 |
The spirit of bershon is pretty much how you feel when | |
| you’re 13 and your parents make you wear a Christmas sweatshirt and then pose for a family picture, and you could not possibly summon one more ounce of disgust, but you’re also way too cool to really even DEAL with it, so you just make this face like you smelled something bad and | ||
| sort of roll your eyes and seethe in a put-out manner. |  |
|
| Bershon defined by writer Sarah Brown |
.
I love new words. Not jargon, mind. Words that describe and explore and celebrate the minutia of human existence. The idea that 200,000 years of existing together as people and 1,500 of talking about it in English still hasn’t fully defined the way in which we live.. This describes to me a world of endless complexity.
But it’s a small world and we’re all basically just people. For all that complexity, for all those infinite possibilities, we’re all very much alike. Put any teen, forced to associate with their mother, in front of a camera and your going to get a Christmas card of pure unadulterated burshon. I’ve done it and so have you.
There’s more that unites us than divides us. Like fucking Christmas jumpers.
It’s said that all modern patriotism is born of one stirring landscape of a mans home town. True, it’s only said by me and maybe that one guy who changed back the Robert Frost page I edited on wikiquote.. But the facts remain, until an admin reverts the edit, that there’s nothing more striking than good photography of the city you were raised in.
I have a deep, casual love of my city. I know the shape of it and can hold the whole of it in my head at once. It’s undoubtedly shaped me more than I it, but I still feel like it’s an extension of me.
Looking at these makes me wonder what the hell else I’m missing.
| HDR | delcond on flickr | houseofstraw HDR on flickr | padburyphoto on flickr |
.
