these stacks pile higher, momentary this bliss, these petty trophies - they don´t stand much of a chance, small victories loosing momentum fast, so quiet this triumph and expiring fast, our need for whatever prolonged infinitely, it can never be enough, it can always be better, it´s more not less, it´s lacking substance, it´s nothingness and it´s adding up, the myth is alive and doing well: what you own is what you live and all this plasticity and exces: only a heap pf broken images, just too many shadows for what´s not there, less than nothing, our lives are empty, we have nothing or maybe less and it´s adding up.