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Sweeet this is so exciting! Im excited to do more!

this is so cool! Excited to do more!

this is so cool! Excited to do more!

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is so interesting! Cant wait for the next batch!

Omg this
is so interesting! Cant wait for the next batch!

Compassion is an unstable emotion. It needs to be translated into action, or it withers.
Susan Sontag, “Regarding the Pain of Others”
An ample reservoir of stoicisim is needed to get through the likelihood of seeing phoographs that could make you cry. And the pity and disgust that pictures like [these] inspire should not distract you from asking what pictures, whose cruelties, whose deaths are *not* being shown.
Susan Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others
The life of the dead: an idiotic notion. Also the secret of civilization… Insofar as civilization is a communion with the past, and regards an absence as a presence, it is mysticism. If the materialists were right, tradition would be impossible.
"Kaddish" by Leon Wieseltier

In the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. Following this visual trail, you have forced yoru way through the shop past the thick barricade of Books You Haven’t Read, which were frowning at you from teh tables and shelves, trying to cow you. But you know you must never allow yourself to be awed, that among them there extend for acres and acres the Books You Needn’t Read, the Books Made For Purposes Other Than Reading, Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong To The Category Of Books Read Before Being Written. And thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of the Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. With a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive Now And You’ll Wait Till They’re Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come OUt In Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody’s Read So It’s As If You Had Read Them, Too. Eluding these assaults, you come up beneath the towers of the fortress, where other troops are holding out:

the Books You’ve Been Planning To Read For Ages,
the Books You’ve Been Hunting For Years Without Success,
the Books Dealing With Something You’re Working On At The Moment,
the Books You Want To Own So They’ll Be Handy Just In Case,
the Books You Could Put Aside Maybe To Read This Summer,
the Books You Need TO GO With Other Books On Your Shelves,
the Books THat Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified.

Now you have been able to reduce the countless embattled troops to an array that is, to be sure, very large but still calculable in a finite number; but this relief is then undermined by the ambush of Books Read Long Ago Wich It’s Now Time To Reread and the Books You’ve Always Pretended To Have Read And Now It’s Time To Sit Down And Really Read Them.

With a zigzag dash you shake them off and leap straight into the citadel of the New Books Whose Author Or Subject Appeals To You. Even inside this stronghold you can make some breaches in the ranks of the defenders, dividing them into New Books By Authors Or On Subjects Not New (for you or in general) and New Books By Authors Or On Subjects Completely Unknown (at least to you), and defining the attraction they have for you on the basis of your desires and needs for the new and the not new (for the new you seek in the not new and for the not new you seek in the new).

All this simply means that, having rapidly glanced over the titles of the volumes displayed in teh bookshop, you have turned toward a stack of “If on a winter’s night a traveler” fresh off the press, you have grasped a copy, and you have carried it to the cashier so that your right to own it can be established.

You cast another bewildered look at the books around you (or, rather: it was the books that looked at you, with the bewildered gaze of dogs who, from their cages in teh city pound, see a former companion go off on the leash of his master, come to rescue him), and out you went.

Italo Calvino, If on a winter’s night a traveler

No one sees the barn… Once you’ve seen signs about the barn, it becomes impossible to see the barn…

We’re not here to capture an image, we’re here to maintain one. Every photo reinforces the aura. Can you feel it, Jack? An accumulation of nameless energies…

Being here is a kind of spiritual surrender. We see only what the others see. The thousands who were here in the past, those who will come in the future. We’ve agreed to be part of a collective perception. This literally colors our vision. A religious experience in a way, like all tourism.”

Murray on the Most Photographed Barn in America, in Don DeLillo’s “White Noise”
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torontodesign:

meanwhile on McCaul

My childhood stomping grounds. 2012-style.

torontodesign:

meanwhile on McCaul

My childhood stomping grounds. 2012-style.