Josh Pointing at Things: An Introduction

Working at a film festival, I've been blessed with many opportunities to meet eccentric and fascinating people. Artists and businessmen, celebrities and laborers, and plenty of people who would go on to become dear, dear friends.

However, the project you are currently viewing, this cataloguing of one man's descent into insanity, chronicles my years of interaction with a particular person who, despite an amazing intellect and an enormous amount of talent, has chosen to express himself solely in the medium of 'pointing at shit.'

Josh, in a rare moment of not-pointing-at-something

Much as the cat paintings of Louis Wain gradually became more frenetic, more frenzied and maniacally colored, the increasing frequency and inscrutability of his pointing is a journal of his eventual and inevitable madness.

Sometimes, 'madness' resembles Stephen Baldwin.

Join me, now, as we delve into what makes a man a man, and what makes a man a desperate cry for help. We must bear silent witness to this horror and learn from it, in the hopes of saving a person who was once a beloved friend. This is my purpose here, for while I support Josh in almost all his endeavors...

I disagree with him on many points.

Josh Pointing at Other People

Josh; A Brief Introduction.

Josh is a young man who spends a good deal of his time posting pictures of himself on the internet in which he is pointing at things. What things? Any thing. You will find him pointing at animals, people, objects, and minerals. Abstract things like the color yellow and the shame of a toddler. He will point at foreign dignitaries and disobedient landscape. He was once seen pointing at a mirror for forty-seven hours until he collapsed from dehydration, though he swore he was "out-pointed."

Medical science has yet to corroborate any such affliction has, or ever could, exist.

A casual pointer is an innocuous, almost forgivable offender, but I put it to you, dear reader, that this man has made pointing-at his life's work, and I mean to prove it. Here, we will explore the variety of methods he has developed for a standard "photo-with-some-joker point."

I honestly don't know if this guy is famous. Josh likes some pretty "Denny's" celebrities.

This is Josh's go-to point. I call it the "horn." Notice the upward angle, presumably to keep the hand out of the faces of the photo's subject, but I also believe there is a psychological influence here. In keeping the point low, Josh has established a kind of primitive, almost amoebic dominance over his companion, but has kept the offending gesture out of eyeline from his pointee, preventing any offense.

And believe me, there would be offense.

RRRRRR HRRR HRR HRRRRRRR!

Again, the "horn" is displayed, however with a buffeting bearded gentleman, Josh is able to cast off some of the chickenshit façade and really grimace the hell out of that dude he's pointing at. It's as if he's not even concerned about the picture anymore, too caught up in the grand moment of really pointing somebody into the goddamned ground, right?! Am I right?!



Even the unconscious are not beyond the shame of a merciless and savage pointing.

I see this picture, and I hear the X-Men cartoon theme in my head. Josh is the Wolverine of index fingers.

Josh is attempting a rather difficult maneuver, which can really only be properly appreciated, and thus properly scorned, once you really stop and analyze what must be going through his mind...

"I want to point at all these people, I don't want to face them and make it obvious, and there are so many people I'll need to add something to the mix, lest my single point be diluted in its effect."

The Double-Over-The-Shoulder-Rage-Point is a difficult move in the best of times, and that's not counting the horse stance Josh has taken up in order to keep his transgression safely below line-of-sight from the rest of the group. This level of commitment to the idea of always, always, being seen pointing at someone in a photograph, is a champion spirit rarely seen outside of Olmpic-level athletes, and even then rarely beyond serial killers and the schizophrenic.

Too cute! Mustn't... point!

A behind the back side point! This lovely lady never saw it coming. Later, she was found unconscious in her home, brutally pointed at.



There's a lot going on here, so I'll attempt to be concise. Notice Josh's blue drink, his pink tongue, and his companion's decidedly blue tongue. Notice Josh's brazen, hardly-concealed point, which hints at a greater familiarity with the victim and lack of fear of reprisal. You may think the blue-tongued assailee is drawing a pistol from a shoulder holster, but no. On closer inspection he is pointing at Josh through his jacket! They are, in fact, pointing at each other. The only time a pointer-atter can ever truly be at rest, at peace is in the arms of another pointer. It's a sad, but very true, fact.

This guy...

Again, the "horn," delivered to someone completely distracted and unaware. Ruthless.

"We can't figure out what these are for."

It's dangerous to travel alone, so the pointer who finds a pack is indeed the lucky one. These two have nothing to fear from a single pointee who, defenseless against their rampaging onslaught, managed a look of confused resignation and quietly wonders who Jesus is making out with in the painting behind her.

"These ones, bro! These are the ones who told me to leave them alone! ... Totally you should come sit down!"

A merciless over-the-top triple-point. Josh went home after this happened, got out his point-journal, and wrote a three-page entry about this photograph. He put special adhesive corner-holders on a fourth page for when he finally got a printed copy of the picture, and the ink of those entries is smeared with dotted tears. Up until then, it was his best point. It might have been the first time he truly understood what he believed pointing could accomplish.

But it wouldn't be the last...

Josh Pointing at Celebrities

There are... other Americans, Jared. Better ones. I assure you.

Working for a film festival has afforded Josh many chance encounters with celebrities of all caliber. Of course, he has squandered almost every single meeting. However, those in which he comes out without having uttered some racial slur or was at least sober enough to speak during, he has managed to destroy any integrity he may have had by posing with respected actors and generally charming people as if he was a mascot on a Big Dawg t-shirt. Here is Jared Harris, star of Benjamin Button, Mad Men, Fringe, and of course the upcoming Sherlock Holmes, a Game of Shadows. Accordingly, Josh has posed with this lauded and much-praised thesbian as if they were attending the same kegger, and Jared and Josh were on the winning team for beer pong.

Side Note: At any time this sentence is read, Josh has played beer pong within the last three days. It was played with either Bud Lite or "Natty Light," (which I am told is an experiment to find out just how little alcohol you can dissolve in a given kind of diseased animal urine and still have it taste damp wood and ass). He lost.

Double Side Note: The first time Josh read the above statement, his first thought was something along the lines of, "Ha! No! We used ________(insert name of unbelievably shitty booze I've never even fucking heard of here).

"Uh huh. Just take the picture. This kid won't stop pointing, and I'm getting uncomfortable."

Brad William Henke was a good sport about this, because even as this small, undeniably ape-like creature is challenging him, he manages to control his "kill-response," and disguise his instinctual threatening teeth-baring as a smile for the civilized members of society around him. Rest assured, however, had Josh tried something like this out in the bush, Brad would have worn his hide as a cape for the next two years.


I like to watch the thin veneer of civilization begin to crack in the faces of men who are challenged by the savagery of others. In the wild, Josh would have been eaten alive by now, his bones used for stew and his skull a goblet to remind others who would forget that pointing is reserved for the chief's family and respected elders alone. It is a sacred right, like the avocado and incest.

But Colin Hanks is holding it together, ever so slightly, even though he knows deep in his soul that if anyone deserves death, it's the monkey to his left.

The fact that his hand is clearly cradling some tail right now is probably helping to stave off the bloodlust to a large degree.

Dark passenger.

If Dexter wasn't smiling around me, I wouldn't be around Dexter. And I... oh my god...



I shit you not, as I was preparing this article, Josh posted another picture of himself pointing at a celebrity. I am dying inside

Josh Pointing at Himself

Seeing the ghastly image above staring back at you from the mirror might inspire someone to seek medical attention, question one's life choice, even attempt to copulate with one's own forehead. It would not, I think, for most of us, instill the deep and undeniable need to draw attention to ourselves. This is not the case for Josh. Josh sees something like this and thinks, in all honesty, "Look at this. Look at this fucking thing. I'm going to take a picture of this thing, and I'm going to fucking point at it..."

"Then I'm going to take that photo..."

"And I am going to put it on the internet.

This is a mind, I don't believe it would be constructive to attempt analyzing. And yet, I cannot look away.

God damn it, kid. That's not how you do... have you even seen the fucking movie?

While this is almost a holdover from the "Pointing at Celebrities" chapter of our case study here, Josh is clearly not pointing at Christopher McDonald (perhaps better known as Shooter McGavin). Rather, Josh is... I don't know. he's pointing at his duck face? His pursed, pouting lips? Is he hoping for a smooch from the celebrity, and the only weapon in his arsenal of seduction is pointing directly at something? How has he asked for sex all these years? More importantly, has it ever worked?

Because that seems a lot easier than what the rest of us have been going through.

(On a purely aesthetic note, I appreciate the staggering of the Asians in this picture. It shows a tremendous amount of foresight and compositional awareness on the part of the photographer.)

Moving on...

There's a sticker on my head.

NOW THERE ISN'T!

At first glance, we may be quick to dismiss these photos as harmless, run-of-the-mill facebook embedded-webcam profile pics. A rainy, lonely day for Josh, which he spent putting sepia tone and Polaroid filters onto pictures taken with a sixteen-hundred dollar machine, so they look analog and retro. All possible pretension aside, that's not what's happening here.

Examine the two pictures closely.

By viewing the bottom right corner of the framed image behind Josh, we see that it is indeed a completely different work of art. In the second image, what we are witnessing is Josh's growing control over his mindless new ability. He has managed, with the addition of the strength of his other hand pointing, to somehow meld the sticker on his head with the artwork behind him, creating some kind of hybrid monster which previously did not exist. No one can know what the ultimate result of such an unnatural union could be, save for those who have looked into the eyes of the universe's uncaring soul. And those people are not doomed to preach the testament of their work. Those people... are doomed to point.

Josh Pointing at You

If you look closely, that bracelet reads, "Pointstrong."

Having exhausted all the targets of opportunity around him, Josh now turns his attention out, beyond the fourth wall, directly at you. As you can see, it enrages him to have to attempt this. He feels there should be more fodder for his newfound weapon there, in the corporeal world he inhabits. But no, he must reach beyond time and space, and point directly into your face.

"Oh god... I knew it would end this way..."

Even as his only friend quivers in fear and terrified laughter, it only serves to fuel the seething darkness that grows within him. The camera itself is now having difficulty capturing the true horror of what is happening before it. The fragile lens creaks and bends as it attempts, futilely, to turn away it's unblinking eye.



Here, a passing Korean is ensnared and forced to engage in his sick ritual. Watch as his eyes roll back in his head and his tongue swells, watch as Josh refuses to release him, choking him into submission that he might be among the first to see his rise, to watch him ascend his ebony throne and preside over all who seek direction.

Bow, mortals, before Joshua, the Pointy.

I AM YOUR POWERS COMBINED...

His newfound ability seems to have reached its zenith and, unsatisfied with his mortal form's capability to properly point at us from beyond physical and familiar dimensions, the hideous force that seems to drive his pointing is now physically dragging his body behind it, his pathetic, human body serving only now as a superfluous vessel for a budding evil to incubate within. He looks like the eldritch powers within him will soon quit his infirm flesh and be loosed upon the Earth.


On the other hand, sometimes he looks like a frightened baby fawn that has been caught in the headlights of a fucking Sherman tank. One or the other, really.

Hipster Groucho Marx looks on with incredulousness.

Oh shit. He's either opened a wormhole or collapsed that tiny circus tent.

His options exhausted, he has followed the path of so many lost souls before him, such as Gallagher and Carrot Top. He has fallen into the unfeeling pit of "prop comedy," from which few return. He attempts to point at us with a golf ball. A sphere. Possibly the only shape in existance that does not, and I stress does not, have a point. Anything would have been better. Literally anything. A flat line, almost, would have been better, as at least he could claim he was pointing at us with some kind of perpendicular, imaginary angle.

Side note: In the picture above, the image of Josh's head, the red bucket, and the yellow bench actually spell out a very rude sentence in Egyptian hieroglyphs. And yes it involves pointing.

Josh Pointing at Star Wars Shit

The Dark Side had to start somewhere.

There are precious few sacred relics in the annals of film. It is because of this fact that Josh, on a level only Lucas himself ever matched with Episodes 1-3, has taken it upon himself to personally defile the beloved and triumphant original Star Wars Trilogy, with all the hate and anger he can summon to flow through him... and channel out his pointing, pointing finger.

It's like Han's pointing at you... with all ten fingers.

I want you, dear reader, to understand the level of villainy we're dealing with. I worry, at this point, you think we're looking at a series of photos depicting a possibly silly man having good times. I assure you, this is not the case. Here, we see Josh laughing, laughing, at Han Solo, encased in carbonite. He is avidly and openly mocking one of the greatest lovable rogues in film history in his darkest hour. I want to make this clear: Boba Fett didn't laugh when he took possession of the frozen hero. Jabba the Hutt didn't laugh when he refused to give up his "favorite decoration." Darth. Fucking. Vadar. didn't laugh when he lowered his enemy into the freezing pit. Yet look into the eyes of this man in the picture above. See the lack of remorse. See the pitiless joy. Look into the face of pure evil.

What does this button do?!

This is a man who has accepted his fate. He has nothing left to lose.

Allow me to ask you a simple question.

Darth Vader stands before you, wearing his special chef's hat which he only brings out for very special occasions, as he's rarely afforded the opportunity to don headwear due to his condition and Imperial Uniform Regulations. He is holding the severed head of a six foot, five inch tall sentient alien. Tell me...

Would you point at him?

Josh's Pointing Is Contagious

CONTAGION

Coming soon to a theater near you.

In what is perhaps the most terrifying turn of events, Josh's predilection for pointing has seemed to spread, in these images, to those around him. Let us watch the fall of Western Civilization as Josh's unstoppable disease consumes us all.

CONTAGION

Keegan serves as an unwitting conduit for the transmission of the sickness.

What makes this all the more horrifying is the joy he seems to take in infecting the general population. Witness, as he refines his technique of controlling this behavior in others, his own arthritic digit crooked under the mental strain of manipulating the mind of another into this terrible act. Gaze upon his hideous grin.

CONTAGION

"To answer your question: No, I'm not sure why the chick from The Arcade Fire is up here. I think she's lost."

His method seems to be streamlined, as he no longer needs to move his own hands to elicit his grotesque gestures in other. Fortunately for us, and those further away from him, his powers seem to be limited to a two-person radius. Needless to say, the guy with the glasses pointed at someone mere moments later, while the hot chick with the ponytail ran away, unscathed.

...

CONTAGION

Josh Pointing at Nothing At All

In the final, and perhaps most cryptic permutation of this strange behavior, Josh occasionally makes visual reference to nothing at all. In attempting to draw the attention of the viewer to an ambiguous void, a lack of focused-attention, he has achieved the final, inevitable interpretation of his seemingly needless and pervasive pointing. It would be a beautiful, almost Dadaist expressiveness, were it not rooted in aberration and hysteria.

"That way. Toward the booze."

Here, his CONTAGION aspect has bled into the next stage of his journey in pointing, and not only has he managed to drag yet another poor soul into his unending spiral, but has done so in the most meaningless way possible. Here, his victim isn't even joining him in senseless indication, but has been forced to point toward nothingness. Toward the hollow of his very existence.

Not as tasty as Campbell's Soup, and only slightly better looking.

Continuing with his campaign of "Ruining All Art Genres Available Through Photobooth Filters," Josh has here attempted a post-modernist-Dada-esque-nihilism, which would be impressive if it weren't ridiculous.

WOOO! GLAMIS!

Finally, Josh appears here to be pointing at the all-consuming sky, challenging God Himself to deny his pointing. To attempt to deprive him of this blissful moment of pure, delirious pointing.

Sadly, as Josh walked away from this display unsmote, the encounter only serves as evidence for the total lack of any such diety.

Josh Touching Inappropriately

BAD TOUCH.

While not necessarily pointing, I feel this is the logical progression down the road this misguided man has chosen. He's "pointing," if you will, toward a dark and doomed future. Will he get out with his freedom? Will he escape with his life? Will he be convicted of third degree sexual assault?

We have only, now, to wait. And watch.

And yes, it's third degree. I checked.