Since the beginning of Anthropology class my professor has been experimenting on us. I know it.
Slowly but surely peeling the layers of our cozy over-consuming, greedy, self serving, spoiled ignorant minds to reach the inner layers of skin--like the part if exposed to the air will immediately start to burn at the thought of...consumption.
Yes, I now know we are all slaves to consumption. As we sit in our five star restaurants, as we stand in the checkout lines of retail and department stores, as we pump our gas, as we think about the next item we want, as we grab the plastic water bottle, as we pull on our new shirt...we are all slaves to something.
It is with great pleasure that I announce my apathetic attitude towards purchasing new clothes. I like clothes, really, I do. But mass production and the whole hoopdy doo surrounding every store I imagine stepping a foot into somewhat repulses me like garlic to a vampire. I look like you. I speak the same language as you. I blend in. But I feel like an animal inside, itching to walk around in my skin. Yes, my skin. Not A&E, not Victoria's Secret, not anything but mine. And if I do buy from someone, I'd rather it not be a sweat shop, or overly attention grabbing. Hemp shirts and recycled rubber soled shoes make my heart swoon. Or is it the sound of local veggies sizzling in my cast iron skillet?
All the while I realize without my love of Jah all of these things would quickly cease to be acknowledged. You are but a means to an end clothes, you keep me warm, you are somewhat of a reflection of self, and yet I had no part in making you. And that my dear friends makes me sad.
------Yet another Into The Wild like film: 127 Hours
http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/fox_searchlight/127hours/
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