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You want to change something? Change your routine, your habits? The jam sandwich almost always falls on the fruity part? Change the parameters, change the jam. Every week a different one. Beside the not fulfilling enjoyment of your conditioned, well trained desires of taste and your apathetic senses, the change, slowly and carefully – we won´t compete your willingness to die not as foolish as you lived, will sharpen your mood and your passion about requested passion. Any kind of passion is available on request or why you think you feel passionate about? Stick to the plan, every week a different jam. At one point your supermarket of choice, you´ve choosen for the last – this is past anyway, now it is the time of jamolution! You will need to move, find a different supermarket, a different way, on your way to or from the office back to your apartment. Or you have to move, you might quit your job, you can, jaminize your day. You will talk about jam. You will meet jamers and spooners, dippers and straight guys, at mysterious and darksome corners, on farms, home-made, colorful as an adventure. You will dream about jam, because jam is the leader, your protector, your mighty treasure. You will shit jam, because you feel like fucking jazz. As much as we are in control of our life, our consumption is the manipulator and supplier. We barely interact anymore, we consume how we are teached, learned, adopted to do so. We question consumption, finalizing the interrogation with the non-negationibility of something which is more an organ as a external dilemma. – A jamolution doesn´t take more efforts than a bit of a pretending splendour and you will play any role, any role in your life, any life you dare to jump on and moisten your lust with the fruitfulness of a mashed dream charming. Your exotic images of a holiday, of a longterm excitement is less than a slice of bread away and you don´t even have to move to far away for it, at the beginning at least. Life is per se boring, it´s functional, we are supervised, we are trained, we are domesticated by a domesticator, who was domesticated by us. This is rumination. Of course this is boring. And tremendously boredom if you care less about the form. Symmetry. Balance. Beauty. A bread, both sides spreaded thick with jam, a jam you have never seen, tasted, excreted before. You want to escape consumption? Good luck with that, call me when you are back and need someone poking fun at you. Everything else, wherever you experience, break through your routine, trick your habits to change, to make a difference, to feel individualism, is for the photo album, your memoirs, when you are old and rummage around in your set of legacy, in your what is left and what mattered, when you prepare yourself for the last journey, making your falling to rest softly, feeling you have done something, you had a bit of some gorgeous fruity parts in life, fidning excuses for executing the boredom of gratefulness to be alive and pleased what you have, what you achieved with bare hands, the same hands you used to plead guilty, overstrained or finally bored.