Americans may have no identity, but they do have wonderful teeth.
Category Archive: Jean Baudrillard
Driving is a spectacular form of amnesia. Everything is to be discovered, everything to be obliterated.
There exists, between people in love, a kind of capital held by each. This is not just a stock of affects or pleasure, but also the possibility of playing double or quits with the share you hold in the other’s heart.
If you say, I love you, then you have already fallen in love with language, which is already a form of break up and infidelity.
There is nothing funny about Halloween. This sarcastic festival reflects, rather, an infernal demand for revenge by children on the adult world.
To love someone is to isolate him from the world, wipe out every trace of him, dispossess him of his shadow, drag him into a murderous future. It is to circle around the other like a dead star and absorb him into a black light.
The sad thing about artificial intelligence is that it lacks artifice and therefore intelligence.
It is always the same: once you are liberated, you are forced to ask who you are.
A negative judgment gives you more satisfaction than praise, provided it smacks of jealousy.
Deep down, no one really believes they have a right to live. But this death sentence generally stays tucked away, hidden beneath the difficulty of living. If that difficulty is removed from time to time, death is suddenly there, unintelligibly.