Perspective is a powerful thing; something as simple as a person's mood can color perception in interesting ways. We've all had those days where it was sunny out, but our outlook kept us from seeing the beauty of the weather. We've all had days where an event somehow colored our perspective and we saw that person, that word, that vehicle, etc. for the rest of the day. Lia Purpura achieves this same sense of circumstance-formed perspective in her essay Autopsy Report. Here, Purpura's visit to the supermarket is colored by the experience of viewing an autopsy earlier in the day. She sees autopsies on every face, notes the muscle and tendons under each person's skin, even goes as far as to find in her mind the "Y that would reveal" each person's innards. The most striking element of this portion of the essay was Purpura's language. It is not enough that she sees autopsies everywhere, she must describe her surroundings in terms of the autopsy. Now, "the dusty skin of grapes" takes on new meaning. Now, describing the day as "bright and pearly, lush and arterial after the rain" evokes paralleled images of the autopsy and the supermarket and the unlikelihood of the two subjects creates a jarring effect.
Like Purpura, think back to an event that seemed to color or distort your perspective for the rest of the day/week/year. Describe some other, perhaps menial, occurrence later that day and describe the second occurrence in terms of the first.
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