#commodityfetish

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#ci57 #generalsisters #artandmaterials #commodityfetish #queerart #artandpraxis https://www.instagram.com/p/Bpw3IS0HdsfZVO5KiZOu2aWcFituia060aBhQM0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=12uqa752fr2nn

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i saw commodityfetish’s newsletter on here and opened it and then couldn’t find the blog who’d reblogged it so sorry about that but it’s right here (it’s very short and probably the best thing i’ve read in months) and there are some cool conversation games here’s one of them :

“Convo Game 2: I’ll guess a thing about you, and then you guess why I guessed it. (One person should guess a thing about another person; the other person should guess why the first person thought that was a reasonable guess.) (i.e. “I think you formerly played ultimate frisbee at a liberal arts college.” “I think you guessed that about me because I have low-profile North Face backpack and a Nalgene water bottle with vaguely leftist stickers.)”

u wanna play??????????

[myphilosophernephew-blog]

Noticing that Matthew had a new spring in his step after spending the past few days in California, I asked him how he liked Los Angeles so far. He paused, removed his sunglasses, and looked at the people around us. The sounds of West Coast life -- not unlike those of East Coast life, yet somehow different, more relaxed -- echoed off the cafe walls. He slowly looked at me and, with a face I now know quite well, began to speak.  "Aunt Gabby, the woman to my left is drinking a chia-seed kale juice that cost eight dollars. The gentleman to my left -- the one with the ridiculous colored shorts -- spent twenty-five minutes telling his date about his free-range turkey burger. This city has commodified the act of walking from point A to point B. It's Marxist fetish at its finest. Our concert tickets, stereos, and iPods aren’t sold to help us hear the music; the music is sold to help us buy the tickets, stereos, and iPods. I cringe with every step I take." He looked away, twirling his straw in his glass. "So you're not having any fun at all?" "Well," he began with a smirk. "After all, the department store is the last promenade for the flâneur." He put his glasses back on, finished the rest of his (virgin) martini, and walked away.