Pastoral Genocide

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October 5, 2008, 12:39 am
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The oldest man in the world had once, in his youth, considered himself a photographer. In his age and in his wisdom, however, he had come to understand that he was not a photographer. He had sometimes seen things, things he had sometimes wished to share with others. But that, alone, did not make him a photographer. It made him an old man who had once been a young man. He knew this. In his old age, his mind wandered and he sometimes thought of himself as a fisherman. That was a good thought. He thought about the ocean and boats and nets pregnant with fish. He thought of great catches and the power of aggregation. He thought about the axiology of it all and he wondered if fish had souls. He wondered if he had a soul. He thought about killing a soul to nourish a soul. He thought about a million fragments of a million memories and he wondered about collectivity. He wondered what happened to the 4 x 5 photographs he had taken and treasured as a young man. And then, he got tired and fell asleep amidst the operatic bustle of assisted living.


3 Comments so far
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you’re an idiot, if you died nobody would miss you.

Comment by none

Man another great post. I always look forward to checking them out whenever there is a new one.

Comment by K Bizzle

i really liked this

Comment by nina

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