The American boy is taught to build his mind like a fortress. A valuable strategy if it weren’t left up to a boy. By adolescence, high walls of propaganda and resent circle his mind. Cobbled together from popsicle sticks, tooth picks, and the thousands of tree branches he had carved into spears during the long summer days when dad was out of town. The boy grows up knowing that America is the best country on earth, mom is always right, the deer are going to die anyways, people in Africa would kill for this food, and that getting to heaven isn’t so hard after all. Momma’s boy is told by many that most women are whores or prudes and that he’s a stud but he should be celibate to stay on God’s good side. The tail of a raccoon hangs from his cap as he stomps through the forest. He imagines Sacagawea tasting the dirt and pointing out where the enemy is. Bizarrely, Sacagawea never points back at him. He cries for roadkill and drools over a burger he can’t even finish. His parents love him. He had an excellent education. He has fallen completely out of love with photography. This is his senior project.
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