The look of love

Why Kim Wall Is The Beautiful Homage to Journalism

I didn’t know Kim Wall. I didn’t even know she existed and that’s a damn shame because my first introduction was a grisly encounter.

The headlines tore through my early morning ritual as words like “torso”, “headless”, “floating” and “submarine” caught my interest and propelled further investigation.

Kim Wall was a well-respected journalist of Swedish descent who was on a mission that involved accepting the invitation to board a submarine that was built by a Danish inventor who could also be described as an “art engineer.”

A story like that would peak anyone’s interest and after getting a comprehensive view, from shared testimonies of what Wall was like in her most organic form — it’s easy to visualize her enthusiasm for what proved to be her last assignment.

What happened after she officially boarded the vessel of her death — is still being sorted — but there is no doubt that Wall’s last moments were just as horrific as we can imagine. The inventor dude who is waiting for his day in court — provided contradictory tales of what went down — and at this time there has been no confessional.

The latest development struck this morning — as I glided through the mudslide of our existence with practiced strokes. Then I came upon the headline that was even more stunning than its predecessor.

A bag containing her head, legs and a knife was found floating — not far from where her torso had been discovered back in August. After further examination — it was concluded that the “murderous inventor” — had lied about his passenger striking her head against something — as she fell to her death.

Everything about this is beyond heartbreaking. The worst of it are the updates that click you in with the sickening imagery of what is supposedly left of this brilliantly courageous young woman — who otherwise, has been depicted with vibrancy of what life should be — when you’re doing what you love — with love.

When I first caught wind of Wall’s fate — I immediately wondered if I would’ve been able to release my paranoia for the sake of a potentially kickass story. I’m still not sure if I could’ve gone to meet the mysterious inventor in a submarine — without the company of trusted companion — but what I’m certain of is how much it sucks — that we can die from the symptoms that spring from relentless passion.

The type of journalism I’m currently not indulged in — is the very kind that I’ve always admired through the evidence captured by soldiers of truth — who risk life and limb to enlighten and inspire.

Back in the day — those gut-wrenching photos hit the core of every being and initiated the response that would indicate our human-like status. These days — it’s hard to tell how high or low the shock level has shifted. The easy access to a toddler watched up on a beach, bloodied carcasses of Syrian babies in the lifeless arms of their mothers and the moans of gun-riddled Black victims — has reduced the horrors of life into a death match for the most vile content.

I supposed that’s why when the update about Wall came through — it was a disgusting reminder that I have to conform to the present climate of systematic nonchalance. Is it necessary to mention those words in the headline when you can just respectfully deliver what will later be discovered after the click?

I don’t think those methods are warranted and that’s partly the reason why I’m even writing about this. I did watch the memorial video for Kim Wall from the love of her family — and I did read the stunning essay from the love of her friend — and I was filled with the pain that swells from a bond that’s established from common interests.

I classify myself as a writer, but the truth is that I absolutely wish that I could be the documentarian — who goes anywhere and everywhere to expose the hidden gems and the buried bullshit. I’ve always fantasized about living from place to place — with no real address — since home is the world and my debit is the contribution of being the silent hero — in an industry that needs more where that came from.

Wall’s legacy for me has nothing at all to do with how she’s been sheared through the mechanisms of gross descriptions that have the official stamp of explicitly.

There’s so much to be appalled by when you consider the manner of her demise — especially with the element of the man who was the last person to see her alive — and possibly caved to the dark tendencies — that rile certain personalities who don’t get their way.

The message is the beauty of living for what you do — at all costs.

There are very, very few of us that get to have the privilege of acting out the life that we summon — when our eyes are closed or fixated on stationary clouds. It seems that Kim Wall understood the urgency of her gift and made exceptionally good use of the time she was allotted.

The music of communicating through the avenues of discovery and the excitement of producing the range of genius and complexity — that’s attached to our template is a durable ambition — until the differences in our makeup cost us everything.

For Wall, the spotlight settles on the goriness of a decision she made — based on the beauty of her commitment to a sport that she was playing to win.

Her last serve ended prematurely, but it will have a lasting effect that will hopefully continue to breed wild minds with fearless temperaments that are drawn to anything and everything.

And that’s beautiful.

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