my name is mark gomez… and i am addicted to stories. as i sit and watch with anticipation (some would say anxiety) the final episode of The Wire, i am forced to realize that i am an addict. stories, histories, herstories, narratives, fictions… for the entire summer i have been hooked on a steady diet of stories from hollywood, comic books, blogospheres, cartoons and the list goes on. the only story i guess i haven’t been paying due attention to is my own.
escapism.
maybe it is the fact that through this steady binge of narratives i have come to realize a little about their nature. that the sun always sets at the end. panoramic shots inspire reflection. threads tied together make a nice knot in your stomach, those that stay untied leave a different kind of knot, the one that leaves you craving for more… ahem, addict… dialogue, no mater how cheesy, is usually premeditated. sometimes the wrong characters die and sometimes the right one does. and for however similar the stories i have been up on are to my own… there are some fundamental differences.
my life has been written by so many different authors. and it is not finished. that brings up another type of knot…