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It’s style over form. Image over content. The bright sheen of glam over the commercially viable next round. We trap ourselves in the same game, same pursuits that rabble and revolve around us to maintain staus quo decorum and distraction. Fruitful antics with vibrant, ever eyepopping characters that continue to be verbose, grand, overblown divas and thetas. We hit play on the spectacle no longer wiping our lenses in disbelief but tweeting love and hate, broadening the chamber of a new smoking gun, sharing in the post-modern ritual posting free advertising. We make the show and take pride in our highlights, we are circus we are legion. A complex sybiotic hive mind flexing its muscles to the tom tom beat of another span of aggressive marketing and pop will eat itself showcases. Painted dolls twirl for the cameras and spout chintzy cliches about the femme power while being told where to go and how to curtsy. Flamboyant frillies making show for the mass market to accept a hungering stereotype hollowing itself out. Egomaniacal dauphans spending reckless and parading and hawking all wares for the purchase. Built and molded for the monetary spirit. The ethos stops on a dime.

Artists an overused word in a world of performers. Talent shows in much supply as dreamers sing and dance for the chattel. Chewing on distractions and glitz to forget the beast in front of us. So many fronts to contend people get lost in the tussle, trying to get a toehold on a vanishing world. We’ve started turning the camera around and dislike the preview. Change the channel for some cosmetic revival. Sporadic protests and action networking a dispersed and liquid movement. All the conspiracy chants of wake up taking form and function as the so called sheep baa complacency. The unification of an endeavour that becomes the best bet. All front assault as the timidity fades into the background. Chance to war in the nation cajoled into looking the other way all the time. Turned heads breaking necks to view the disasters. Environment, capital loss, austerity blows, bad bad blood being offered to Baal in this stagnant ritual held up by old men afraid of progress. Dawn of a century trapped in plastic.

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