Word: facelessness
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...faced universal drawing card like Love Storyor The Graduate. Everything is Order--the cop on the watch, the way people file in to A,B,C and D. You might marvel at what Mailer would have called the "nursery school" architecture, and blink in awe at the number of faceless forms hunched over desks in the Science Library on Friday night, but everything is extraterrestially humming, scientific, in control. Especially it you're like me and never go in the Science complex except for an exam, there's nothing you can do about that huge pasted-together hangar ejecting doctors...
...Monday, Wednesday and Friday, instead of staying around the Square and eating lunch. I walk the mile house to see my mail. As each letter of rejection comes. In, I attach for to the master copy of my letter of inquiry and move to the appropriate, file. The faceless letters pile up and my own fact floats in the air before me, record my body temperature daily and keep pardon copies of my letters to friends...
...confrontation isn't the police's fault. They are a faceless tool belonging to whomever is in control of the city. The march leaders only precipitated the conflict. They let the march's outcome be inevitable. Go down on road or go down the other, but prepare for the consequences. To have your head opened for no purpose would be damn maddening...
...people who seem most important these days are faceless and colorless, worth writing about for what they do, but not for their force of personality. They are bank presidents, CIA directors, informed sources, reputed gangland leaders, even Gerald Ford. The key subjects are plots and spies, interests and investments, economic trends. New York Magazine, in its annual Ten-Most-Powerful list, this year added a new list, for invisible power, the power...
...watch the drivers. So deep into his car that I can only see his over-sized helmet and spastically jerking hands, the driver comes down-shifting through the turn and accelerates down a short straight and out of our vision. Nestled in bladders of gasoline, his is a desperate, faceless struggle to control such a hell-bent machine as it screams toward pure speed. Peter Revson's helmet was painted into a big toothy smile, but he died setting a track record in South America. So far there have been no accidents this weekend. All at once I hear...