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Selfies and the American Ritual of a Sicko

I thought selfies were supposed to be fun- inspired images that highlight how amazingly awesome your life is?

From vacation shots with the primrose view as a backdrop — to the much liked snaps that capture the sweet indulgence of laying about poolside or watching the ocean play with itself.

Selfies, belfies and boobies are a superb quantifier of what we’ve become and how we intend to stay exactly as we are.

Obsessed and controlled by the tools that make us obsessed and controlled.

I finally figured out why the flawless selfies that clog up my Instagram instinctively make me hate everything about myself.

It’s because I suck at selfies. I mean I have to spend at least half a day to get two of them right. And even then — hours after posting and examining every angle — it’s clear why I never make it to 10 likes.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t give a damn about how many people like anything I post because I’m an alien. I don’t possess the urge to begin or end the day with the assurance that tons of strangers and friends approve of what I look like.

But — it does suck that my ability to produce selfies that I can enjoy as remarkable pieces of art is still a work in progress.

I’m also ghastly devastated that even a psycho loser and abuser — who lived a cowardly existence by hiding behind a self-subscribed regimen of blatant hatred and denial — was way better at taking pictures of himself than I am.

I found this out by accident.

That tends to happen as you scroll your feed and happen upon jarring images that force you to pause in order to catch your fading breath.

The sicko who devoured the nation’s attention long enough for the simple shit items to take a vacay — was identified through a series of selfies that prove beyond a doubt that he was indeed an American.

He was engaged in a pastime that many of you can’t do without and with good reason.

We’ve always needed the assurance that we are somebody. Not just a roving nobody seeking acceptance wherever it can be collected.

Taking selfies for the benefit of attention is the best way to pretend like you’re not begging to be judged or applauded.

It’s the validated option for those of you who are so comfortable with yourselves that you are willing to document your level of content.

For the world to see.

The sad young man’s selfies are being used as an introduction of what he looked like. Interesting choice for sure. Who knew selfies would eventually elevate to the status of evidential relevance?

Selfies are now playing a deeper role in exposing the shitheads who dallied with the concept while also plotting to kill and maim with each click and post.

First off, I am offended that selfies are being utilized as the banner of a murdering asshole who was probably ashamed to be gay but wanted to be gay and happy but didn’t know how — so he drank himself senseless as he watched the people who would’ve received him with open arms — happily enjoy the very thing he couldn’t muster.

His descent into callousness and disillusionment isn’t a condition that only wrecks people of Islamic faith. It’s a paralysis that afflicts people of faith.

Anyone who is raised to believe that a particular deity has no room for your preferred lifestyle will most likely succumb to the folly of sheer panic and revenge.

That being said — his selfies match the lookbook of many that I’ve seen. The eyes reveal a consciousness that reflect very little but yet much more if you keep staring.

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He seems like an ordinary dude — indulging in an activity that we all feel is necessary because it verifies that we exist or existed.

He looks starkly unaffected by what’s around him. It’s all about capturing moments that will eventually dissipate into capsules that will spread and form nothing spectacular.

That’s because he wasn’t anything special or even captivating. He wasn’t incredibly handsome and he didn’t have the support of a vibrant background.

All I see when I look at his selfies that sour my timeline is a typical American.

Except, now we know he was so much more than that.

The selfies didn’t make him better. They never do. They also don’t change who you are. That never happens.

He stayed the same. And innocent lives paid the price for his guilt and betrayal.

They are no longer with us and neither is he. But at least we have his selfies.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say! https://medium.com/membership https://www.patreon.com/Ezziegirl

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