A brilliant metaphor
To the persons tags before me, A+
#they also ask what you’re wearing when you get hit #why weren’t you wearing something more bright/reflective? #do you WANT to get hit?
There was a time I could write about the nothing kind of anything. I suppose it’s any teenager with an above average vocabulary can, and will definitely, muster.
I remember writing only when it felt like I had a profound emotional experience. You know the type. Something you had heard or seen sticks to you in a way you can’t quite shake off by just watching a half hour of Spongebob. And as a teenager, emotional experiences were too few and far in between. So when they did happen it felt like the fourth of fucking July inside.
I wrote for affirmation, much like everyone my age did at the time. These days I tweet for affirmation. But there was that one special time I wrote because I was angry and rejected. Furious to the point that I felt a photograph of me flipping the bird at all of my friends was the cool thing to do after what had happened. Definitely not one of my proud moments as a sentient bag of bones and organs.
I don’t know why I’m here now telling you this. There are no logical threads to follow as to the rhyme or reason in this text post happening. It’s here anyway whether you like it or not, dear follower.
Let’s just call it textual masturbation and be done with it.
Now come to think of it, I opened up this box with the imperative “Start writing now” in my short-term memory.
It doesn’t add up. Not everything is math though so there’s that.
From 1906 to the 1930s, photographer Edward S. Curtis documented the culture and traditions of North American Indian tribes in his multi-volume work The North American Indian.