This article is based on this Dutch article of Martijn Benders
Twaletgram (Ode to a square poop-box logo)
Choosing an anonymous prisoner
as the commandant of a penal camp
you start scrolling back through their life,
an endless repetition of bumbling fortune,
the same faces, ever younger,
ever more pimply, until you stare
into the face of the first selfie
the keepers managed to pull from her,
the smile is still broken,
the teeth still half-hidden behind
a veil of milky forgiveness,
the emerging wisdom teeth
with which reality breaks the tongue,
just a few more years, o duckface
full of rat-mirror fights
to then, with a swiped-away gaze,
decide: this is me. My story.
Maybe the next screen kills
whatever it all means.
Category: Psychosupersum