I'd like to renounce the sophistication which would permit me to sniff it with detached curiosity as yet another example of post-industrial decomposition. Only the dead are truly smart, truly cool. Nothing touches them. Advertising, using Surrealism's colonization of the unconscious to create desire, leads to the final implosion of Surrealism. Surrealism was made for advertising, for commodification.
Surrealism is in fact a betrayal of desire.
And yet, out of this abyss of meaning, desire still rises, innocent as a new-hatched phoenix. Rather, I propose we ravage them for parts, an act of cultural bricolage.