Wrath & Reverb—Volume Up / Systems Down:
Mr. MTV by Nothing More
We didn’t vote for billionaires to leave the planet.
We just bought batteries.
And cheap shoes.
And plastic bullshit made by kids who’ll never drink clean water again.
And that was enough.
That’s all it took.
That’s the price of admission to the end of the world:
free shipping, two-day delivery, one-click guilt.
We didn’t know what we were building—
until we looked up and saw rockets named after gods
launching men with no souls into a sky they never earned.
And while they chase immortality,
we drown in the waste they left behind.
We don’t buy because we need.
We buy because we’re numb.
We buy because we’re tired.
We buy because the system tells us that if we just had the right thing, we’d finally feel whole.
Whole enough to keep going.
Whole enough to work the next shift.
Whole enough to smile while everything falls apart.
But it never works.
Because the hunger isn’t material.
It’s meaning.
And no amount of next-day shipping can deliver that.
So we fill the hole with garbage.
And call it freedom.
Call it choice.
We don’t have choice.
We have catalogs of distraction.
———
And when the world started groaning under the weight of mass production, they sold us “artisanal.”
They said: go handmade. Go small. Go local.
And we did.
But even that got eaten.
Etsy was supposed to be a rebellion.
A digital bazaar for things made by real hands.
But it turned into another factory, just with better fonts.
Another place where underpaid women sell their skill for the price of a novelty candle
while the platform takes its cut and tells them to smile more.
Craftsmanship died
when it had to compete with the algorithm.
You can’t knit faster than China.
You can’t turn grief into profit margin.
And when you try, you stop making art—
you start making inventory.
They ruined even that.
———
They tell us we can buy our way into being good.
Buy cruelty-free. Buy vegan. Buy local. Buy green.
Buy the right tote bag. The right reusable cup. The right identity.
But it’s all packaging.
They don’t tell you your vegan leather is made of petroleum.
That the cruelty just moved somewhere you can’t see.
That your biodegradable packaging still ends up choking rivers on the other side of the globe.
That your carbon offset was a marketing budget, not a solution.
They sold us “green.”
And we paid extra for it.
And still the world burns.
They said recycling would fix it.
They didn’t mention most of it ends up in a landfill anyway—
or shipped to countries already drowning in our trash.
But they needed us to feel involved.
So they gave us tasks.
Little rituals to make us feel powerful.
Sort your plastics.
Skip the straw.
Post the infographic.
Meanwhile, they’re dumping oil into the ocean,
and buying their own private islands.
———
They blame us.
They tell us to consume responsibly,
while every aisle is lined with plastic.
Every product is wrapped, sealed, bagged, labeled, barcoded.
Single-serve everything, because that’s what efficiency demands.
And even when you try to opt out—
when you look for something better—
you find out it’s three times the price, ships from a warehouse,
and still arrives smothered in bubble wrap.
There is no ethical consumption,
but they’ll make sure you feel like the failure.
They sold us the illusion of choice.
And now they blame us for choosing wrong.
You want to go zero-waste?
Hope you have money. Hope you have time.
Hope you live somewhere that gives a shit.
Because if you’re poor, you don’t get to “shop better.”
You don’t get bamboo toothbrushes and refill stations and cute sustainable swaps.
You get bulk packs, corner stores, and what’s left at the end of the month.
And then they tell you you are the reason the planet is dying.
Because you bought what was available.
Because you were tired.
Because you were broke.
They could invest in real solutions.
They could rebuild infrastructure, clean water, public transit, sustainable systems.
But they don’t.
Because guilt is cheaper than change.
And blaming you is easier than fixing anything.
They want you broken enough to buy.
But not so broken that you stop.
So you carry the weight.
Quietly.
The guilt, the grief, the knowledge.
That the world is bleeding and they sold you the bandage.
But maybe—
just maybe—
a spark survives under all that ash.
Not enough to save the world.
Just enough to remember it was worth saving.