The glorious twenty-first century. People are entranced, sixteen hours a day, in a relentless barrage. A spell weaved by a web:
A web of looping GIFs and spinning texts, and RAWs and JPEGS. By X-PROs and filters, like SUTROs or #nofilters.
A web of waves contained, in MP3s, produced in production lines of broadways. Production lines of coarse tarmac and smoky causeways. In repeating drills and psycho pills, in retailer tills.
A web of videos and post-production, of film, of MP4s, and thumbnails shipping products to doors.
A web of gladiators on fire, on line, shooting MP5s. On black steams shooting lightning beams.
A web of spurious deceit, in markets rigged, spawning new riches.
A web of vain conceit, in blogs and vlogs, with niches and bitches.
A web of vying, trying, for follows and likes, and uploads and tweets, and news and lies before it reaches the streets.
A web of bits, of humiliation and tribulation, but also bytes, of science and knowledge, of creation and information.
A web of glorious distraction.
A web of
- original poem by The Yak Knight
