food truck
food truck
Colonialism is like a food truck:
set up on somebody else's land
flouting customs, inspectors and laws
get rich quick--in the rattle of generators
lapping in Leguna and bathed in barbacoa.
Todos somos carne ahumada.
Late-stage america is absurdly worse:
there are no restrooms
Sitzen auf den park bench ist verboten
bubblers are disconnected and plug-ins pad-locked
unblinking red dots watch the highways and
hover in the sky--shoveling data into vast
surveillance infrastructure read by Winston Smith robots:
sucking down the aquifers and consuming the grid.
In the post-"FernGully" nightmare
there are two sets of eyes at work:
panopticon pushers and addled consumers
tethered by a shared desire to do less and less.
The free market believes with enough time and capital
eventually labor will materialize to make you stuff to buy:
a food truck will eventually appear to satisfy you.
Settlers streamlined this by ignoring local market demands
imposing instead unified hegemony without indigenous regard.
The next stage in american empire is a camouflaged truck
staffed by enlisted soldiers
franchised by intellectual property
ironically branded a monarch
delivering to foreign invaders a "taste of home"
apropos of this Whopper:
Since Desert Storm (the first Gulf War), the DoD Defense Logistics Agency (DLA) has claimed it can deploy an operational Burger King food truck anywhere in the world in 24-hours. To make it just like BK's back home (and remind the troops what they are fighting for): the milkshake machine seldom works, there are no restrooms, they sold out of onion rings while you were waiting in line and when you come back to dispute a double charge on your credit card you'll find the truck is gone and only an ephemeral splotch of grease remains.
Colonialism is like a food truck:
set up on somebody else's land
flouting customs, inspectors and laws
get rich quick--in the rattle of generators
lapping in Leguna and bathed in barbacoa.
Todos somos carne ahumada.
Late-stage america is absurdly worse:
there are no restrooms
Sitzen auf den park bench ist verboten
bubblers are disconnected and plug-ins pad-locked
unblinking red dots watch the highways and
hover in the sky--shoveling data into vast
surveillance infrastructure read by Winston Smith robots:
sucking down the aquifers and consuming the grid.
In the post-"FernGully" nightmare
there are two sets of eyes at work:
panopticon pushers and addled consumers
tethered by a shared desire to do less and less.
The free market believes with enough time and capital
eventually labor will materialize to make you stuff to buy:
a food truck will eventually appear to satisfy you.
Settlers streamlined this by ignoring local market demands
imposing instead unified hegemony without indigenous regard.
The next stage in american empire is a camouflaged truck
staffed by enlisted soldiers
franchised by intellectual property
ironically branded a monarch
delivering to foreign invaders a "taste of home"
apropos of this Whopper:
Since Desert Storm (the first Gulf War), the DoD Defense Logistics Agency (DLA) has claimed it can deploy an operational Burger King food truck anywhere in the world in 24-hours. To make it just like BK's back home (and remind the troops what they are fighting for): the milkshake machine seldom works, there are no restrooms, they sold out of onion rings while you were waiting in line and when you come back to dispute a double charge on your credit card you'll find the truck is gone and only an ephemeral splotch of grease remains.