Saturday, February 13, 2010

Gold Dust, Dust-Deep, That is to Say Impure

I talk to them through holy men and the Mayakovsky Tree.

Old books and pamphlets. In the corner, the usual straw mat, a cushion, and a sort of stool on which are ink and paper. The brass must soak in the water can.

Debord cannot tolerate the noise of water. In order to become even more identical to itself, to get as close as possible to motionless monotony, the free space of the commodity is constantly modified and reconstructed.

If you can neither read, nor write, nor sleep, why, then, place yourself beneath the bathtub spigot and wait.

He opens the door and the window to let out the smoke. The economy transforms the world, but transforms it only into a world of economy.

Whiskey and debauch in a plant for the manufacture of arms on the shore of the Euphrates.

Debord lights another cigarette and sits down. Capital is no longer the invisible center. Its accumulation spreads it all the way to the periphery in he form of tangible objects. The entire expanse of society is its portrait.

After he scrawled and scribbled for ten minutes, the sheet was filled with circles and arabesques.


Blogger Kelsey said...


I am writing a review of Writers and Their Notebooks and that is how I found you! I would like to nod in dutiful agreement with whatever you might have said in this posting. I celebrate your authority.

Thanks, though, seriously. "Blogging Like a Child Arsonist" is a pretty kickass title, if you ask me. Then again, what do I know?


8:47 PM  
Blogger Shimmy said...

Hi Kelsey--

Thanks for stopping by! (And for nodding in dutiful agreement.) :) Glad you liked the essay title.

4:49 PM  
Blogger Diana M. Raab said...

Hi Kelsey~

Thanks for writing a review of WRITERS AND THEIR NOTEBOOKS. I am the compiler and editor. Please let me know if you need any further information.
Yes, Tony's title IS awesome.

Good day!
Diana Raab

9:35 AM  

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