Miss Brontë & Miss Emily & Miss Anne used to put away their sewing after prayers, and walk all three one after the other round the table in the parlour till nearly eleven o’clock. Miss Emily walked as long as she could, and when she died Miss Anne & Miss Brontë took it up – and now my heart aches to hear Miss Brontë walking, walking on alone.
“What actually happens on the level of our unconscious minds when, within minutes on the same TV screen, a prime minister is assassinated, an actress makes love, an injured child is carried from a car crash? Faced with these charged events, prepackaged emotions already in place, we can only stitch together a set of emergency scenarios, just as our sleeping minds extemporize a narrative from the unrelated memories that veer through the cortical night.”
J. G. Ballard | The Atrocity Exhibition