If the Grateful Dead will always be stuck somewhere between band and cult, Epicureanism itself has been stuck between cult and philosophy since it was founded around 300 BCE.
Four books attempt to describe the Detroit of past and present: two good, one bad, one of such inconsequence its inclusion here is only justified as an act of collation.
Anderson’s movies promote a particular fallacy: they encourage us to accept the symbol for the reality.
There’s something about language that to me is so special, and I feel like it goes right past all my logical brain workings. It feels like a drug.
The fiction writer, at least, creates the lie to contain the truth.
Every biography is a failure in some way. It’s laced with all kinds of opacities, instabilities.