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I can be rrrreached at icicle at freegeek dot org

"If it had been an outright junkyard, probably he could have stuck things out, made a career: the violence that had caused each wreck being infrequent enough, far away from him, to be miraculous, as each death, up until the moment of our own, is miraculous. But the endless rituals of trade-in, week after week, never got as far as violence or blood, and so were plausible for the impressionable Mucho to take for long. Even if enough exposure to the unvarying gray sickness had somehow managed to immunize him, he could still never accept the way each owner, each shadow, filed in only to exchange a dented, malfunctioning version of himself for another, just as futureless, automotive projection of somebody else's life. As if it were the most natural thing. To Mucho is was horrible. Endless, convoluted incest." - Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49