On the drive down to Cornwall from Bristol, Robin and I discussed the eerie effects of a kind of semiotic apophenia that is particular to the late capitalist subject. How, in absence of any grounding, we see the echoes of the “semiotic pollution”, as Mark called it, in everything.
Large parts of Cornwall remain untouched by this kind of pollution but you can nonetheless catch your mind in the act of grasping for familiarity, something epitomised by Robin’s son declaring “LOL” at the sight of the standing stones of Mên-an-Tol.
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