Dyslogia

'Touched by tales of babies born in trees, by photographs of upturned faces weeping with despair, relief or resignation, touched by the naked and the destitute, the living, dying and the dead, we in the First World put our hands in our pockets for the Third. Our ministers bicker over whose ministry should pay for sending helicopters but eventually we send them; we send our lifeboats too, and if we thought that the Oxford and Cambridge crews would be of any use, they, the Owl and the Pussycat, would be sent with a pea-green boat to extend the gestures of sympathy and solidarity; and on our television sets, we witness such catastrophe as was seen by Gilgamesh and Noah millenniums ago, salving our consciences with cheques .

'We know nothing of the thirst and hunger, nor the menace of disease from water that has drowned a myriad now-rotting corpses of all kinds; we know nothing of the cramps and stinks as dysentry takes hold and we can only imagine what it is like to feel our children die. And then what?'

(Brian Sewell, Evening Standard 14/3/2000)

'Movie Stars. Sports Stars. Murderers. Tabloid gossip. Pop culture noise is so ever present and overwhelming that it removes the ability in the masses to believe - let alone think about - anything. The inability to read, to contemplate, to consider, is in fact a new epidemic known as dyslogia, a disease caused by the devastating overflow of information.'

'The supranational corporation spreads its doctrine through the trance of the everyday, depriving the psychic slave of instinct and self-protection. Without a sense of self and self-respect, the individual reaches for a placebo in the never-ending array of corporate products. The placebo of 'entertainment' helps to expand the NWO icon of the $. Art police are not required in an environment that convinces the masses that the $ is their leader and sole determinant of behaviour and philosophy.'

Adam Parfrey

'Hell has three doors:

lust, rage and greed.'

Bhagavad-Gita

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'A cry from the North, from the West and from the South
Whence thousands travel daily to the timekept city:
Where My Word is unspoken
In the land of lobelias and tennis flannels
The rabbit shall burrow and the thorn revisit,
The nettle shall flourish on the gravel court,
And the wind shall say: 'Here were decent godless people:
Their only monument the asphalt road
And a thousand lost golf balls'.'

(extract from The Rock, T. S. Eliot)

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