I had a pretty genius thought earlier when I was in the bathroom, but I lost it, and so instead of giving you that pearl, which you certainly deserve, I’m going to just transcribe the conclusion to “Raw Materials for a Theory of the Young-Girl.”  I know you don’t care, but this shit is like manna to me.

“The Young-Girl is presently the most luxurious of the goods circulating on the perishable goods market, the flagship-commodity of the fifth industrial revolution, which serves to sell all the others, from life insurance to nuclear power plants; the monstrous and very real dream of the most intrepid and fanciful of tradesman: the autonomous merchant that walks, talks and commands attention, the thing that’s finally living, which no longer understands life but just digests  it.  Three thousand years of ceaseless labor of millions of fat shopkeepers’ existences, generation after generation, have no found their brilliant crowning achievement in the Young-Girl, since she is the commodity that it is forbidden to burn, stock that stocks itself, inalienable and untransferable property which must nonetheless be paid for, property/virtue that endlessly converts to cash; she is the hooker that demands respect, the dead body moving by itself––she is the law and the police all in one… Who has not caught a flashing glimpse, in her definitive and dismal beauty, of the sex-appeal of the inorganic?”

AH I REMEMBER MY GENIUS THOUGHT: the oral history is the new listicle.  You heard it here first.

Tomorrow: Iceland!

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