Box

Adress the man in front. The man in front has the box. The box has the man in front.

New Media Blues

Nothing is real, everything is real.
My mind is made up
of tethers of inconsistent material.
I am bound by constant change of face
in what wakes me in the morning
Trauma sells
Weakness fuels
Truth took a bus
out of town
I read too much
I read too little
I don't read the right things
I have data, but no instructions
Somewhere a great orchestrator is saving
the last dance
Somewhere the great construct
Has fallen
I am left with wandering head
amicable intentions
floating on the meniscus of perception
Where did we go?

I don't know what all this means really. I've just been surfing around reading news articles and clips and snippets of opinions. Makes my damn head spin.