I don’t do selfies. Why? Why should I? I quit Instagram because I felt it was very bad for me. It was natural objectification. It was false images from false people and most of it just for money. All of it, the whole of the commercial internet just got too much for me. I wasn’t interested in it. Or at least I want to control my doses. At least I understood that it was drugs. At least I understood that it was false hope. It wasn’t really what I wanted, it was just what I had.
But then there’s more. Why should I share my pictures? You don’t need to look at me. You don’t need to know what I look like. I’m writing here. These are my words. Just read me. Do I make sense? Did I not write something well enough to be understood? Do you have something to say about my personal choices? You can tell me. But how about directly to my face? Would I need is a little human conversation about something I can understand. This statement doesn’t mean that I’m stupid and everyone is smart. It just means that I am a clear thinker and most people live with gibberish going on between their ears.
But anyway, I took this selfie to send it to a specific person but then after I took it I liked it. No, I’m not trying to cultivate a particular image although this would definitely be the sort of thing that would definitely do that sort of thing. And I also don’t really want to talk about the set decoration or my choice of colors and whether or not I’m putting any symbolism into this. Do you really think this is a political statement? If I didn’t tell you what the picture was and left you all alone with your imagination to figure out what I was doing, you wouldn’t get it. Well, let me explain the selfie first. Because it’s not what you think. It’s really not what you think.
Well, I mean it can be what you think. It was kind of funny when I took this selfie because the very first thing that appeared on my algorithm was this:
It turns out that if I give some genuine thought to my number, the best answer I can come up with is that it was probably less than a hundred. Am I proud of that? Fuck yeah!
That’s right, bitch, I bare knuckled it once or twice in my life. I had opportunity to speak physically with people whose philosophies I didn’t agree with. Usually it was one particular philosophy. It was the one about not annoying other people because they chose to annoy me and I chose to demonstrate my annoyance. I have a really good record. I’m not sure I’ve never killed anybody but I never particularly tried to kill anybody except for maybe that guy just left in the snow. But he had it coming. He said he had a gun.
What’s the truth? A good solid punch feels amazing. If you’re actually mixing it up with someone and you manage to get your fist in there into concussion zone, it has a particular thing about it that’s unmistakable. It’s very similar to hitting a perfect baseball or golf shot. There’s the feeling where you have so completely overwhelmed the ball that it’s just cream cheese. That was the only way I could ever explain what it felt like. That and the ball as it flew had the optical illusion of growing very small before it decided to fall. For people, it had something to do with watching their eyes dim out. You can tell when someone is just not in the conversation anymore because you’ve made it impossible for them to focus whatever attention they came into the conversation with. Whatever it was, they don’t have it anymore and this new world is a little more difficult to balance in. But yeah, I wouldn’t say I looked for it but I didn’t mind it when someone offered it to me.
What was it? Adrenaline. Life. I think that’s why I really enjoyed playing the sports so much. I love being alive. I loved bicycling. I loved getting rid of my last car and I loved agreeing that I was a bicyclist! I never really enjoyed bicycle racing. I’m not really a bicycle racer. First, I got into seeing what kind of rides I could do. And yeah, one went all the way across the United States. But then later, I made a lot of money in the bicycle business. I wrenched and I rode. I was a professional bike messenger in New York City and I was very professional at it except for diet and exercise which was truly lacking. But I did the job like a job even though I was riding a track bike through traffic, at least at the end. And yes I rode brakeless on a fixed gear in New York well enough to earn my paychecks. I’m only saying that because it’s obviously a little slower than a mountain bike with brakes. But I did that too.
And then there’s all of those accusations about the ex-girlfriend(s).
Blah blah blah, I’m not on Instagram or Facebook anymore and I’m not even on VK. I don’t make films for YouTube anymore. I’m a pure Utopian and that’s all there is to it.
I just don’t need the attention. I don’t need people staring at me and I don’t need people thinking more or less about me because of the content of my photographs. I’m sorry if I never did Instagram the way Instagram is supposed to be done. I am who I am and I’ve done my life how I’ve done it for good or bad. So, all that being said, sometimes you get a good opportunity to take a picture so I did.
Here’s the selfie.
Anyway this afternoon I took this picture because I liked it. How did it happen? It wasn’t what you might think. There was no anger in it and there’s nobody who’s blood is in this picture but mine. I also could have left it bloodier but I cleaned it up once and then it kept bleeding and that’s when I thought to take the picture. But I promise, this was way more foolish, like most fist fighting is, than romantic. And no, it didn’t hurt.
Am I proud of myself? Why not? The opposition was a frozen water barrel. I needed some water to rinse out a bucket and rainwater is available it’s just kind of frozen on top. Sometimes I’ll use a rock or if I think about it I can bring a hammer with me. But truthfully, I’ll just punch it. Why? Because I’m Adam fucking Goodman that’s why. And not to be too Hemingway about it but I am the best writer and if you don’t like it, maybe we should put the gloves on and settle this once and for all.
Dig the beard? I do too. Several years of just wanting to see what I looked like without any artificial help. Do I have clear eyes? Do I seem lively? Well, I’ve been my own doctor lately and I’ve been working hard because things were taken a turn for the worse. Somebody had to step up and do some thinking. I wasn’t a perfect doctor, I made mistakes, but I generally got it right. So this is me punching my way through a frozen water barrel to get some fresh water on December 25th. Cheers
