Market Mindset
On an ordinary day, someone suddenly jumped out of the crowd in the market, and with his hoarse voice shouted to tell everyone that meaning was dead. Meaning was dead. Meaning was dead. History and Melancholy who heard that looked at each other with slutty eyes, hugged and kissed. The surrounding Texts and Images immediately took off their clothes. Religiosity and banality had sex on top of a pile of meat in various styles that Es Balok would never have thought of.
The market became more crowded than before. The mosque in the corner of the market was also crowded. Fact and Fiction could no longer be distinguished after praying together there. At the entrance to the market, a man declared his love for who knows who by lifting a heart-shaped bonteng.
"Praise God!" shouted a trader with many heads named Interteks.
"Let's party!" said the suicide-bomb-to-not-die trader named Dekonstruksi.
After that, all the words in the market disappeared. Except for the words hybrid, compound and simulation.
The security guard who was loyal to his duty in maintaining market order often vomited his stomach contents every time he heard those three words. But the market never closed. Market life continued. Even faster. Faster and could no longer be chased by the swarm of ants. Because the future had also been exchanged with the past. The ants could only enjoy the security guard's vomit.
Rifky and Wahyu often met at the market to exchange glasses, make documentation, or write poetry. Strange according to some people. Normal for some people. And Ihung who did not wear glasses often also came to the same market, and had even been a regular attire writer for Sundanese poetry there for longer. Every time he visited the place, Ihung always wore the typical clothes of a santri.