i walk through this thrift shop as an old and withering man i see the products of a lifetime and i imagine them in my hands
that lamp would've fit nicely on the table in our living room and that blouse in the corner that i see my darling, she had the same one as her these old and worn out books were once my constant entertainment they inspired me to write and to travel and now they've been banished to the wastebins
metal castings, music to listen to, movies, denim jackets, photographs of people long since dead, paintings and mirrors and gadgets, hats, pants, shirts, shoes, neckties in every color somebody else lived their life with these and soon i'll be giving up mine like all the others
we all spent our lives buying things and wasting precious time so i know that someday soon all my things will be bought by you
Sparkling wine and sparkling smile, new fashion and new car, a house and new gadgets to show, a veneer that shines and glows, underneath lies more, unsettled and unknowing, we show a reflection of not what is true, a fabrication of our discomfort, a fear of not belonging, for the truth lies not in mankind, but in the nature that surrounds us.
Sleepwalk through stock footage. Life as documentary. Soundtrack of horror movie score: ambient electronica, bubblegum nostalgia and **** love songs. Everything becomes visual metaphor: blackbirds, barcodes and birthday candles; Big Pharma pick & mix; lipstick ritual; pigeon superstition; fraying flags of fading empires; migratory patterns of shopping trolleys; special offers; fantastic prizes. Worker bees are vanishing - they all want to be queens - and our hives overflow with honey, but are empty and dead. We got infected with aspiration, with individualism. Generically unique career consumers: remember when you were more than your credit rating, more than your demographic, more than your market-driven self-diagnosis?
All year, you waited on Black Friday Just to Feed your Indulgence. After, comes broke Saturday, Which is partly spent in silence. Next is Prayerful Sunday Off to church for solace. Next comes Monday, a workday. Wearing things you don't need. Home stuck with material things You've been finessed by greed Yet your task is what today brings. At home, you hear the bell as it rings, And look at the watch on your hand. A man strikes on the guitar strings Then a song raised by another friend. At least all your friends are here Time to party and enjoy yourself Bring me some wine over here Time to celebrate my materialistic life!
Consider a bee while the sunbeams dance on a bench in front of a melting clock Consider a bee while the cradling mankind sees a gun under the pillow and feels safe. The dust of the soul, the soul dusts away The bee buzzzzzzzzzzzz Interrupts a series of copulations and a run across the industrial lawn
buzzzzzzz The sacrifice of a fat lobster named eternal consciousness garlic sliced bread & a fear of a thing as per the given prescription? am I right?
I have no more time for such nonsense, Consider a bee 5 more minutes, a 90-degree angle, you are dead.