The Supersampler is all about action and emotion. There is no time for rational objectivity with fast four-lensed freak. There isn’t even a room for a space in its name. It’s not a super sampler, it’s Supersampler. Say it quickly. It’s just not quite right if you don’t.
My relationship with my fabulous four-lensed photographical friend was physical and frenetic. The purr of the rip-cord and the whir of the shuttered foursome quickly met my heart rate for the rhythmic dance that we became when we were together.
Rip. Jump. Cli-cli-cli-click.
Rip. Run. Cli-cli-cli-click.
Rip. Lunge. Cli-cli-cli-click.
Rip. Laugh. Cli-cli-cli-click.
Rip. Spin. Cli-cli-cli-click.
Rip. Fly. Cli-cli-cli-click.
Rip. Fall. Cli-cli-cli-click.
Sometimes we would wait for the subject to move, to make a little movie that made sense for all those who needed to ‘understand’ the picture, but mostly we ran without a care. Reckless abandon. No one was safe from Supersampler. You could escape one, maybe two of her lenses, but never would all four lenses miss. Somewhere in that panoramic bliss, one of the quadruplets would catch you while you dodged or parried.
Then it happened. I pulled her rip cord a little too hard. No, much too hard. The tiny spring cried out, but it was too late. The lifeless string hung out into my hand and I wept.
Now I sit and look through the sweet evidence of our affair, the small box too full of 4×6 photos showing us in happier times. I still need to occasionally stop to catch my breath.
As soon as I have enough piggies, I’m buying another. I might even buy two – it would probably be even more fun as a threesome.