v.
Whatever it might be, foldup actuated brick or filofax on steroids, or some truly weird ephemeral surprise of an unsuspected technology, the question remains, what is it to be like when it's all there, all on, 24/7, every day. I predict that exactly one media conglomerate will survive what we're about to unleash on them, I can't wait to see how they scramble for the crumbs I drop from my Father's table. Madness doesn't even begin to describe this: when the omni vortex channel comes on teevee will finally blossom into a full force disease. The piss hollow eyes of the binge hangover will hide in fact a marathon of the Next Generation, sublimation of painful identity in the fantasy of the not so distant. Or so I once feared. But the channel will have a channel of its own, it must and cannot avoid it, and through that monster pipe will surf only the new sound. Fuck their catalog. All new, all free, 24/7 and no walls. Their imperfection will frame our finest hour. All in the eye of the new machine, no idiot box, intelligent television, call it what you will.
klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment