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To me, this is what J.G Ballard seem to be getting into with novels like Crash - the ability for mass produced objects, in this case cars, to tap into the same sexual and emotive instincts that art and other culture once did. I think a lot of critics thought he was being facetious or satirical but there's enough (disturbing) biographical detail to suggest the bloke genuinely believed in the transcendental power of these objects.

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