I get creeped out in whole foods sometimes. the one on h street, the old one, i’m more okay with. I like how it’s been retrofitted into two storefronts from an expansion, the slightly grimy parking lot, the worn shelves. It reminds me of the little stores I shopped in in my 20s, the hippie “health food” stores that made our mean uncles shake their fists at the sky. The new one up off the B exit, though, I don’t like that one at all. It’s part of a big strip center, actually not a strip center anymore (those are quaint nowadays) but a block center, a big compound that also includes Five Guys and god knows what else. In turn it is part of a greater compound of tech buildings, apartments, and hotels that stretches for several miles, and is located just off the airport. Herds of burned out little code monkeys file through the hot food section as if somebody rang the high school class bell. That is your life. You will never leave this little two-and-a-half mile square, nor will you break out of the regimented routines that have been constructed for you here. You’ll think you’re changing the world, you’ll think you’re living this green, vibrant, organic life, but you’re just a cog. You have no real choices. How long until they set up sex this way, with some little storefront in the dark corner of this compound beside the loan services, or a standard issue sex doll that comes in the mail? They’ve already done it with medical care, so why not? That 2 1/2 mile on a side compound already has a kaiser emergencyb care or whatever it is. What is next, anyway? The incels are already pushing for it. MyRelationship, part of Miser Managed Kare 😦 Relationships are an important part of your long term mental health, and we here at Miser want to make sure you’re covered. Just fil out our (skewed, politicized, based on junk science) questionnaire, or submit to our creepy invasive brain scannning procedure (which is already part of your mental health checkup), and we’ll have you matched with a compatible partner in no time.
uplifts: a gray parrot couple arguing with an immature staff member, who suggests they name their (still in egg) chick “Paulie,” “after Paulie Shore” in complete defiance of how patronizing to the parrots this is. They’ve chosen a name such as “phoenix” that implies greatness (among other parrots, all the parrots are thinking along these lines), but it sounds “silly” to speciesist humans. OF course it’s a struggle over the ultimate image and reputation of the parrots as people, just as the bohemian rhapsody will be the single scene was a struggle over the image of the band and how they have the right to see themselves. It is extremely tempting for the humans to make plans for the uplifts and kid themselves that they’re helping, and a major way they do this is by pre-imaging societal roles for them. A lazily obvious role for an uplift is as carnival freak and glorified petting zoo. The father (the mother is sitting, could be “guru on the mountain” until the chick hatches either at denouement or as complication) is possibly progag’s assistant within the company. The couple (and possibly others) is offered a product endorsement deal from a cracker company, and they go livid. The company responds by upping the sum. At their lowest point, the at least one of the couple seriously considers it, because it would at least be a way out of the company (and therefore might save their lives).
The more I think about Eraserhead, the more I’m convinced there’s nothing weird about it whatsoever. When you’re trapped in that impo9verished landscape (the views I remember from the school bus in Stockton, egads), in a tiny, sensorially deprived space, with overwhelming, pointless obligations you don’t dare even question draining you dry, those are exactly the images that go through your mind as it collapses in on itself. The little characters that pop out at you, the overwrought scenarios of your own demise, the snakes and leeches that flit along the edges of your vision and seem to wrap around your ankles when you’re walking. As far as that goes, it’s just objective reporting.
In high school, I used to draw similar snake-like creatures. They were usually topped with a bloodshot eye (although occasionally lips), and had stiff hairs, and came out of cans, electrical outlets, and the like. Then I’d look at them and laugh. My blonde friend begged me to stop.