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His explanation was very elusive. He used the example that people say, "Twenty yards of linen are worth two pounds." People say that about every thing that it has a certain value. This is worth that. This coat, this sweater, this cup of coffee: each thing worth some quantity of money, or some number of other things—one coat, worth three sweaters, or so much money—as if that coat, suddenly appearing on the earth, contained somewhere inside itself an amount of value, like an inner soul, as if the coat were a fetish, a physical object that contains a living spirit. But what really determines the value of a coat? The coat's price comes from its history, the history of all the people involved in making it and selling it and all the particular relationships they had. And if we buy the coat, we, too, form relationships with all those people, and yet we hide those relationships from our own awareness by pretending we live in a world where coats have no history but just fall down from heaven with prices marked inside. "I like this coat," we say, "It's not expensive," as if that were a fact about the coat and not the end of a story about all the people who made it and sold it, "I like the pictures in this magazine."

A naked woman leans over a fence. A man buys a magazine and stares at her picture. The destinies of these two are linked. The man has paid the woman to take off her clothes, to lean over the fence. The photograph contains its history—the moment the woman unbuttoned her shirt, how she felt, what the photographer said. The price of the magazine is a code that describes the relationships between all these people—the woman, the man, the publisher, the photographer—who commanded, who obeyed. The cup of coffee contains the history of the peasants who picked the beans, how some of them fainted in the heat of the sun, some were beaten, some were kicked.

For two days I could see the fetishism of commodities everywhere around me. It was a strange feeling. Then on the third day I lost it, it was gone, I couldn't see it anymore.

-Wallace Shawn, “The Fever”

#Wallace Shawn #the fever

#snow #gerald söllinger

#boston public library #copley square

magictransistor

Navy-Day, City of New York, 1945.

#steve powers #espo

vagabondedlife

“Yesterday I walked through a neighborhood of shabby apartment buildings on shabby streets, and I ate lunch in a lousy restaurant. The bread was hard, the lettuce was rather stiff as well. But to tell you the truth, the experience wasn’t so bad. I could survive some lousiness, some uncomfortableness, some decline. Back on the street, I kept walking and wondered what would happen if we allowed some of the fossils to simply lie there under the sand, if we decided not to try to dominate the world. We’d have no control over what would happen. We’d let go and fall. How far would we sink? How far? How far? Sure, it’s been great, the life of comfort, good lunches, predictability. But imagine how it would feel if we could be on a path of increasing compassion, diminishing brutality, diminishing greed - I think it might actually feel wonderful to be alive.”

-Wallace Shawn, Essays

#wallace shawn

tiredtangerine

#the cranes are flying

Canova’s “Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss”, by Nan Goldin - 2010

#nan goldin

worstsimpsonspageever

invocado

forrealdude

The Lion Monument in Lucerne, Switzerland. It commemorates the Swiss Guards who were massacred in 1792 during the French Revolution.

He explained about the lack of eye contact. "I'm not used to seeing people's faces," he said. "There's too much information there. Aren't you aware of it? Too much, too fast."

-The Strange and Curious Tale of the Last True Hermit (GQ)

eldritchdoorman

centolodigiani

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