SO I've been going through a lot of shit stuff and things in my childhood bedroom at my parent's house. I've tried and managed not to read most of the documentation of my youth and naively earnest ventures. For a child possessed by truly misguided trains of belief, I had a surprising level of endurance in my attempts at realizing these impossibilities (ie the roughly two year weekend real estate habit I pursued upon the vague & ultimately untrue admission that perhaps my parents might move from the house I now sit in as I type to you, Reader)
It is somewhat rare and comforting to find some evidence of a past dream that has not been singed into my memory by its ultimate destruction and that being so I have, in fact, stumbled upon a few gems.
One of which, a handwritten proposal for what I assume would be my presidency-- hopefully composed for a middle school class audience and not a pile of half-burnt beanie babies, but upon this detail we can only estimate... seems topical. Important, even. And ultimately one is left with the foreboding, mysterious invitation/command of the president that never was
-ME
It is somewhat rare and comforting to find some evidence of a past dream that has not been singed into my memory by its ultimate destruction and that being so I have, in fact, stumbled upon a few gems.
One of which, a handwritten proposal for what I assume would be my presidency-- hopefully composed for a middle school class audience and not a pile of half-burnt beanie babies, but upon this detail we can only estimate... seems topical. Important, even. And ultimately one is left with the foreboding, mysterious invitation/command of the president that never was
-ME
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| presidential(?) proposal |
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| mutated photomaton sheet from Paris |
1 comment:
too good
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