"Believe to the end, even if all men went astray and you were left the only one faithful; bring your offering even then and praise God in your loneliness."
This speaks right into my heart. Been following you on Twitter a few years. I'm a middle-aged mom, American living in Canada. I've lived in Canada just long enough- almost 20 years -to have seen that what Canada was, which I just experienced for a couple years, before that country/society died, which it did fully and irrevocably, and has gone. Your essay captures my vague feelings about America too.
I loved the world I grew up in. And I'm so grateful I got some teen years inbtge 90s getting a taste of used bookstores in Portland, thrift stores in Ohio, coffeehouses in Seattle. Grateful for my college era road trips around rural Pennsylvania, New Jersey, hostels before smart phones. Right before the digital age fully transformed everything, amd the material world began wholeheartedly falling apart. I treasure those memories.
Thanks for your insights and for putting the zeitgeist into words.
I envy your life and the way you look at the world. It's very poetic. I think I will try and make a concerted effort to see more beauty (and horror) in things.
On a side note, I think it would be great if you uploaded your posts to Instagram, as well.
Thank you for this. You articulated something I had been trying to communicate to my mother a few days ago now that I am home for the holidays. Something sinister has pervaded much of the world we currently live in. Every public space, each interaction, most banal events are tinged with a foreboding energy that I see synthesized perfectly in Mythoamerica iconography. I agree largely that the account is not merely an ode to nostalgia, though of course nostalgia plays a role in the emotional response elicited, but a recognition that the past has ended -- not transitioned to a different time, but fundamentally ruptured. We are the first ones walking into a new type of reality, a reality that we don't understand and many don't recognize as even existing.
I also get a similar feeling listening to your music. The dark and primal sounds imply something similar about a past that can't be recovered. It's really hard to articulate such things, especially to those who seem unwilling or unable to comprehend these ideas. But your writing and pictures do this very well, and I am grateful for that.
And though the glory of yesterday is gone, and the cheap reality of the present continuously reminded, I can't help but think it's a trick...the man becoming bitter as he ages...longing for the weightlessness of youth and another crack at becoming something grand...but here now, in our hand, the same chance remains! Shall we squander the possibilities of now? mourning the death of then? We claim its over and curse those who took it...but are we fleeing from our duty to make "it" happen? Where is this boogyman that steals our hopes? could it be...me?
Very interesting piece. Hits the nail on the head of some deep-rooted truths . . . Although, I think the country is more so primed for a rebirth than an utter collapse into oblivion.
Isn't it also true that the banality of finitude offers us solace. No matter how great existence is, we cherish what is within our reach. As soon as something is ended, life goes on, or else someone else's life.
I stumbled upon your twitter account randomly and followed because the images really resonate with ideas I’m reaching towards in my BFA thesis. I’ve yet to put the thoughts together into coherent words, but this essay really helps to verbalize things I’ve been thinking and feeling as well. Thank you
Funny thing about myths, they tend to some back in some other shape or form. It will not be like days of yore that we have lived in, but something new and familiar in due time.
For the moment, I enjoy bitterness of the end. I prayer to God that me and my children will taste sweetness of old myths again in the future.
"Believe to the end, even if all men went astray and you were left the only one faithful; bring your offering even then and praise God in your loneliness."
– Fyodor Dostoevsky
Oh I like that
This speaks right into my heart. Been following you on Twitter a few years. I'm a middle-aged mom, American living in Canada. I've lived in Canada just long enough- almost 20 years -to have seen that what Canada was, which I just experienced for a couple years, before that country/society died, which it did fully and irrevocably, and has gone. Your essay captures my vague feelings about America too.
I loved the world I grew up in. And I'm so grateful I got some teen years inbtge 90s getting a taste of used bookstores in Portland, thrift stores in Ohio, coffeehouses in Seattle. Grateful for my college era road trips around rural Pennsylvania, New Jersey, hostels before smart phones. Right before the digital age fully transformed everything, amd the material world began wholeheartedly falling apart. I treasure those memories.
Thanks for your insights and for putting the zeitgeist into words.
I envy your life and the way you look at the world. It's very poetic. I think I will try and make a concerted effort to see more beauty (and horror) in things.
On a side note, I think it would be great if you uploaded your posts to Instagram, as well.
"All along, the secret behind MythoAmerica is that it is a simulation of the images that are said to flash before our eyes moments before we die."
I can feel it. Thanks for writing this and thanks for creating MythoAmerica.
Much like Steve Jobs said about mortality, this captures how the awareness of endings gives purpose and beauty to everything we do.
Thank you for this. You articulated something I had been trying to communicate to my mother a few days ago now that I am home for the holidays. Something sinister has pervaded much of the world we currently live in. Every public space, each interaction, most banal events are tinged with a foreboding energy that I see synthesized perfectly in Mythoamerica iconography. I agree largely that the account is not merely an ode to nostalgia, though of course nostalgia plays a role in the emotional response elicited, but a recognition that the past has ended -- not transitioned to a different time, but fundamentally ruptured. We are the first ones walking into a new type of reality, a reality that we don't understand and many don't recognize as even existing.
I also get a similar feeling listening to your music. The dark and primal sounds imply something similar about a past that can't be recovered. It's really hard to articulate such things, especially to those who seem unwilling or unable to comprehend these ideas. But your writing and pictures do this very well, and I am grateful for that.
That is a stunningly beautiful piece of writing, with equally incredible photos, Kudos!
And though the glory of yesterday is gone, and the cheap reality of the present continuously reminded, I can't help but think it's a trick...the man becoming bitter as he ages...longing for the weightlessness of youth and another crack at becoming something grand...but here now, in our hand, the same chance remains! Shall we squander the possibilities of now? mourning the death of then? We claim its over and curse those who took it...but are we fleeing from our duty to make "it" happen? Where is this boogyman that steals our hopes? could it be...me?
Very interesting piece. Hits the nail on the head of some deep-rooted truths . . . Although, I think the country is more so primed for a rebirth than an utter collapse into oblivion.
Isn't it also true that the banality of finitude offers us solace. No matter how great existence is, we cherish what is within our reach. As soon as something is ended, life goes on, or else someone else's life.
Buy ammo, everyone
I stumbled upon your twitter account randomly and followed because the images really resonate with ideas I’m reaching towards in my BFA thesis. I’ve yet to put the thoughts together into coherent words, but this essay really helps to verbalize things I’ve been thinking and feeling as well. Thank you
Funny thing about myths, they tend to some back in some other shape or form. It will not be like days of yore that we have lived in, but something new and familiar in due time.
For the moment, I enjoy bitterness of the end. I prayer to God that me and my children will taste sweetness of old myths again in the future.
I hope this isn’t the end of MythoAmerica. I finally made my Substack, in part because of you. Hauntingly beautiful.
Visceral. Thank you.
Beautiful piece, for me it called to mind Yeat’s famous poem The Second Coming.
From another Yeat’s poem:
“Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.”