It's often said that we live in an empire of images. While in the beginning was the Word, in our ending flesh has become image. The eveningland on which night has fallen is lit by a flickering marker that guides the roving eye through the labyrinth of speed. In this dreamland Reason can no longer write its name and become a PIN code. Uprooted metamorphoses herald our downfall while we watch, struck dumb, fascinated by the visual beauty.
Involvement has a force of zero in the mediacracy.
So power runs no risk, and is hard for the stupefied senses to locate. The above spectre, propagated by the conservers of culture, is meant to avert the impending decline in literacy by restraining the consumption of images. The spectre has an audio equivalent. The ear has now been torn to shreds and is at the mercy of the senseless but excessive noise of trail bikes, fighter jets, loudspeakers, electric saws, dogs, factory floors, cloudbursts, carnivals, loading and unloading, parties. Parallel to their literacy campaign, the opponents of noise are lobbying for the allocation of sanctuaries, where tractors are replaced by horses and the scythe sings again.