



An ongoing digital archive of 1,399 items (and counting) proving that I read, I saw, and I actually paid attention.
“What do you call a tireless, relentless homosexual? ‘Inde-faggot-ible.’”
“Disneyland will never be completed. It will continue to grow as long as there is imagination left in the world.”
“We need to send the message that we have a new culture here now. Where people should, of course, feel free to leave at 5:30 and be with their families. No one is going to be overworked like in the past. No more unpleasant incidents. But, of course, it’s not compulsory. And obviously, if people still have work to do, they should absolutely stay and continue to work. But it’s not strictly enforced. Although we still do want to meet quotas. So if we can do that, just remembering, you know, we are running a business here, so “let your conscience guide you” kind of thing. Yeah? Good.”

“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.’”