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.