Synthetic Journal -- Day: 9,137
Time: 15:09
Zone: Standard Deviation

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In her dotage my mother has become a child of her times. She has divested herself of all mental resistance and merged with the corporate overmind.

She spends her days in prayer and meditation: listening to every advertisement, repeating catch-phrases and slogans, raising a joyous voice and joining in with every jingle and theme song. These are the things that comfort her and nourish her soul. The mystery of creation is nothing compared to the reassurance of a well-designed home entertainment unit.

She does not covet consumer goods nor seek to amass them. She merely accepts their beauty and variety and finds her joy in the simple fact that they exist somewhere out there.

She carefully clips pictures of the latest wonders of the manufacturing age from magazines she doesn't read--items she will never need and never own: motorcycles, leatherlike corsets, childrens toys, power drills, fertility kits--and sticks them up in a corner of her little room.

When she is deprived of the transmitted messages of consumer hope and comfort she will replay from memory the lost jingles that were burned into her brain as a child.

In her youth my mother was nervous and critical--never happy for long. Now that she has shed all resistance to the benevolent forces that control her life she sleeps with a smile on her face.


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