Perfect Blue
Kona Macphee
 
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Commentary: Iubilate

I hate shopping. I can just about tolerate buying food - mostly because I like eating it so much - but I really loathe the process of buying things like clothes. (I'm increasingly ambivalent about owning stuff at all; more and more, it feels as though all those possessions own me, rather than the other way around.) I hate the fact that our culture steers kids, particularly girls, into thinking of "going shopping" as a primary recreational activity. For me, the phrase "recreational shopping" is a definite oxymoron.

Given these feelings, it's probably no surprise that the spiritual emptiness of the shopping-mall, the emotional emptiness of the suicide, and the simple emptiness of a cold and cloudless blue sky, should all come together in this poem.

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