The problem being imaged focused
The problem with images is that those who focus on them are doomed to fly up like flowers.
When you are image-focused, the world exists as a giant hologram, the sun reflecting off black cracked pavements as crowds come in and out of stores.
At least, the world exists as a hologram for those who wander around lonely in the street.
You can’t meet people, dig through the earth, or dissolve into the sky when you walk in the city.
Well, maybe the last one.
In that case, you as the image-focused enter into the final realm. You are consummated into an image: probably on the news.
People hang their beloved’s counterfeits around their neck. These images serve as a reminder of what they desire. It is their love dispersed in their sight; depicted, not only held in their hearts but beheld by the eyes.
But these images, clasped in lockets, hands are the mementos of the real: the worlds that aren’t images.
If they are icons, images are burned and branded into our brains like giant ads for Zara. I wanted to exist as a billboard, because I knew exactly at that point in my life, that was all I feeling about myself: paper thin, sober-sighted, by all unattainable.
When we pick flowers, not many think of their ephemeral beauty until the first petal darkens.
The world will only exist in the cup of a flower when it is given to someone to love.