The Rewards of Punishment. Extracts from a forthcoming autopsy.

As for the cineaste, soft spoken emigre of the human race, nourishing his credentials with the latest Godard, he speaks for himself. Look around you. This much credulity lacks credibility. His behaviour is that of abstraction, it is behaviour par excellence: an hierarchical gauntness: a muscular armour, programming his gestures and facial expression; eyes fierce from those hours of twilight staring. The portrait of an intellectual, exacerbated to grotesqueness by those patient cinematic hours of physical and mental absence. His rhetoric of defence defies, and tries to deny, analysis, it depends on such dubious concepts as 'the image', and is dissimulated under a haze of memorably articulate fragments, which neither form a 'whole', nor derive from any coherent attitude; and whose totality and delivery are informed only by the fear of being found out. Beneath the accents of fluency there is nothing , a man who is not conscious of the situation he is in, an unconscious man.

The cineaste can't read, he is a master of the illustrated synopsis, and has missed out on the resistance of words and thinking. He buys books. Similarly he believes he can absorb 'culture' through a kind of spiritual osmosis: by being 'their' at the beginning of a 'great-film'. Thus he accumulates his scholarship, from film to film. The bizarre courage with which he endures the sheer boredom of films, he draws from his conviction that its all part of the process. He is the victim of the superstition which sells cars: the personal assimilation of 'quality' through formal association.

Insofar as there are any physical PLEASURES IN COMPULSIVE FILM going, they are those of the circular, immolatory behaviour of the neurotic who tears his hair, peels his skin, and forgets the world in his own fascination.

Equal to the film in its power of conditioning its spectator, is the pop song. It also depends on the factors of captivity and total submission for its efficacy. Pop music induces an abstract orgasm by reducing the listener to itself, the 'fan' becomes the music, its strength and movement become his illusion often suddenly he is in control, the prime mover of his mechanised and impersonal environment, he occupies his environment, a riot is occurring. But all this is the shadow of genuine sense, it is a true occupation of the environment. Pop music capitalises on a growing but unformulated awareness among young people, that a riot is the only possible beginning for any personal-social-political movement, the only way to reduce the insanity and violence of the environment, which more and more is simply an apparatus of control, to ashes. The riot generates the anti-body of the state: social form. Pop music takes this intuition, exploits it, and defuses it.

If you don't fuck each other THEY will fuck you.

'When our relationship to words is corrupted, so is our relationship to things' (Heidigger).

Look at these people: the shiny seed of the monster, the parent and taxpayer; the MARKET for Cahiers du Cinema, John Lennon's affairs, Sunday Times 'enquiries', New Society, John Osborne's farts, The Satre/ Camus controversy, International Times, the David Frost show, film festivals, the top ten, a whole social reality, a 'world', the cover girl for the corpses of Vietnam and Mexico, which is where these people really are, CUSTOMERS of the N.F.T., the arts lab, the jazzed-up bureaucracy of the underground, a community of thighs, suckers for the for the CULTURAL MFI. Visconti, the Beatles, Jim Haynes, Peter Blake, Richard Hamilton, The Royal Academy, the I.C.A.

Yoko Ono- ..FALL GUYS for the professors - of the 'Histories' of art, literature or cinema, con-tricks of recent invention, whose purpose is the full employment of their progenitors.

, Eliminate the big shots and learn to manage our affairs.