Just as it is necessary to forget to keep living, it is necessary not to know the future to wait naively for time to pass. At the height of his career, the architect Adolf Loos burned all his drawings, letters, diaries, fetish objects. He burned everything. With fire, he built an archive made of smoke, a dense mass of forgetfulness from which it would be possible to begin to live again.
Beatriz Preciado, from the luminous, scintillating Testo Junkie, part biopolitics, part break-up story, all everything. Holding it up high on a crowded train and writing appointments down on its acknowledgements page is, and I know this is fleeting, bringing back the book as fetish object.