"[commodification] stamps its imprint upon the whole consciousness of man; his qualities and abilities are no longer an organic part of his personality, they are things which he can “own” or “dispose of” like the various objects of the external world."
-György Lukács, Reification and the Consciousness
of the Proletariat (1967).
It's rush hour at McCircus, the Las Vegas fast-food epicenter of the world. I can't help but think that more people would recognize the "golden arches" than they would the Gadsden flag; customers order by number, one after the other, and workers scramble back and forth to deliver the folded rubbery eggs (unless you ask for "egg-white" (remember, you have a choice)) between a nice warm biscuit.
It's Automatization right before my very eyes.
Board games such as "Logo Party" illustrate capitalist consciousness reinforcement through commodification of commodities consumed and re-commodified by the conditioned subjects-- in other words, it's too early to surrender my will into the zombification process, but I need an egg-Mcmuffin. I need an extra value meal.
This particular hub is located in El Sereno.
"I'll take a number 1, hold the putty and cosmetics. ha ha!"
"uh..m..."
"uh...nothing, sorry, a number 1 please."
"uh..m..."
"uh...nothing, sorry, a number 1 please."
Two old timers sip coffee, refilling and perhaps reflecting on memories, and for some reason it seems a little terrible--the loneliness and old age. One of them stands and proceeds to the restroom. He leaves his cup sitting on the red table, next to the other old man. The other old man, the one that remained, is missing his index. The old hands of an old man, calloused, scaling, and swollen. I leave before I see the other return. The old man remains alone, and it's not so bad.
The people in uniform scramble back and forth shouting orders and looking at screens for instructions. The drive-thru merits a paragraph, a book, an essay all on it's own; that's a job for critical theorist and philosophers.
I lift my arms and raise my hands to the sky, yawning and exhaling. The iphone buzzes in my pocket; I forget about trying to answer it or even look at it; the noise invades everything, all the way from the outside to inside of my pocket. I get in the car.
As I drive off, I think that it's way too easy to become nihilistic in a situation like this...it's no so bad.
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