So I looked and stared and rummaged and poked and turned affadavits over in my hand and ran the tape found in the camera up Marilyn Monroe's backside, all of that. I had to stare the god damned conspiracy in its jowles, I had to rummage in its belly and pick over what it ate last night, ugh, all its grimy details, its filthy postulates and its mind-damaging Agatha-Christie's-Murder-on-the-Orient-Express conclusion that - gasp, look away now - they ALL did it! Given my well-advertised detestation of all things conspiracytheoretical, you might think I would want to give Libra the widest of berths. So yes, this is the ur-conspiracy we are dealing with, which all the other conspiracies use as the template. And - of course - the lyrics.Īs we know it's about that JFK thing.
Its vocals, its backing, the bass, the drums, man alive the drums, the harmonies - celestial, Wilsonian is the only word. I'm told that the Don DeLillo who wrote this masterpiece is the same guy who wrote Underworld and White Noise, but as far as I'm concerned that's a plainly ridiculous theory and I'm not buying it at all and I've hired a private investigator to get to the bottom of why there are two Don DeLillos and why this one hasn't sued the other idiot for giving him a bad name. There is a secret world within the world… Clandestine movers and shakers live among us but they abide in the invisible world of their own. All the danger is in the White House, from nuclear weapons on down.” Now it’s the government that has a lock on the secrets that matter. Plots, conspiracies, secrets of revolution, secrets of the end of the social order. The dangerous secrets used to be held outside the government. We’re not smart enough for him… Do you know what charisma means to me? It means he holds the secrets.
He thinks he can make us a different kind of society. Secret services saw in John Kennedy a real threat to their holding sway over the entire state: There are tomcats and there are cat’s paws. There is the system and there are those who serve the system. We will follow the bullet trajectories backwards to the lives that occupy the shadows, actual men who moan in their dreams. We will build theories that gleam like jade idols, intriguing systems of assumption, four-faced, graceful. Let’s devote our lives to understanding this moment, separating the elements of each crowded second. Dead president’s corpse in the driver’s car.
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