Well, goodgrief, me and the missus were out at an eatery when we ran into old friends, we well had a time of it, and thought you might too. Is this what is meant by a digital life? I don't believe for a second in anything except human inertia, intransigence. What is here remains until the final slaughter. The prime mover? The superstructure itself, as power coagulates like a blood-wound around the head of state. Every day, fury increases, elsewhere. When it arrives, this talk, this useless talk, will end.

When the silent film comedians moved to talkies, they found themselves hampered by studio executives, directorial authority, time constraints. They exist between two worlds; every moment might be a triumph, but is in reality the collapse of the body beneath capital.