Nobody in particular. I am a lot of nobody, and I get a little more nobody with each and every conglomerate that I acquire, lose, and love. This is not a fault of mine,it's not the downfall of my personality, nor is it a weakness of my character. This is just what I do every minute of every day. A profession.This has become a career.And don't get me wrong, I handed in my resume, and I applied for this. I'd rather be nobody than everyone.
The interview was in a crawlspace. I sat facing a mirror that was placed on an easel. They asked me if I knew how to use a projector. I replied "I've never done it before, but I'll give it a try." So they plugged the projector into the wall, dusted off the lens, studied where my clumsy fingers went as I fumbled to place the acetate in its correct position, and they examined my ability to translate detail. I lost a bit of the image while tracing out the features of the projection, but they hired me anyway. So now I live in the crawlspace, and I smile a lot.
I set up my desk, pinned myself next to the lifeless naked board (after ripping everything off of it), pulled out my ochre and beetle's blood, blotted out my wide blue eyes with grey and brown stripes, and blackened the background. All of this accomplished with only a few brush strokes.
They were proud. Hell, I was proud!
First I basked in my glory, my manipulated countenance that was formed by dots that bled into figures and lines that faded into dark skies.
I've yet to paint any eyes back onto the image, but I guess that's just because I'm still a lot of nobody.
Yesterday they crawled down here, every single one of them. They told me that they only hired me as a key,they wanted the key to the world of illusion that replaces fact with fiction, and apparently since they couldn't find anybody to be this key they hired nobody. They thought nothing would be the answer to everything. I was confused, but I smiled anyway. Afterall, I was nobody.
So today nobody is sitting in the crawlspace, and they haven't removed the mirror that is propped awkwardly against the easel. Nobody is just sitting and waiting.
With tenderness, deemo