Went to a flea market today. Lots of stuff. Suddenly I felt really bad, poking around among Haddaway records, a dirty ice bear toy, James Bond books, James Bond movies. Heaps of abandoned crockery. A woman bought her kid a Garfield towel, "he'll probably like it". Candy & crisps next to the cashpoint. I ended up feeling bad about feeling bad about feeling bad, all too self-conscious.
I grew up surrounded by ornamental junk. All the shit rottening in my closets. The sunset & palms wallpaper in my aunt's livingroom. Every Christmas, at the annual family gathering, home-made cookie in hand, I stare into that goddamn sunset while listening to stories about fish and guns.
The heyday of eurotechno. Me & my classmates were shooting up DJ Bobo and Culture Beat. 2unlimited. Rednex. Ace of Base blasting from shiny, black, semi-portable CD players bought by our parents. Eurotechno debauchery was praised in a semi-academic music journal a few years ago. Tongue-in-cheek. I felt bad reading that, too, wondering what to do with the ironic mixture of contempt and glorification hinted at in the article.
Cats made of glass. Silver cutlery (that's my award for having accepted the gift of the holy communion). Helly Hansen - for the great Outdoor Life. Broken machines. Fully functioning, homeless machines. Graveyards for them all, put to rest under tombstones of dust and power cords. R.I.P, Sony walkman.
For dinner: industrial lasagne. Some post-post-irony-TV & deep-shit world literature (Golden Notebook). Off to bed and another day of academic toil. Sunsets and palms, porcelain cats - In a different shape.
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