For ISSUE #9 TRASH, I wrote about the digital junk that I sift through when I “stalk” familiarized strangers online, and what exactly I pilfer from their public privacies.
I found an album, an archive of pictures from her phone, streamed and kept online via some machination between her and her service provider. The photos were mundane and therefore, painfully, abstractly intimate. There were photos of her and her co-host, her boyfriend. There were photos of them kissing, pages deep into the album. The number of pages and photos was not insignificant, and I went through them all. It was a quiet sinkhole of my time and attention, a room I occupied that only I knew about. No one else knew that I went in there, and in the larger scheme of how I spent my day, even I would routinely forget.