‘The etymological origin of the word “recipe” offers a further insight into the nature of the exchange. The word finds its root in the Latin word reciperere, meaning simultaneously “to give and to receive”.

…

In these terms, the recipe itself—especially in its embodiment as instructed actions—needs to be understood as a vector for establishing the uncanny barriers of signification erected by the bounds of the cookbook itself as a haunted site of death, enchantment, and revenant signs. In this way, eating, a vital and animated activity, is “disturbingly blended with death, decomposition and the corpse.”‘

‘The picture Houellebecq paints across the nightclubs, resorts and restaurants of the West is of a society that understands the facts but won’t spell them out—where concern for the body (health, beauty, sensation, etc.) has been raised to a cultural zenith, only without any corresponding apparatus to give meaning to decline and death. This, he opines, is the bleak consequence of the ongoing march of consumer capitalism—“which, turning youth into the supremely desirable commodity, had little by little destroyed respect for tradition and the cult of the ancestors—inasmuch as it promised the indefinite preservation of this same youth, and the pleasures associated with it.”’

‘I’m consistently impressed by the haiku-like compression in your lyrics and poetry. I have this theory that a complex experience can be packed into just a few carefully chosen words and slipped under the door to the reader, who can then unpack the phrase and get the full experience of the writer on the other side. For example, the line, “An anchor lets you see the river move,” from “How to Rent a Room.” I’ve spent hours thinking about all the implications of that line, many of which I imagine occurred to you when you wrote it. What technique is involved in achieving such compression?

Berman: First you have to write a lot of sentences. Then you’ve got to switch to the other side and become the reader. Be hard on yourself. Take out those things that don’t advance the cause even if you’re fond of them. Then again and again. Allen Ginsburg was wrong about a lot of things, but especially when he said, “First thought, best thought.”‘

“The Tacoma and the Indianapolis passed a little south of Three Tree Point. … Capt. Coffin pulled down a window and leaned out in the driving rain. The Indianapolis floated by, a dozen squares of light topped by a star. She spoke; three long, lingering blasts. … Capt. Coffin reached for his own whistle cord. Three long blasts. And he let the last blast die away slowly, until it was only a moan in the throat of the whistle. “That’s the last time we pass each other,” he said.”

“Wayne Ducheneaux, president of the National Congress of American Indians, testified before Congress on the matter in 1968:

Before all this came about we had our own method of dealing with law-breakers and in settling disputes between members. That all changed when Crow Dog killed Spotted Tail. Of course, our method of dealing with that was Crow Dog should go take care of Spotted Tail’s family, and if he didn’t do that we’d banish him from the tribe. But that was considered too barbaric, and thought perhaps we should hang him like civilized people do, so they passed the Major Crimes Act that said we don’t know how to handle murderers and they were going to show us.”

“An academic definition of Lynchian might be that the term refers to a particular kind of irony where the very macabre and the very mundane combine in such a way as to reveal the former’s perpetual containment within the latter.”