Countless chickens fall each day.
Their flesh is carved, sealed, displayed—
neatly packaged offerings upon the altar of consumption.
What rests there is not merely meat.
It is a fragment of life, transfigured into sacrifice
by the swollen hunger of the masses.
Once, poultry were kept.
Now, chickens are designed.
Muscle mass. Growth velocity. Feed efficiency.
The broiler is bred to swell without limit,
its bones groaning beneath its own weight,
its thought extinguished,
reforged into a pure machine of protein.
This is the chicken of today.
But this story is not about chickens alone.
It is the story of the modern crowd.
What began as the mass-production of birds
to fill endless stomachs
has inverted.
The people themselves are now raised,
nurtured within the feedlots of consumer society,
and without knowing, they too have become broilers.
They laugh at television,
upload photos of their meals,
lift a cheap beer and murmur, “So good, so good.”
They chant “freedom” and “choice,”
yet at the counter they select only standardized goods,
nod to standardized thoughts
streaming across a standardized screen.
They rush to trendy islands,
eat the same interchangeable meals,
return home convinced they are fulfilled.
They shout “We are free, we are free,”
but the freedom they hold
is scarcely more than the license
to scatter images of their lunch across the globe.
It is nothing but a certificate of slavery to life itself.
They are raised as “protagonists,”
yet they are no protagonists.
They are broilers of desire,
fattened, directed,
spinning the wheel built by their keepers.
Consumer society is a spiral labyrinth.
The more you chase, the farther you drift.
The more you seek, the more you are returned
to the place you began.
A maze suffocated by the fat of desire.
The truth, once seen, is simple:
Chickens became broilers.
The people became broilers.
Today again, the masses feed upon pleasure,
drunk on the marrow of their engorged egos,
hurtling to southern islands, to the ends of the earth,
expanding the hollow void of self at terrible speed.
Conscience is replaced with branded goods.
Guilt is wrapped in eco-packaging.
Morality is transfigured into “likes.”
And still, they laugh.
Unaware that behind their smiles
the silent doors of the slaughterhouse
have already swung open.
This is the English version of the article → Japanese version（日本語版）