bright winter morning
to visit an old friend
living room feels crowded
Not with people, just him, his spouse
And the oversized television,
Glows brighter than the natural light,
Louder than our conversation.
A blue suit with briefcase
strides across polished floors.
Below a ticker scrolls:
—The Predicament of the Day—-
Seems urgent, or is it?
CBC? CNN? NTV? BBC?
same drug – different label
The screen commands the room.
eye half on the ticker
Generates frivolous chatter
Billionaire psychopaths? Corrupt leaders! Tainted food! energy deal?
The fires? The crime?
Eyes glazed, mouth moving too fast,
Thoughts unspool with no connection,
No end.
I steer back—
“How’s your health? How were the holidays?”
But they are already gone,
Lost in the breaking narrative,
The next attack,
The next villain,
The next scare.
The room hums with anxiety,
screen annoys neon blue.
(Why is it so bright?
It feels like a phone on max in the dead of night.)
I glance up at it,
ticker looping endlessly,
A feeding tube of fear,
To indulge does not not bring joy
This is consumption, media consumption
Is an addiction.
fear packaged as truth
A companion you never question
You can turn it off
It’s not a dystopian telescreen
But you bought yours willingly,
Installed it where you live
The truths you trust
Are pre-packaged and neat,
Censored to fit the dominant view,
Skewed, but delivered in high definition.
And here you sit, indulging—
Every fear, every outrage,
Every salacious sound bite ,
Until it fills you,
Leaking out in fragmented words.
Watch the ticker roll on.
The stories start but never end.
Will you ever indulge in silence?
A long form conversation?
Will you seek what is true?
What am I going to do with you?
I want to stage an intervention,
Shake you awake,
Tell you to turn it off,
Turn it all off.