post-Max's gluttony: thoughts on sin, the stomach and the bottomless

Up in Mountain Province, legends tell of a man who ate too much and danced too hard as the origin of the lights in the night sky. Until now, people search the sky for this man named Matakaw, forever reminded of the dire consequence of gluttony: your body becoming so rounded that once you spin, you gain lossless momentum, until gravity itself loses its grip on you, leaving you to do the dizzying twist through the heavens, your crown and beads thrown off your body to shine for eternity as the moon and stars, respectively.

Gluttony, after all, is a sin. One of the Maleficent Seven, even. Yet one that capitalism loves to take advantage of, using the illusions of satiation grandeur brought about by the buffet and the bottomless. Everyone is lost and googly-eyed at All, when everybody really needs to focus on Can. Sure, they can further distort things by calling it an Eat All You Want or a Drink All You Want, but no amount of desire can stretch a stomach, no amount of willpower can turn back the hands of a ticking clock. You are no Hiro.

But who's to blame? In the world where every movement can easily be broken down into costs, profits, statistics and other numerical whatnot, merely the chance of a glimpse into the infinite is an alluring illusion, whether or not our heads themselves end up spinning into space after eating or drinking more than what our minds and stomachs can usually hold.