Where are the best minds of OUR generation? Sitting alone in the dark on the edge of a world of electric glass and twittering proclamations. Where the words of the prophets are written on status walls and the sponsored post men and women hijack ideas for friendship and sharing; feeding us news on a constant loop of meaningless candour.

Where judges sit with wavering thumbs to pass verdict, make fleeting media darlings on the whim of low-brow king-makers as our thoughtful masses park their brains and lower their weekend guards, too tired; lacking desire to give meaningful protest, reaching instead for the mango chutney and mournful ideas of keeping Monday at bay.

Where the songs are fallen flat and serve only to promote, or lend a moody backdrop to fabrics and footwear that sit lifeless under retail florescence. Songwriters who linger in the dark and exist on scraps and coins in an imagined hat as conveyor-belt melodies tug at low-hanging emotions, making cynics of those who scorn and profits from those who share.

They’re here and there, around and among us whispering intellect into a gale of prophetic statement that you can hear if you try to block the outrage and offence that binds us to an ever increasing crowd, digitally gagged and impelled to protect a freedom the brain conceded long ago; waiting for the rock to stop rolling.


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