I cracked. I just had to do it. Desperate, to cling to something tangible, to some proof that it hadn't been a demonic prank, or glimpse into the echoing abyss...
I bought the catalogue for the Voids exhibition.
Now the 500 page black hole sits there on my table, inert, ignoring me. Gingerly approaching the perilous edge, I've read a few paragraphs - but I'm scared of falling in. I think I'll hide it somewhere and just try to forget. It might be a useful exhibit one day, when I'm on trial for Reactionary Bourgeois Philistinism. I'll be able to point, screaming wildly: it was THAT what did it!
Steven Pinker said in The Blank Slate: "Art works because it appeals to certain faculties of the mind". In other words, when art doesn't work, it's because it doesn't appeal to any faculty of the mind.
Actually, we do have a faculty for abject nothingness: it's called death. But rank nihilism is not something to be exalted, however thick the glossy brochure.
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