Do shoppers know? Our heads and our hands hover in aisle number 4, and we are about to remember the whole thing. We are about to remember everything that was here before the products began circling us with ballooning eyes like the Macy’s parade.
Shoppers are a haunted people. What is happening to our minds when our shopping folds into our intimate pixels? Our message to a lover is no longer an escape from the general rain of imagery, the smear of a new car, Trump’s teeth, the ad for a beach body, the stinking death of a family in a village under the grinding buzz of an American sky.
Do we know? Do we know that the drone drops into the flames of hell when our self is lost in our selfie?
We know. We can tell that something far-reaching is happening in the most ordinary transaction. That sensation of shallowness in us. That almost unnoticeable high. The loss of difference in the things around us. The monoculture within and without.
Oh we know. We know that the Earth cannot live with this. And we know that we are the closest living thing to the point of purchase. We know that we are the first little piece of Earth to know. So how do we say this?
We know. Somehow, we know. That the Earth cannot live with this shopping. We cannot live with this shopping. We know we can’t.
We know that the thing that was here before the products were placed between us and the Earth – that thing is still here, just behind the display case. Just beyond the dumpsters in back of the store. Folded in a secret place under the horizon. We hear a song …a song that seems to sing itself…