I’m sitting in a mall. I’m in the mall’s food court to be precise. Its a frenzy. Every color of light exists here. It all seems endless, flawless from the type of things to buy to the quantity. Its hilarious because I belong here while at the same time want something more – which is just like the mall, perhaps its most convincing voice: “You want more!” When I walked into the food court the first thought I remember was, “I don’t want to be here.” Oh, but every type of food is here, Adam. And yes… it’s true. And the people who buy things – they look good. Earners with their teething, well-groomed children. Everyone smells good, except the woman who I sit down behind! Her smell was a familiar consumer perfume that she had applied heavily. It was overwhelming actually, subtlety repulsive. I wonder if her exaggerated smell was a over-compensation for her sick soul? I am… in a mall!
Malls are the end of culture – its fulfillment. A place where every culture is appropriated, produced, consumed. A nihilistic paradise insofar that meaning, tradition, legacies have parished. Capital, Global excess, access, maximization. We’re all here to buy so we’re safe, civil at least for the moment. Our buying addictions cover our psychological absence. The internalized deformities are masked by the newness of it all. The mall – a microcosm of the contemporary soul.
It’s Baudrillard who I wish to conjure here but its been so long since I’ve read him. He has brilliant things to say about America and about our malls. If I’ve said anything its is plagiarism, simulacrum – a lot like this mall. Westfield, SF.