Part of what dissent has to do is stay a half a step ahead of the process of commodification in order to keep that edge that is the edge of life. That’s something that artists always understand, that they’re just one six-month-period away from being trite. Even in this moment, I can feel my own triteness building behind me like Marvell’s chariot.
“Meanwhile the shadows lengthened on the beach; the blackness deepened. The iron black boot became a pool of deep blue. The rocks lost their hardness. The water that stood round the old boat was dark as if mussels had been steeped in it. The foam had turned livid and left here and there a white gleam of pearl on the misty sand.”
Virginia Woolf | The Waves