Synthetic ants on the scale of humans are selling a machine that produces smells. Mother ant, in the non-descript livingroom of her tract home, carries folded laundry in a basket. She picks up a couch with one of her six limbs to kick away the toy or shoe of one of her two child ants. No father ant is visible. Her days are a constant struggle against stench and chaos.
She presses the single blue button on her decorative, white aroma machine and the room transforms into a lush jungle paradise. She grips the shaft of a yellow lily and from it spews a sparkling cloud of opiate perfume that envelopes her like a protective shawl. Her eyes dialate. She staggers and almost falls backwards.
For a moment, she is free of the stench and chaos.
We've escaped for generations through vision on our televisions and movies and sound through our iPods and stereos. Now, we escape through our most primitive of senses into synthetic worlds of false memory and hyper-real hallucinations. We follow talking insects, who live as we do.