Activity

In J. G. Ballard’s eerily oneiric Crash, a cabal of car crash fetishists ejaculate into the orifices of gaping lesions

The notes scrawled in the margins in my loopy high school hand proclaim such portentous platitudes as “orgasm = death,”

What could I possibly get out of this exercise in prurient professional curiosity?

The most well-known image of the quietist in the Republic is that of the philosopher in the bad city

we have to be careful while doing so not to abjure the very sense of agency that we would need to sustain such a revolt