nothingpiece
Resistance is futile but must be resisted. It can be measured and numerated, given a relative value by plasticky electrical dials, but these machines do not measure a different quantity…
Whilst some commit crimes stealing parts of people’s lives, others spray particles to pantone pebbledash. They turn hands to creating pieces of insight that the piece turns back to them, gleaning portraitive pixels of information, useful for selling, bargaining, butchering. Somehow along the way, offers and promises are made…Losing meaning, losing that moment of capture, selling these bereft commodities on the high street in the “everything is 99p” shop (which only exists to make claims that it is a whole penny cheaper than “pound shopping” a few doors down). If someone can’t sell it, someone is losing their job.
I’ll set up my stall. A wallpapering table and a plain chair. On it sits a brown dog-eared, mauled and tattered flat cap, with a number of small folded-up pieces of paper inside. I shall charge five whole pounds for people to open up the cap, pick a piece of paper and read its contents. They can keep the piece. It is a piece of nothing. It is a piece of something. It is a piece of someone. It is a piece of nothing.
Perhaps I shall charge nothing. And give small pieces away to picky people.
Perhaps the value lies more in its experience than from its content?
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