i am pulling away from him with the camera
i am pulling away from him with the camera
i remember pulling away from him with the camera/ i am actually pulling the camera back from the emptiness of his life/ he is a survivor, so fucking what/ we have made surviving into a heroic thing when, in fact, it’s not all that interesting or heroic/ we like to call survivors survivors, but it begs the question: why are you here/ why is being here to survive enough it is not enough/ he articulates that he should kill himself/ he knows his life is not a life/ suicidal kids are common/ according to current social thought, i am required to intervene/ this means grind him down with the authority of the authorities/ the dystopian world we throw children into kills them anyway/ what we want to see are happy children with happy mommies and happy puppy dogs only there is no such fucking thing/ when i look at what the loneliness of what pain is, i agree, he should kill himself, and i am only the photographer who watches and makes a record, a document, of the great machine that eats this kid’s shit alive/ i am the monster vampire who only films a recreation of dystopia’s dystopia, and then i leave, pulling away from him, climbing up the ladder to the dystopian world of skin and bone outside/ i pull away because i am the camera, and i am only here for the images i can squeeze from cement, and if this kid kills himself, i think he should because his life sucks, and no one is going to make it better for him, and he is better off dead, our lady of the flowers, cement and more cement, and the truth be known, i don’t really care all that much because i have enough images to tell a tidbit of his story/ and I won’t see him again anyway/ that is what a story is, you walk through the story/ you feed on it/ you feed on it/ i am pulling away from him with the camera/
