Unemojiable

Every day I work on getting older and older. Getting older has become natural to me. It’s not that I’m self-centered—it isn’t just that—it’s just that I can’t help but think of myself first thing in the morning, and then think of myself again and again as the day becomes night.

Whether it’s day or night I find myself dreaming of a world where the sons and daughters of famous people have become famous themselves, at least one of them becoming a famous poet and the other one becoming a famous painter.

Dreaming, I think of someone approaching me, having read one of my poems or looked at one of my paintings and saying, “that’s a beautiful poem” or “that’s a beautiful painting.” Would I then really believe that my poem or my painting was more beautiful by virtue of the beauty bestowed upon it by another person, possibly by a famous poet or painter?

Emojis don’t exist for me. Emojis never enter my dreams. I know how popular emojis are, how many bright people I know like to use emojis in their internet communications to the point where the emoji often takes the place of a real word. True, a little emoji can go a long way!  But the increased use of emojis seems to me like a bunch of well-meaning evangelical Christians getting together and deciding to go against their better natures and vote instead for someone who looks like a former President.

The use of the emoji is like using the word “God”; so often the word “God” is used over and over, so often that the word “God” comes close to becoming meaningless. On the other hand, I’ve never had an emoji that didn’t seem to love me, and if not loving me then loving one of my poems or paintings.

“Black Belt”, painting, 12” x 12”, acrylic and Sharpie pen, December, 2023. Photo by author.