“It is a curious emotion, this certain homesickness I have in mind. With Americans, it is a national trait, as native to us as the roller-coaster or the jukebox. It is no simple longing for the home town or country of our birth. The emotion is Janus-faced: we are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.”


“I only know goodness… and anger… and revenge and evil and desire.
These seem to me far better words then ‘neurosis’ and ‘psychology’ and ‘paranoia’.
These old words, these good old words have a sort of… conviction…
which all this modern apparatus of language now lacks.
We bury these words, these simple feelings. We bury them deep.
And all the building over that constitutes this century will not wish these feelings away.”


If you want to feel anything in this undistinguished age then you have to hunt, under the wreckage of many systems—to search hard for the sounds and words and images and signifiers that still stimulate you, still intrigue you, still give you that strange feeling in your gut and bring you closer to the mesmerised suburban daydreams of your youth, and, if you’re lucky, closer to your base human instincts.