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Die For Art And Live Forever

Let’s look again at that terrifying photograph

by author

The scariest photograph I’ve ever seen was stapled to a hiking information board on a mountain in Maine.

It was a photo of a boy who’d gotten his picture taken while hiking. He was smiling.

And something about him was very strange.

At first, I thought it was his smile. It looked wrong because it’s wrong to smile in photographs. When the smiling is forced. Fake.

Your head strings yank at the corners of your blubbery, slitted orifice until its light seal breaks, exposing your meat-cutters.

That’s you baring your fang hole in public because you think you have to.

The deeper self knows when the smile is fake, and it sends no living light to the eyes. No depth.

In all those photos, you’ve got the eyes of roadkill, making the whole top half of your head look dead.

If you are ever lost or stolen, we’ll staple your picture to telephone poles, and if you’re fake-smiling in that picture, you will never be found. Who would look? We’d be tricked by the dead half of your head into believing you’re all dead somewhere.