Big Hands
#7
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Big Hands
#7
Big Hands
#5
Big Hands
#6 2007
[Zine Note] "Big Hands #7"
Title: Big Hands #7 Author: Aaron L. Smith Date read: August 11, 2013
I bought this zine for $0.50 at Depanneur Le Pick-Up, knowing nothing about it save for that it had an eyecatching timepiece in black and white on the cover, and that it was inexpensive, especially given its size and the proportion of pure prose to images. Now that I've read it, I can say that $0.50 feels grossly underpriced, and that if I ever come across other zines by its author, I'd be ready to lay down a fistful of change in a heartbeat. This zine has some of the most enjoyable writing I've encountered in a zine to date.
The tone is thoughtful, serious in a natural way, and melancholy without being too hopelessly depressing. (Except for the passages on the manufacture of musical taste, the fall of truly indie music, the ubiquity of college radio schmoozing, and other signs of the commodification of the 'independent' consumer and generational identity loss.)
There are moments of quiet humor, like a reflection on what it's like seeing a childhood picture: "It's like someone showing you a picture of yourself blacked-out drunk--It looks like you, but it's hard to believe the photographic evidence because you just don't remember it." I've been there.
This zine takes us to the author's hometown, among other places, and his thoughts on belonging, and what it means to wander. As someone who has idolized the itinerant life, I found something to mull over in the author's thoughts on the matter. I was (maybe stupidly) surprised to hear that the wandering life can be an alienating one despite its veneer of freedom, since I personally grew so much when I moved away from home. But there is a difference, I realized, between getting away once and constantly moving about. I suppose that in order to grow, you do need to have some roots.
There are also reflections on death that seem to be a mirror of my own thoughts lately. How important are our aspirations? And how petty they seem, when a death happens nearby. "Everything but love and authentic effort seems so petty next to [death's] high-contrast image. ... There's got to be another way to live, and live fiercely."
Oh, I hope so. Sharing writing like this---and reading it---seem like good places to start.