Sunday, January 19, 1992
Kitsch
Kitsch, invariably, makes life bearable. Kitsch turns shit into gold. Kitsch is rapid obsolescence; a fad fades away before it launches. Without kitsch, all we would see would be shit. Without the possibility of irony, all would be serious and without play. We all end up kitsch; epiphets on would-be headstones attest to that (Kundera). The world free of kitsch would be unlivable, because we would see the shit. Everything is shit without kitsch. Kitsch is a placeholder, a necessary illusion, until we can find meaning in silence, find comfort in nothing, and discover reality apart from image.