
An ongoing digital archive of 1,374 items (and counting) proving that I read, I saw, and I actually paid attention.

“People being evicted, people losing their spaces, people getting kicked out, people getting priced out, it was just sorta something kinda happening. The mall comes, totally remakes your neighborhood, you adjust. It doesn’t adjust to you. You adjust to it. And it was impossible to not see the apartment project through that lens.”
“I’ve got a little Latino Harriet Tubman situation going on at my place. All legit. From the heart. No cash.”



“But what you are left with is a premonition of the way your life will fade behind you, like a book you have read too quickly, leaving a dwindling trail of images and emotions, until all you can remember is a name.”
“Yes. ‘Benoit Blanc PWNED.’ Owned with a P, whatever that means.”
“Limbo is at the apex of visual sophistication: an extra-dimensional loft done out in luxury-plain Jil Sander grey. Empty and placid, with not even a reproduction Eames chair to interrupt the anodyne tastefulness. No mess, no colour, no life. No hint of recidivist ornament – Adolf Loos would have loved limbo. In Harold Pinter’s words, a ‘No man’s land, which never moves, which never changes, which never grows older, which remains forever icy and silent.’”

“‘Since one cannot have truth,’ cried Sebastian, struggling into his evening shirt, ‘let us at least have good manners.’”
“Christmas children peek through Christmas windows.”
“You see, back where I come from, we got a whole lot of people who believe all sorts of things that aren’t true. You know what we call it? History.”


