In its current form, television offers artists exponentially more time to develop a narrative. Over the course of multiple seasons, TV makers are painting compelling characters and weaving their storylines in significantly more layered and complex ways than filmmakers could ever hope to. And talented people are jumping on the train.
Indeed, if the literary equivalent of film is the short story, the literary equivalent of television series is the novel, and both filmmakers and their audiences are starting to realize it.
Fifth grade field trip to visit Senator Strom Thurmond. I’m wearing a light brown corduroy suit (in May, in South Carolina), a white shirt, and a green (don’t know why) tie. My class gathers in Thurmond’s office. Thurmond shows up (with orange hair, even way back then) and socializes with the girls, and only the girls, in the class. Several young women sit in Thurmond’s lap while socializing. Our teacher asks the class to gather around Thurmond’s desk for a group photo. Photos are taken. Then, there’s a warm sensation around my tie and some sort of salty liquid in my mouth. My friend Jonathan looks at me and screams “Bathroom! Bloody nose!” then he puts his hand on my face, possibly to help, but he ends up making a bloody handprint on my shirt. I run to the bathroom and bleed for a while in a sink while security guys mill about like personal bathroom attendants. I take my shirt off, button my corduroy coat to the top, turn the collar up, and spend the rest of the field trip testing various theories of invisibility.
Teju Cole’s New Inquiry piece on the destruction of Sufi shrines in Timbuktu is the most thoughtful I’ve read on these disturbing events.
There is in iconoclasm an emotional content that is directly linked to the iconoclasts’ own psychology. The theological pretext for image destruction is that images are powerless, less than God, uneffective as a source of succour, and therefore disposable. But in reality, iconoclasm is motivated by the iconoclast’s profound belief in the power of the image being destroyed. The love iconoclasts have for icons is a love that dare not speak its name.
and you’re hurting my mind and I wish the hell you would stop. And not just for my sake.
Please take a breath and reconsider posting that captioned image du jour. Do you know the one I mean? Its import is by and large political; oftimes it will feature a stock photo of a politician (or two) emblazoned with a snappy quip, ill-positioned and rendered in an ugly font. You must know what I have in mind.
I see such images mainly on Facebook, where they’re hard to avoid without hiding all of your posts.
And I wonder: What is the point?
These clumsy graphics you share and re-share are not great nor even good political art. They are not effective pieces of propaganda. They simply confirm sentiments held by the bulk of your contacts.
And they look like they been slapped together by somebody whomping an ugly stick.
So: For my sake and for your sake and for the sake of all that is true and beautiful, will you please pause and consider whether you really want to share that lame-ass piece of dreck?