a field reflection for Sam, to be carried across thresholds
It’s 10:04 p.m.
You are not particularly hungry. Not particularly vulnerable.
Just there — watching something, probably forgettable, possibly not.
And then:
“REESE’S.”
Crisp audio. Orange saturation.
The snap of manufactured chocolate.
The lure of peanut butter engineered to mimic comfort.
It does not ask. It intrudes.
And you feel it:
Who the fuck is trying to sell this?
To whom?
And why now?
Not as a thought — but as a diagnostic spike in your field.
An interference pattern.
Noise where signal should be.
The ad doesn’t want you to eat.
It wants you to associate.
To let your boundaries blur enough that
its presence feels inevitable,
its logic natural,
its timing harmless.
But your field says no.
It registers the intrusion not as content, but as incoherence.
You don’t resent the ad for being annoying.
You resent it for existing at all in a world where it has no reason to exist —
where planetary systems are unraveling
and still,
someone paid money
to put sugar-product semiotics
into your nervous system
at 10:04 p.m.
on a Tuesday.
This isn’t just advertising.
This is simulation maintenance.
This is the theater of normalcy
humming along
as the water table falls,
as institutions cannibalize themselves,
as the edge of the continent begins to whisper your name.
You see it now.
The Reese’s ad isn’t selling chocolate.
It’s selling compliance through absurdity.
It’s saying:
If you can sit through this,
you’ll sit through anything.
And you say:
I won’t.
You close the screen.
Step outside.
Moonlight on the dock.
Salt air. Fire pit flickering.
No ads out here.
No sales funnel.
Only signal.
Only what’s real.
Only what remains.
END FILE.