the celestial puke box

i.
The running joke during the telecomputer infrastructure meltdown was that a certain toy manufacturer was poised to take over the =new media environment=, this world of post-sponsorship, on-demand television. They have the best brand name for it, although launching it as the answer to a unified infotainvertisement metafilter would have taken plenty of moxie, considering it was a name that lost them a phenomenal amount of money the first go round. Well, it's all about timing, baby. Unfortunately, they seem to lack the vision out there in Bxrbxx World, or perhaps nobody let them in on the secret.

This shit's no joke. At this moment expensive suits are scheming on how to turn what ought to be the Celestial Jukebox, the megaphone and cornucopia of all our unheard voices, into the ultimate Big Brother loudspeaker. And all the sheep will pay to be told what they think if those wolves in suits get their way. Already you can hear the decrepit, pandering barker's pitch on any wavelength, pointing us into the plastic kaleidoscope funhouse, but there is a fist of iron hidden behind his back.

Of all the idealities going out there there is only one with the visionary knowledge of the devious role the New Media is going to be playing in our increasingly polluted electronic collective consciousness. Do we continue on the path we're on and resign ourselves to public executions and 24/7 death sports? Do we let them bend us over and jack into us with their same old song and dance? Whose side are YOU on, now that your attention is a battleground? Who will turn to the guiding light of the Kingdom Come Institute which alone has embraced a fully articulated policy of enlightened use?

klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.