I take pictures of barns falling down, hanging 'round like
ancient ruins: symbols of a society that is passing away.

We've gone from gatherer to farmer to consumer: from
the birth of surplus to the worship of purchase.

Fast forward from that ripe red apple, to whichever plastic replica
catches our eye. We bought into this lie and demanded more.

Just walk into any store and you'll see what I'm saying.
And there ain't no use in praying, 'cause the only god we revere,
the only god we got left here, is that false idol cash.

We placed our lives in the hands of a few rich, white men
who made out in the gold rush of 1987 and bought their own
heaven right here on our earth. But you know as well as I,
nothing exists in a vacuum: their heaven is our hell.

How else to explain our reticence, as we exit our first decade
of this minimum wage dry spell, while all along the cost of living
continues to rise and things become less and less accessible.

Even for those working hard to keep food on the table:
to keep ourselves able to provide, much less thrive.

And yet we keep on keeping on; keep searching for ways to
finance our futures, to mortgage our moments, to pawn off
our pasts. So, we can pretend to have something worth
holding onto; something of real value.

But no thing is built to last; the only thing that I might have
worth anything is you and you and you and I don't own that.

We make our facts from the fiction we buy into, the lies
we choose to believe, the gifts we refuse to receive.

Create lives full of holes needing to be filled, services rendered
needing to be billed, childish dreams needing to be killed.

So we can keep on keeping on, even as our children's lives
become mirror images of our own despair and we see our need
reflected there: in their focus on brand names and video
games and all the things that money can buy.

We've passed on that lie, as it was passed onto us, and they are
swallowing it whole. Choking on plastic and cash as we pawn off
our pasts to place down payments on their futures, stitch up with
tiny sutures wounds that are gaping and raw.

Refuse to let our flesh rest long enough to digest this
if you love me you will buy it for me mentality
as a means of controlling us, of keeping us reaching
for one more hollow toy: one more plastic joy.

The birth of surplus led to the worship of purchase,
led us to this moment and it is time.

Existence is its own bliss; thankfulness its own happiness.
And we are the only purchase worth this
level of indebtedness.

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