“ He decided that we suffer from great temporal homesickness for the decade we were born in. ”
They're in love. Fuck the war.
~ Thomas Pynchon
It's been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home -- only the millions of last moments . . . nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments.
Shit, money, and the World, the three American truths, powering the American mobility, claimed the Slothrops, clasped them for good to the country's fate. But they did not prosper... about all they did was persist
Behind the hieroglyphic streets there would either be a transcendent meaning, or only the earth.
