Fiction is a branch of neurology

Art exists because reality is neither real nor significant.

The suburbs dream of violence.

The endless newsreel clips of nuclear explosions that we saw on TV in the 1960s (were) a powerful incitement to the psychotic imagination, sanctioning *everything*.

The car as we know it is on the way out.

The enormous energy of the twentieth century, enough to drive the planet into a new orbit around a happier star, was being expended to maintain this immense motionless pause.

I feel that the surrealists have created a series of valid external landscapes which have their direct correspondences within our own minds.