Random Writing on Tumblr Reblogs
My tumblr gets the crap that doesn't fit anywhere. Because there are far too many vast lands to explore on the internets, and I'm the souvenir type. Way to go Me.
Anyways, this photo showed up in my dashboard:
via brokenmachine:ceasingtolovereality: papertissue
and I, for some reason, wrote the following:
God, isn't that true.
An Aside: It's not often that I actually have a reaction to one of these photos that I reblog. Occasionally i think, "wow, that's amazing, that's absolutely beautiful" or "man, something about this photo just irks me in the right way", but its not often that I come across a photo that I look at, and swell up.
/Over.
Background: I'm moving. Pretty much everyone knows I'm moving, but what are we leaving behind to do so? It's not something I often want to think about. I mean you always want to look into the future, we look forward by default, forward to what's going to come, forward to a place where we can make up beautiful realities that may or may never exist at all.
I saw this photo, and instead of thinking: "Oh, how pretty" my thought process went something like this*: "a thumbtack, I mean how simple...Who doesn't have that. On a map, makes sense, I mean, where else would a thumbtack be aside from a map, or a corkboard. This is not a corkboard. This is a map, and thumbtacks on a map usually show places you have been, the locations of branches you have grown, traces of you left behind. Look at all those thumbtacks in the distance, each one, a reminder, that something you loved is still living in that place. I began to wonder how that person must feel, that loved one left behind, shoved, nay, buried and pinched under the tip of some office miscellanea, torn to shreds between an aluminum point and a plaster wall. How sad, how utterly heartbreaking to think that moving, and starting over means that you have to leave something behind, to tear it apart, to forget it a little. Because, I mean, come on, how are you supposed to "start over" if you don't actually "start". I mean, then; at that point, you're just left with "over", and "over" is not a 'start', its not a 'beginning', its not a 'go'; "Over" is a 'done', an 'end'."**
That got me thinking. When I go, when I finally get there, there are literally a thousand different potential outcomes, each with their own heartaches and growing pains, but each with the same thing left behind.
So how do you know? how do you if you're absolutely supposed to let go? How do you know what to hold onto? How do you know you're not making the wrong choice?
*A thought process? an entire thought process in a paragraph. It seems very presumptuous to assume that you could actually accurately describe a thought process in one paragraph, even in one book, in a tome, in any form of writing, really. Thoughts are fleeting and the processes that bring them to us are troublesome and difficult to understand. I guess I wrote this one out because it struck me, and as such, has stuck with me.
**Although I referred to this as a 'process' I think, in reality, its more of a breakdown. My breakdown, maybe. Emotionally, immediately? Unlikely. It takes too long for the feeling I have to directly manifest themselves as words on this machine. By then, my fingers have had the time to learn to censor what you ultimately see, they've coated everything in pretty language and flowery images. Is it wrong?
But I guess what I actually meant, was a breakdown of a photograph. Which is way way simpler than analyzing my emotional problems.
-M
