I was listening to the sound of a wheelie bin being rolled home at about 6.30 this morning.
It’s akin to hell.
Not clear what hell is actually like, but I am pretty sure that people sit there naked, with no alcohol or MySky, being prodded by Satan’s javelin, having to endure eternity-scale time-frames of the sound of an empty wheelie bin rolling down an uneven surface.
For me it’s the sound of compliance. Like a school bell, tax time, and the bird call on the National Programme, it’s the sound of
comply. Comply, you tax-paying worker. And pay rates on that.
Wheelie bins remind me that I am not truly free yet, from the capitalist paradigm of eat, create waste, then spend a disproportionate amount of time trying to hide or delete the waste.
Wheelie bins remind me that I am not green enough yet.
Wheelie bins remind me that I am hooked into the time frames of other people.
Wheelie bins remind me I am boring.