The other day I went to Costco.
Costco is a big drafty warehouse that is home to current excess and future waste. Behind the drafts born from emptiness and between rows of ceaseless discontent, I could feel surges of infinite trajectories. Bulk consumerism functions by selling you on the future. You will be a more fertile person tomorrow if you buy two dozen eggs today. The thought of ‘you’ will instantly be thinner as the spinach lands in your cart. A year’s supply of vitamins verifiably ensure extended vitality. They did a study and there are numbers that make statistics if you need more proof.
If you buy a tub of biscotti your friends will find you sophisticated and your neighbors will drop by for a coffee and gleefully dip and crunch. It’s actually the warmth of your charm your that melts the chocolate in their mouths. Your value as a human accumulates with every soggy crumb that falls to the bottom of the mug. Pumpkin spice is mind control.
Usurped desire urges you to consume and anxiety reminds you it’s always better to be prepared. However, at some point, mold will appear and you will grow bored of your selection and the rhythm of monotony will feel like pricks on your skin, like a metronome made with syringe needles, and there will be no space to store the excess of toilet paper. Then the only solution to your problem is to keep on shitting so that you can continue wiping your ass. You begin to eat so you shit rather than shitting because you eat. That’s the cycle you’re caught in. Endless supplies are kind of a bummer because nothing’s endless except everything after death.
SCHIZOMAGIC 