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suburban murder #10
I grew up 10 minutes by car from the city, with all of its noise and sophistication — and 10 minutes by foot from the sea, an endlessly changing vista of possibilities. I often felt trapped by the obligations of family and by the nagging feeling that I was a very square peg trying to fit into a very round hole, but in a country the size of a cumin seed on the map of the world, the last thing I felt trapped by was too much empty space or too much sameness.
As a result the yawning banality of the suburbs seems thoroughly romantic to me, and I don’t think I’m the only one. The suburbs suggest romance precisely because they are so banal. Their sterility, stamped on childish souls, seems the source of all sorts of potential bitterness, cruelty, longing, and hopeless acts of violence.
This picture, and its perfectly apt title, together capture a sort of darkly fatal aimlessness that it’s thrilling to imagine dripping coldly through the veins of suburbia. Last night’s big city crime may have made the front page of the New York Times, but we all know it’s got nothing on suburban murder #10.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, meerasethi and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
