| DrTone | |||||||||||||||||
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We've all seen him. The Nail Biting Puff Head. Fingers in his mouth, a vacant, almost heaven gazing stare. What is he thinking? Why does he mock us as we toil and try to live each day in a state of meager pleasure? Mock us not, Puff Boy, for we shall triumph in the end. | |||||||||||||||||
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He floats, yet somehow he seems heavy to us. The Floating Head Boy gets no joy from being with his Mom. His eyes speak of days long past, when boys had bodies and their Moms made peanut butter sandwiches and stood with two feet planted on the ground. All mourn the torso-less cherub. He toils not unlike ourselves. Youth and bravado mean little in a world of floating heads. Yet, somehow he rises above the mediocre plane of altered photograph. Notice how some heads are large and others are ...... small. Count the Mom heads vs. the Boy heads. They're the same. Why? The large center head slants neither left not right, yet it draws us, pulls us into it's visual drone. Will we fall for this youngster, full of vim and vigor? Will our eyes cloud over with the excitement over the impact of such graphics? I don't have an answer. Look into his eyes and maybe, just maybe, you'll find the answers to Life's Questions. You won't know until you try. | |||||||||||||||||
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