Objectivity seems to reach some sort of limit in the commodity which proclaims its mechanical manufacturedness and its being as merely one of an indefinite multiplicity. Objects of this kind, which surround us, never stand forth, are almost invisible, and yet are, in a way, absolute eschatological pointers. Even when they seem to be entirely subsumed by their banal functions, by the uses for which they will be destroyed and by their obedient service in projects and exchanges, they impress us by their sublime indifference. Objects of this kind are at their purest in retail virginity; from the moment they become owned they begin on a more or less rapid pathway, via the accumulation of intentional peculiarities, to annihilation, or rather to the extraordinary state of garbage. Objects which resist investment by self-consciousness form a frame or environment for those objects which by origin or by seduction have become the containers and preservers of subjective meaning, a middle realm of objects in use and at hand, and which always belong to someone or some few, objects whose essence can rightly be summarised in clothing. This subjective investment must be the chief thing since the entire realm of things can best be understood as an extended and digressive meditation on it.