Which made sense when one considered that celebrities were not actually functioning as real people at all, but as something more like symbols of themselves.” Atwater had had contact with a certain number of celebrities (there was no way to avoid it at BSG), and they were not, in his experience, very friendly or considerate people. It was the feeling that celebrities were your intimate friends, coupled with the inchoate awareness that that untold millions of people felt the same way - and that the celebrities themselves did not. In particular, he thought it was alive in the paradoxes of audience. It was everywhere, at the root of everything - of impatience in long lines, of cheating on taxes, of movements in fashion and music and art, of marketing. It was the great syncretic bond of US monoculture. Atwater knew - as did everyone at Style, though by some strange unspoken consensus it was never said aloud - that this was the single great informing conflict of the American psyche. The conflict between the subjective centrality of our own lives versus our awareness of its objective insignificance. (.) It was more the deeper, more tragic and universal conflict of which the celebrity paradox was a part. “The paradoxical intercourse of audience and celebrity.The suppressed awareness that the whole reason ordinary people found celebrity fascinating was that they were not, themselves, celebrities.
― David Foster Wallace, quote from Oblivion So cry all you want, I won't tell anybody.” But at the same time it's why it feels so good to break down and cry in front of others, or to laugh, or speak in tongues, or chant in Bengali-it's not English anymore, it's not getting squeezed through any hole. Who wouldn't? It's called free will, Sherlock. And of course you know this, and of course you try to manage what part they see if you know it's only a part. And you think it makes you a fraud, the tiny fraction anyone else ever sees? Of course you're a fraud, of course what people see is never you. That it's what makes room for the universes inside you, all the endless inbent fractals of connection and symphonies of different voices, the infinities you can never show another soul. But not in the way you think.The truth is you've already heard this. As if we are all trying to see each other through these tiny keyholes.īut it does have a knob, the door can open. As though inside you is this enormous room full of what seems like everything in the whole universe at one time or another and yet the only parts that get out have to somehow squeeze out through one of those tiny keyholes you see under the knob in older doors. You already know the difference between the size and speed of everything that flashes through you and the tiny inadequate bit of it all you can ever let anyone know. “The truth is you already know what it's like.
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