You do not even think of your own past as quite real; you dress it up, you gild it or blacken it, censor it, tinker with it…fictionalize it, in a word, and put it away on a shelf—your book, your romanced autobiography. We are all in the flight from the real reality.
John Fowles, The French Lieutenant’s Woman
DESIGN: Submerged Turntable by Evan Holm
Artist Evan Holm is convinced that ‘there will be a time when all tracings of human culture will dissolve back into the soil under the slow crush of the unfolding universe’.
To demonstrate these rather dark thoughts, he created a submerged record player that’s still producing a nearly perfect audio as demonstrated in the short video below.
So you attempt to hide your loneliness in public, to behave, in fact, as though you have too many friends already, and thus you hope to attract people who will unwittingly save you. But it never works that way. Your condition is written all over your face, in the hunch of your shoulders, in the hollowness of your laugh. You fool no one.
Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.