Let’s face it. We’re all going blind and our brains are turning into strobe light garbage dumps.
Content! Images! Content! Images!
I used to be able to sit down and read an entire novel without moving. I have vivid memories of giddily reading John Clellon Holmes’ Go in a single sitting and devouring Ellison’s Invisible Man in just a few hours. I lament that we didn’t read more women writers in college, but I digress.
These days, my brain is like a Polaroid on crack (see above: digression).
When I closed my eyes last night, this is the kind of stuff that flashed before my eyes:
Violent Paris! Virulent Trump! Voracious Sex! Volatile mommyblogs! Venus herself a.k.a. naked Amy Schumer!
All of this, at once, replete with images and emotions that I don’t even have the time to process before I feel my heart rate tick up and my breathing get shallow. None of it means anything and little of it makes any sense, yet this is apparently the fuel this planet needs to keep spinning on its axis.
