Plastic Stars

I think it was when I went to IKEA that my life fell apart and I realised that I was in the wrong time, in the wrong place, and on the wrong planet. Do people really like to be herded like sylvanian family rats through a maze of kit set bedside tables, kit set bookshelves, kit set suggestions for how to live, and kit set robot children? Slotted in to a filing system, stamped with a number and left to decompose in convenient waste disposal system? Herded onto trains like sterile white cubes, which then drive off cliffs into a chemical soup?
It can't be just me that wants to spend the rest of time sitting in a glade, looking at a tree, and never, never reproduce. Why? Ugh, humanity.
We are the stars made conscious.