Now, I’m just one walker that’s stood way up and looked way down across plenty o’ sights in all their veiled and nakedest seasons. Sighting it, hearing it, seeing and feeling and breathing it in. Sucking down on it. Rubbing it all in the pores of my skin, and the wind between my eyes knocking honey in my comb.


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Apr 13, 2010
@ 6:09 pm
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It’s a fantastic thing: the daily newspaper, when translated, amounts to a 900-page book. Every day. And it’s a book that’s written in every city and in every country, only to be instantly discarded in order to write a brand-new one, full of fresh stories the next day.

— Kenneth Goldsmith’s poetics statement, “Being Boring.” His book—or shall I say tome—Day, is a transcription from a single edition of The New York Times, including the license plate letters from car ads.

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