capitalist swine

I’ve been making some rash impulse buys recently. I’m sure you’ve been through phases where for some reason or another your life just isn’t satisfying you and in some attempt to bridge the gulf between yourself and sanity you buy stuff. It’s a mundane activity, it involves little concentration but enough to occupy your mind, and you feel part of the world when you go into a shop and perform the simple task of buying something.

Like a ukelele.


Or festival tickets.


Or a poem.


Or a pretty CD and a movie about civil war in a central-African state.


Or wedge flip-flops.


I’m not proud of all of these purchases, especially the last ones. Wedge flip-flops for someone who hates heels and lives in England have got to be the most pointless possessions, but possess them I do and I will make sure to delight in them. I have recently come to the realisation that if you do something in order to make yourself happier, no matter what, even if it’s something as fundamentally ridiculous as buying frivolities, at least then don’t go on to deny yourself that happiness.


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