An English In Kentucky


















July 22nd  2011    Tim Candler

    Gum of some sort on the glasses.  Probably Tigger Melon ripening or the souls of Stinkbug.  All day it was persistent and it led to errors.  Or I could blame those technical innovations that began with the mirror and continued on through Joseph Niepce and his wretched camera obscura.

   It's the excitement of "social media" that might also be blamed.  The Facebook's and Google's of  this peculiar era.  They request what they call a "profile" and how sinister it is to address oneself to the parameters of an identity that others will not only see but also will judge.  It's a horrible introspection and it's an exam.


     My own first attempt produced what I  briefly thought was a fair representation of myself.  Then I saw crooked and yellowish teeth which were smiling in that gormless way.  I saw a complexion marked by sunshine and ice cream.  And that part of me which I thought a refreshing view of my sometimes blotchy shoulders began quickly to remind me of that furry pox which sometimes blights Tomato.

    It's the nature of 'social' and probably not a world anyone is comfortable in, because appearance and being when not completely invented are always best left blank.  But nonetheless I am actively seeking a suitable grade in the arena of subjective-ness and thanks to a close up lens I have clearly been doing so for years.

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