ABSTRACT
Today's social ugliness, which makes the bizarre seem normal, is no longer just a surrealist fantasy, a proto-surrealist spin-off, or a Baudrillardean rehearsal for a futureless future. This scenario is the present historical moment, one that has arrived in a body bag-unraveled and stomped on by the logic of the fascist's steel-toed boot. Serial killer Ted Bundy has donated his multiple texts of identity to our structural unconscious and we are living them.
