extra! extra!

“Yes, it’s true,” says amateur photographer Shellnah, “‘Our reality is less interesting than the story I will tell.’”

When asked what she meant by this statement, she showed me this picture.

 “You look at copy of the picture taken by this girl and it may look like theyre having a fun time in class. But in reality it probably was only half as fun as whatever she captioned it on whichever social network she posted it to.”

“I see, I see...” I said, jotting down some notes on what I thought this could mean. I wasn’t really sure at all what this had to do with the question I asked, “Could you give me a quote on your experience with Hurricane Sandy?” Nonetheless, I think she gave me a new direction for my purposeless article. We probably both were just feeling the cabin fever in a growing intensity with every day we remained stranded in Brooklyn, while everyone else began to carry on with their lives. When she asked to take a look at my notes she laughed and said, “Oh no, it’s not the cabin fever, I just like to talk about random thoughts I have normally.”

Got it.

Well, anyway, the point she raised truly aroused my curiosity. We all do it, play ourselves up on social networks. How come then, we all believe the facade people keep up, when we should be able to see through them? Instead of questioning the ethos they have conscientiously created for themselves, we buy into this honor of helping these characters grow by favoriting and liking their posts. 

When I wrote down a couple of questions I could think of on the subject, like who are your favorite instagrammers or tweeters, what do you think of those who use them too much? I realized that there must be a connection between peoples favorite users of social networking, and their favorite people’s usage of it. 

So I went to one of twitter and instas most popular community member, @Beehadd, I got this quote, “I’m not sure what I think of those people who tweet or instagram a lot, like I’m addicted, but some people have no life and do it too much. I also feel like if a person puts up too many pictures of themselves on insta they look obsessed with themselves.” 

“And what about twitter?”

“Twitter is different because a tweet is different, like, idk.”

Ok. 

Here I thank @Beehadd for confirming the connection I drew between the usage of these social networks and popularity on them. The connection I drew was valid though, those who use a network too much can be considered a “social netwhoreker”. There is the inherent condition, @Beehadd pointed out, to take into consideration. In order to be considered an “instawhore” your pictures would have to be mostly of you. This goes hand in hand with the results that turned up, asking different people’s opinions of who the best intagrammers and tweeters are. Those beloved users tended to be those who did not play themselves up on these social networks. It was those who tweeted deep thoughts, and humorous ideas and or instagram pictures of places and things.

mystery Van (go)

The sun streams through the sunroof and windows, lazily rolled down, as the heat permeates the cracked leather interior beneath the small pools of trickling sweat beneath my legs. The particles of earth visibly floating in my atmosphere in the beams of sunshine, screech Van Gogh, poor fellow who'd drink yellow paint to get the happiness inside him. That makes me so sad... and the scenery! flashes by as intangible as that flashy neon glee'd been to Van G. 

Slowing down over the shoulder, you pull over and soundlessly, we get out of the car and immerse in the barren cracked earth, in the sense that what is beneath us is still the cars interior. The ground takes us places too, but not time consumingly. The ground- it's a portal. Standing arms outstretched beside me I pray open arms to beam me up. I am lunatic. 

im on my way! im on my way!

On the road, open desert to your right, upon open desert to your left, you drive windows down. Sitting, with my dirty feet propped up on the dashboard among the many petals of pretty flowers you don't mind me humming my jazz along to the instruments on the cd I burned before we's set out on this journey. It is only me and you out here besides for the occasional car that flies by, both we and they speeding without a glimpse or the vaguest idea of who we'd just encountered possibly for the only time in our lives. After a pinch of nostalgia between my throat and chest, I don't mind. My mind observes the swirly nature of nothingness expanded in all directions and I've fallen deeply in love with the road, not quite yet missing home. Not quite ready to miss home, and hate the road. Under the dust blown around with the wind I planned to find myself on the way to meet her. I haven't yet. The saxophone oozes allure, these horns drive me wild. I am not wild though, do not mistake, the jazz soothes my jostled nerves. Pop-up ads on my mind for ghosts of my past calling my memory, the saxophone melts to pools of drizzling malt inebriating me as the intoxicating fumes of fresh florals surround my senses dizzyingly.

I am Slim Swirl, on the road. On a mission. On my way.

shortages

'girl' conjures an image of frilly, little, vulnerable creatures, but past first thought one will find so much more. men and women are both aware, women are the backbone of families, homes and communities. beneath this strength can be found the buried shambles of fragility of which this woman character has been built upon. heartbreaks, fallouts and disappointments stain the image of what has become associated with feminine strength for in one's mindset there are no alternative plot points detailing what propels a woman's image forth. for once though I would appreciate a women's story of simple strength aroused of sheer personal desire and pure motivation, rather than a phoenix risen from the ashes tale. show me more girl dragons (shrek!!!), girl giants, trolls and hulks.

close encounters

the age of pure potential it is called for a reason. the potential of what you are to fulfill in your life all becomes dependent on yourself all too suddenly for comfort and this is what I believe to be a close encounter of my kind.

my kind are the procrastinators working hard to complete just one to do list in a planner before high school graduation with the same determination as a cheshire cat with a will to pout. the motivation exists where there are no links connected to any resolution to do what mundane task has been scribbled within the day's marked date. 

my kind are at the same time the doggedly slaving college applicants scrapping to pull together a coherent essay totally encompassing of my character and all my capabilities in a still appealing way. a close encounter with my kind: in which totally conflicting attitudes come together in a swirly cacophony has been dizzying us all of our high school careers and it's time we pull ourselves together in time for the final crunch.

speaking for myself, I have finally found the balance to who I am so that I do not limit myself to solely a hopeless procrastinator or tireless perfectionist. it took an epiphany to figure that basic mathematic problem out myself. my potential has always been as deep as my will and should i continue to find a will to define x and y on the graph even when i don't want to crunch, i will have the potential of doing so.

if i fully intend on fulfilling my vast potential in life i will have to do the mundie math homeworks and Maus quizzes along the way.