An edited surveillance video of your brain inside a jar of Barbicide plays on the screen beyond your tied up body. You can’t see it, but it’s worth a gander. The surgeon’s scalpel is spotless and ready. Your fresh body is on the table. Hurry up. Identity fluxes. DNA is up for grabs, bucko. Genetics is mighty. Might as well consider yourself the lobe star, you drab dumb darling; you dum-dum sucker cutter. Dough marrow discounts hanging on a noose, you’s be. It’s pretty special how freshly manufactured plastic smells as familiar as anything else in life when really it’s the exact opposite, huh? How is it that human made substances are ingested, seen, and consistently felt more than natural, organic life? Are you laughing? Is the view panoramic? Should that dog be left in the car while it’s owners pay for carcinogens and general unkempt upkeep? To be consumed, isn’t that what continual consumption is all about? Eating oneself? Allowing human life to be drugged and dragged in that direction? I guess that’s the ticket! Money. Product. (Non)Relief.
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