A B, but what a B.
I look at this movie now, after having spent many of my hours on NG, and I am truly very impressed by the greatness of this B. As far as icons go, this is perhaps one of the best icons ever. It's phenomenally inspiring, it's wonderfully minimalist. What it represents, how this B created a flash group that is still dying painfully 6 years later, and countless other groups that still maintain some element of clockishness about them - it's awe inspiring.
It's my new life philosophy, actually - if you throw shit on enough walls, then one day someone will call one of your shit splatters a groundbreaking work of modern art.
Seriously though, I look at this and I seriously feel somewhat humbled by that big red B on the screen. Like, I don't really deserve to be in its presence, which is stupid because it's a 0.3kb flash on a website. Everything about it is unimportant. And yet, it's so powerful, so important, like, I imagine there'd be restorative attempts for this flash in particular if loads of NG was wiped out.
That one small thing can cause such a rich tapestry through slow progression I feel is somewhat divine and spiritual, being an atheist. I know it's not really evolution, but such striking similarities in such wonderful variation - it really is like B was a successful genetic trait for StrawberryClock that his genetic remains live on today. Although the Kitty Krew, Star Syndicate, Uzi Union, whatever, would perhaps resent being called Clock Crew copycats, they must acknowledge the influence. Most flash groups create series, the Clock Crew encouraged flash groups to create self promotion.
And perhaps StrawberryClock was the master of self promotion. It does feel like the B has an aura of self-promotion, of boldness, of brazen cheek almost, but also of power and strength and passion, plastered against the crisp white background like it's imposing. But then, that's all over-analysis, it's just a B. A little off centre, sure. But it means so much more than B. Like, so much more.
Fuck. There are all kinds of clichés you can throw at B, "it started it all," "BBBBBBB," whatever. It wasn't that B worked perfectly, it's that everything else worked perfectly and it put B on a pedestal. There's kind of a sick reality to it, that B is just a lazy flash, but it doesn't even bear acknowledging. B is neat and clean, a snapshot of a day for this B. B is everything, it's the last noise your thoughts make before your mind trails into death, it's the first noise your lips make, ambition has branded a B to your heart cockily to laugh as you try to escape its clutches.
I don't know how many hours I've spent looking at B, over the years. Just looking. Not really daring to turn it off, but not expecting it to do anything. I have dreams where there's this beautiful animation if you wait long enough, where you can feel everything that happens and I eat strawberries and cream on a lovely Summer's day, sat on a hilltop in the mountainside, gently touching the soft skin of a gentle woman, but nothing more, for I want for nothing more, just to get sucked into this B and to live in its powerful embrace, in the mysterious and wonderful world that lives beyond.
I've sat up all night, looking at B, and crying endlessly. The sun has fallen and risen and I've hardly moved apart from shaking, but I keep my eyes dead focused on the screen, my pupils flooded with the white and focused on the red B. It brings everything up, y'know, sorrow and love, it's like staring into the face of God. It brings me to my knees. I worhsip the B. It understands. SBC knew something.
But no, it's all over-analysing. It's just a B. It's the weirdest B in the world, but yet there's such clarity. But it's just a B.
I don't think I can close it just yet. I can't believe I've gotten all of this text out of a B but I'm stuck for ideas the rest of the time. I guess this is my muse. My whole. Fuck, I love this movie.