As you stand to walk toward the babel of chains approaching from inside the mysterious jungle behind you, you are stunned by the glassy green water before you. Hypnotized, you stomp, barefoot toward the calm smiling sea. Fuck! You stepped in a fucking estuary. You sit to examine your foot and what little freshwater fucker hurt you. And as the puddle settles, you see… YOU! The only familiar face. Your own reflection triggers a seizure of memories of projects you made that depicted only YOU.
You worked really hard on these t-shirts and this t-shirt commercial and this website to sell your t-shirts that comment on t-shirt culture while participating in it. You find that exploiting and participating in systems that seek to exploit you are your favorite kind of activism.
You’ve remembered you’re an amazing activist, businesswoman, and PR girl!
Just then you realize you are plugging your own merch alone on this beach and you recoil in depression and loneliness. You ask yourself, “Does a merch plug on a deserted beach affect sales if no one is around to hear it?” Your memory has only shards of who you once were and you can see no future for yourself in this heavenly, but vacant place. Is this the end? The sound of the chains seems to jingle farther and farther away from you now.