A use that befalls an object turns the object into a utility object. The manner of its use determines what kind of utility object it is. Object and use are interwoven in the utility object. I use the object. Because I use the object, it has become a utility object — perhaps only for me. The object has found its site of operation in use. Use acts upon the object.

The utility object is the answer to the matter. Damage to the utility object damages the answer that the object gives to the matter. The utility object — how could it be otherwise — does not answer the matter just once, but continuously. That depends on its use. Because the utility object cannot answer the matter except through its use, it becomes a utility object as soon as it has a use. It ceases to be a utility object as soon as it no longer has one.

With the use of the object, the object, sooner or later, ceases to answer the matter: the object wears out. Use — that means that something has to wear out.

Wear out from what?

From the matter.

The answer that the object is supposed to embody in response to the matter makes the object the object it is meant to be. And the way it is used determines how long it can remain the object of that answer.

The object can break. But the matter does not stop raising questions. The matter raises questions, continues to raise them, and cannot stop doing so. The question that the matter raises for me makes the matter the object of my reflection. The question demands an answer. The object is the answer to the matter — the matter that raised the question, that is raising it now, and will likely continue to raise it for another thousand years. Because the question that the matter raises is connected to the human being. The human being must face the matter. In the face of the matter, questions arise for the human. But in the object, which answers the matter in its own way and enters into use with it, the wearing of the material is inherent. The brokenness.

The chair I have sat on for years grows tired. The wood becomes rotten. Thorough and slow is the boring. The object that is used is worn down by its use. Its days as a utility object are numbered.

The object has outlasted its use. The object has outlived the matter. The object raises questions: Where should it go?

Where should all the old things go?

Is there a life for utility objects after their use?