Tag: consumerism

Interludes

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

I wept when reading Father Goriot
and The Idiot, but I was fifteen—
a fair excuse, I guess—
whereas now I simply try to believe
in my every word that I still remember,
as the days insist on living
without revealing which gullible soul is destined to pay
for accepting ‘visiting hours’—
or, as I call it, the life of a film-trailer connoisseur
who grasped a simple truth about colours:
they do not exist
(why wouldn’t I trust Keller and Lusseyran on the matter then?),
so I could spend my final day complaining
that, in recycling culture, even planting cabbages
has become yet another lifestyle hashtag
splashed on a t-shirt.

More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

The impregnated

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

There are many orbs and sceptres,
but none can rival a doppelstöckiges Schüleretui
sent by Grandma from West Germany
for her poor little Kaziu in communist Poland
that made his classmates gasp in awe.
Perhaps that is why I remain unconcerned
about the latest iWhatever.

More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

Relative values

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

I went to Poundland the other day,
full of contraptions made in China,
and a thought struck me: if back in the day
a one-pound coin—called a sovereign—
had found its way into Tommy More’s pocket,
could he have bought a Ming celadon for mammy,
not just a hex key set for himself?

More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

The three-ply opulence

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

I filled the cabinet above the toilet
with rows of loo rolls—three-ply,
enriched with lotion and fragrance;
it is the perfect elegant paper,
or at least that’s what the description
on the back of the packaging says.
Quite the frippery for a derrière—
even one as fine as a poet’s.

More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

Happiness

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

If someone asked me if I was happy, I honestly wouldn’t know
what to say—not because I don’t know myself,
but because I don’t know what I’m being asked.

Happiness is one of those buzzwords that’s been around since time immemorial
and supposedly puts us above the paramecium, to name just one,
but I feel like we would have understood temporal multidimensionality sooner,
even though physics professors who study it are few and far between;
yet it can’t simply be reduced to an exercise in stale semantics.

So what is this chimaera we chase to the point of obsession,
or should I say, this phantom itch we don’t know how to scratch?
Whatever it is, there will always be those all too happy
to make a killing on the back of it.