looking back just a few years before my own birth is like looking back into an alien world. the music, the values, the motion of bodies through space, all locked in a mystery that might as well be a foreign language.
i don’t like the books about the factory, i like the period films. how can anyone talk about a movement that was all about a moment of bliss among the ruins?
the flower in the mouth of Baudalaire’s corpse; the drug joy in the broken bodies.