the chaos of a market: chasing a sentence

sigmund freud had a nephew apparently. well, i'm sure he had a few other nephews, nieces, whatnots. but he had a nephew, edward bernays. the man invented the modern consumer, its rumoured. his full name was edward louis bernays which is an anagram for "land was by our desire!". that doesn't really make sense. it shouldn't. but strangely enough while it took shape in my head today i had the feeling that it was starting to mean something. if you've never been to birmingham you wouldn't know the bull ring. maybe heard and know of it. but not know it. its one of those places that is at once singular and yet so recognisable, as if you've been there so many times before but with your eyes closed being led to a surprise. a huge shopping mall that sits on the site of an old traditional bull ring. its about 5 years old. before it have come other replacements for the original structure; places of laughter, for families, for selling things, for stealing other things, for getting lost, eyeing up 16 year olds with cruel intent and mournful sighs, making up stories about what that jacket would do to your self-image, and how that piece of plastic would liven up the living room, places for drunkards and saints and old women pushing their carts of trash into the abyss of eternal slumber, marble and glass intertwined as if married at birth; the designs so woeful they almost feel like the last stand of postmodern genius, places of congregation and dissipation, centres for the last thing you need that you just must have, syncopated footsteps dancing to the tune - coming through the omnipresent loudspeakers - of a song their owners surely must love (why else would they still be here after 3 hours of running around an irregular track?), places of passive exercise, and active mind-cleansing till the numbness forces you to buy something just anything to prove your trip was worth it. i could go on. the bull ring has been all these things and more... children have been abducted here, and young boys fondled by their fathers or uncles in the toilets: daddy'll get you that gameboy soon as we finish here ok? and it's a secret. mommy doesn't like me spending so much on you. you're my boy ok?. maybe i'm dreaming of the past. no, i was never fondled, never buggered, never touched. i was never touched. i imagine it would have been nice to have been touched, have the back of my neck stroked by a powerful fatherly hand. feel the warmth of god's fingers soothing the bruises on my shoulders. i needed a smaller bag. the hiking bag's straps have lost their padding. and my shoulders are red from the friction after each day of wandering. sometimes they bleed. so, get rid of some of the heavier past loves that are weighing the damn thing down, the old stereo i haven't used since the batteries ran out 2 years ago, the brick from the fence of my old house, the dozen or so books i no longer have use for since getting hold of this library card, discard these miniature white elephants and take the weight off a little bit. but a smaller bag, yes, for fewer things. the christmas traffic makes it easier to take stuff from the shops in the bull ring. and, i imagine, it is the same in countless other malls around the world. even in the arab world where they have replaced christmas with 30 days of alternating self-denial and king herod-like feasting. in the west, you prepare for the feast for two months, then are utterly disappointed by the result of your expectant exertions when the feast finally happens, and then you are forced to deny yourself of anything remotely excessive for the next two months because the credit card company says no!.

first, bring yourself to the attention of the security. ask a question. not just any question. something he (it has to be a he) possibly couldn't have an answer for, where is the best place to buy a self-cleaning douche bag?, for example. once he has admitted to not knowing the answer, lure him away to the information desk where he will do the questioning for you, and make sure the person he asks is female, sexy and chatty; they invariably are at information desks. you've achieved 3 things: lured the security away from your target store, made yourself seen with this security man by other security men so they recognise you but won't be suspicious next time they see you, and finally you've kept the security away from your target store. the actual steal is a stroll. walk in, take bag, walk out. did i really need a smaller bag? surely a bigger bag is more useful. and the truth is i've only really had bruises on my shoulders twice or three times in the last 3 years. but i saw this kid last night, on a skateboard. everything about him, the oversized trousers, the untied shoe laces, the NY hat slightly sideways, no jacket, just a t-shirt with "jesus loves you" across the front, and an eastpak satchel hung so low it swayed in the opposite direction to his body every time he curved around an obstacle. a ballet of rebellion. and all the kids had eastpaks when i was growing up. they would tip-ex or spray paint "nirvana" or "public enemy" or "the ramones" on them. and i had my grandfather's old leather briefcase. and nobody cared that i was the first with a gameboy. without an eastpak i wasn't in. a man my age should be building things, his only desire a plot of land on which to erect a place of his own, for the wife, the kids, the dogs and the cat. but fucking bernays. fucking bernays laying booby traps of things we never really needed anyway everywhere in our memories, want want want! 3 and a half hours being questioned for theft by 3 burly men in clownish hi-vis jackets, their walkie talkies going off like a war was surrounding the building, questions about motive and method and knowledge of the law, and for some reason when was the last time i took a shower, and why an eastpak, why try steal an eastpak and not any other bag?, they wanted to know. took some weight off the old shoulders, being in that warm secret room, they even made me tea, bought me a sandwich. the police officer showed up at last. with a thick brummy accent and even thicker mascara, her eyes bored and dropping, taking a deep breath every 15 seconds. cuffed me, walked me out, walkie talkied her partner once we were outside. yawned. then set me free before her partner arrived. bye!, she yelled after me.