I am endlessly astonished at people’s apparent addiction to imagery. It is as if they can’t stand ordinary visual reality, and thus need to be stimulated with endless cavalcades of stylized and hyperbolized representations. Of course, this makes excellent sense in a world absolutely dominated (and largely replaced) by representations.

Yet such worlds are uninhabitable, and will tend to create flat minds (and expectations) in the image of their own unutterable impoverishment — which everywhere masquerades as unattainable wealth.

I remember being hungry for images. Seeking and collecting them. Images of beauty or power. Images of nature. Images of everything stolen from our hearts, and sold back to our sight at any possible price. Sickening and fascinating at the same time.