"He invested his passion in objects, which provided him with values that were variously aesthetic, historical, spiritual, snobbish but above all controllable; objects presented the bright safe surface of things."
From Gothic
Richard Davenport-Hines
The accumulation of material goods always confuses me. I dont consider myself materialistic, but, I won't lie; shiny is seductive. I have a shiny apartment filled with shiny household objects. I have collected things from my travels, in flea markets as far flung as So Cal, Paris, Rome and EBay. My Bordeaux wine and Illy coffee give me pleasure. The books, the hundreds of books spilling off inadequete shelving and piling rudely on my wood floors, are my personal proof that I am a seeking knowledge, always. All these things, to be sure, are the outward projections of what I value in myself and others.
So is this what we do? Gather the things around us, the bright, safe, superficial things and then point to them and say "Look, this is what I am! Do not confuse me with those who do not possess the same objects I have." Cause you know we all do it. Every last one of us, at some level or another.
So what if we weren't to do this investing of passion in objects? What if you choose to invest your passion in, say, people? And those people prove false. Then what are you, but one who has invested in false friends? Inconstant family? Disloyal company? Et tu, Brutus?
I do not know. The objects are safe and clean; they love unconditionally. The people are dirty and dangerous; they love selfishly. Would you take your chances?
From Gothic
Richard Davenport-Hines
The accumulation of material goods always confuses me. I dont consider myself materialistic, but, I won't lie; shiny is seductive. I have a shiny apartment filled with shiny household objects. I have collected things from my travels, in flea markets as far flung as So Cal, Paris, Rome and EBay. My Bordeaux wine and Illy coffee give me pleasure. The books, the hundreds of books spilling off inadequete shelving and piling rudely on my wood floors, are my personal proof that I am a seeking knowledge, always. All these things, to be sure, are the outward projections of what I value in myself and others.
So is this what we do? Gather the things around us, the bright, safe, superficial things and then point to them and say "Look, this is what I am! Do not confuse me with those who do not possess the same objects I have." Cause you know we all do it. Every last one of us, at some level or another.
So what if we weren't to do this investing of passion in objects? What if you choose to invest your passion in, say, people? And those people prove false. Then what are you, but one who has invested in false friends? Inconstant family? Disloyal company? Et tu, Brutus?
I do not know. The objects are safe and clean; they love unconditionally. The people are dirty and dangerous; they love selfishly. Would you take your chances?
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
But maybe being moved for ANY reason is proof enough of divinity. Maybe just what I've been taught of as mundane causality has driven out the mystical explanations from every day life. "The spirits of wood and stream grow silent. The one God comes to drive out the many." Nice when you can get your theology from Excalibur. I wonder if my questioning of where all the Gods have gone has just been answered by Cliff Floyd, my left fielder, the fulcrum upon which my offense turns, just pulled up as though he had been shot in the hip trying to beat out a base hit. It's like this, and now I'll shut up because I really have got negative eloquence going today. I firmly believe there is something far far grander than I understand at work in the world and in the universe(s). I just am frustrated at my own inability to even begin to know how to access it. I feel like a blind man in a jail cell who spends all day walking into walls.