Antiquarian Sophistication of the "I" and the "Eye" Upon the "It"
Part Six
"Old Fool"
I
have entered the ‘end’ of ‘antiques’?
That the commercial collapse of the antiques ‘market’ has done that;
collapsed, and taken the actual ‘antiques’ with it (piled in the corner, Part
Five). And... granted (given) I...
a nom de plume for them as that as... “stuff”. (Again Part Five).
Could I be... ‘couldn’t be better off’? Is this opportunity?
“But
again: Has all this really turned
to gold?
Yes
it has.” (I said that at the very
end of Part Four).
Let
us begin. May I come to your house
and see your stuff? May I? “I don’t think so.”. You say. And no surprise there.
The décor is forced? A
selfish march of your sophisticated “I” precluding upon its physical equal of your
“eye” to do that (force) and ...knowingly gather “it”; the
Your
stuff? Then... “I”
Arranged
it.. with a few of “those too”; “antiques”. Yes... those antiques... the ones that are ‘those’... your
“I” assures the “eye” as it views your ...placed... “it”. Was it in the corner of the room when
you started... or did you find it down the street at a
Yard
sale?
No
bother; at least it will not hurt anyone there (where you ‘I place it here’ in
your home). It is only a ‘passing
look’? Anyway?
Yes
it is.
Why?
Because
your “eye”
Is
forced by your
“I”
And
that ‘I’ and ‘eye’ has never been...
“Developed”
By
you... or anything... or anyone... “ahhhh....” “else”.
You
are not even piled in the corner.
“Be Good” (Part Five)
Is
your middle name when it comes to
...The
‘oil painting’ above the sofa with the coffee table you ‘picked out’
Before
that sofa and the sofa’s
Cushions. The fabric. The spray-on spill and spot guard.
Yes
that; you know exactly where you keep that can. I know: So much
art may ‘overwhelm’. So take the
surplus “OUT”. Put a basketball
hoop dead center above the garage doors.
“No, no”: The hoop IS a
direct design line from the sofa’s ensemble; a direct sophistication of the
Lack
of the sophistication... of the, too, antiquarian sophistication of the “I” and
the “eye” upon “it” (“my stuff”).
It’s
a mess... I know... but... evidently... you like it that way. I remind; the ‘market’ for ‘antiques’
collapsed because of the
Way
you are. You...
“Don’t
know”.
About
“stuff”.
And
your stuff is junk (“trash”).
That
is right. Your “I like” stuff is
not worth
The
antiquarian sophistication of YOUR “I” and YOUR “eye” upon your
STUFF
(“it”).
So
stay out of this.
Thank
you for doing that.
Tidy
up with a FEATHER DUSTER.
NOW
what do we do?
Go
to a museum?
Even
if you go there, PAY admission and roam, use the toilets, eat at the cafeteria
and visit the gift shop... you don’t even know how to ‘visit’ a museum. It is, actually, a skill...
WORTH
HAVING.
Anyway...
that’s not gonna work back home with sofa and the basketball hoop. Especially... because the ‘good stuff’
(real antiques) are cast in the corners of
OLD
NEW ENGLAND...
And
all one has to do is engage the antiquarian sophistication of the...: Yeah, that. Again. START that and start dragging the
‘stuff’ (ridiculous high quality old New England decorative arts from ‘long,
long, ago’ that have been cast aside by... faddish tasteless et al). One day one ‘thing’ you know you see
that is a sophisticated antiquarian ‘it’ EVEN IF YOU DON’T KNOW “yet” EXACTLY
what it is but you
Reach
out and rescue,
Reach
out and rescue,
Reach
out and ring toss your own whole salvation too towards...
And
two become one at home looking at each other from the dining room.
You
sit in a chair
And
stare.
Alone
in a self built world with sounds of antiquarian banter, prattle, postulation
and direct criticism. Awful
coordinated cares, colors, combinations cascade in your mental trash cans while
outside your ragging roaming rhapsody muttering self created antiquarian
peninsula of sophistication of one’s own ‘I’ and ‘eye’ upon the...
YOU...
have just stepped across the border yourself. The sophistications of the chairs you choose to sit in...
becomes...
A
snowdrop in the melting spring snow of your discernment; your ‘I’ teaching
‘eye’ and ‘eye’ teaching ‘I’.
A loving partnership with the chairs all around you; your ‘I’ and
‘eye’. Caring for that you do
now. Lifting the old ‘seating
furniture’ out of the corner and ...presenting it to yourself, your ‘I’ and
‘eye’... while
The
others ‘eat’ “that”.
A
quick glance says there is ‘something’ over there. Your ‘I’ sends your ‘eye’ out after it; a command... “go and
SEE”.
“That
one is better (a better chair) than the one I am sitting in.” It is empty. GET UP AND GO SIT IN IT. You do.
You
‘look back’ on the trail; back over where you’ve been. That chair...
Is
over there.
You
are right... with your ‘I’ and ‘eye’; “This chair is better; a better antique
chair”
You
declare.
Because
you are so damn sophisticated when it ‘comes to antiques’ in old New
England. The other people, eating
the food, do not notice any of this.
They are
Piled
in the corners
Eating
the food.
You could buy the chair; tell them (the
owners) ‘how much’ you’ll pay.
Then
pay and take it away. But do not
bother... disturbing their meal.
The animals are snappish when eating. Best be the shadow
From
the corners
Sitting
in the chairs
(“seating
furniture”)
There
is plenty of time for you to gather... antiques... from... old New England
homes these days. It is a... no
one – nothing... bothers you and your sophisticated antiquarian adventure. And
The
antiques are abundant
And,
at very least... ‘very reasonably priced’
If
not actually ‘very inexpensive’
“For
that”.
This
status is unlikely to change... in a lifetime.
Unless...
‘Wasp Rage’ steps back “IN” as a
“HOME
DESIGN”.
“Wasp
Rage?”
That
is when a Wasp standard; a traditional Wasp standard (a ‘flagship’; “having old
New England antiques”), becomes obsessively popular with mass consumption as a
requisite for showing off “GOOD” (Wasp) “TASTE”. This is very unlikely to happen
Because
I
have shown
The
“I” does not know, has bad taste and
Is
very assertive as to what they “Think is Good”
(“MY
STUFF”).
“OH
WHAT AN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY TEAPOT YOU ARE... you old FOOL.”
“The
tea... in that canister, was fished out of the (Boston) harbor by my great,
great, great, great... grandfather... who took it home to his wife; my great,
great, great grandmother
Told
me.”
The
old woman
murmured.
A "Starbuckian" proudly stated that she already had her stuff, therefore she did not need to know more about stuff.
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