There Is No Aphrodisiac Like Innocence.