Herr Dictator Telly

Whilst with a fellow practitioner last week, i had the misfortune to witness the latest incarnation of the confrontational tough love confessional genre of mid-morning tube, a gobby unpleasant host, belittling alcoholics, drug users, single lesbian mothers and an array of sadly compelling charachters, drawn from the telly well of shock .

A competitive market where the most important rule is lost. Don't bleddy watch the tosh, electronic reality is exactly that, do not base ones dream and career chimera on another, disembodied poetic contingent from the most po-mo of quantum process to exist, in virtual form. No, not the most solid of dreams to fruit a reality of physical poetic, but the banality of fawning bores, pointlessly blocked with unhappy practice, a struggle to relate, cheating on, or cuckolded by their muse.

Watching people who need psychological help spool out of control, is escapism and a pretty shabby sociological act to engage in repeatedly, it becomes an all circling addiction spiralling out of hand, the trajectory of its orbit is really unforgiving, penalising voyeuristic telly of the most purile kind. Mary Whitehouse would have an immediate heart attack should she have witnessed it, at 1030 AM!! .

This mid morning cultural baiting chamber is a mirror of bad skinned fag addicted chavs - themselves a media-cultural-construct that blossomed into reality after the legions of Enfield disciples chaunted this behaviour once parodied to exists, acceptably mainstream, tugging forelocks to tv producers, for a shot at hamming up their worst side, as they tread the sad and sorry path of their incomprehensibly dumb quest for "fame" of sorts.

For in fifty years from now when the Trisha, Ophra, Jerry and Phil re-union industry is in full swing, as the second to fourth generation of consumers of the telly help myth, will look strangely befitting, a mainstream cultural presence, for good or ill, viewing the collapse of others, as instructional/entertainment?

All that is wrong with britain was on show. The need for demonisation, of right and wrongness, a pathological offiicous demand for certitude. If people do not demand suffering to watch under the guise of seeking humanistic benifit from the deluge of constant informaton being hammered into us, it would not be watched, as when we watch a lot of box, some more than others, many few drip fed by it. ..

Radio is much cooler a medium to pluck at work, for visual overload is distorting reality, as the reflection distorts behaviour, a syzgy of allignment can be the only outcome of continual cultural glue-sniffing ways, this faux liberal outrage twenty years irrelevant now, mired in a forest of caveat and cavail, contigencies, disclaimers, hedged in like timid fawns we are, as one mass of mediatised robotic mindsets, moderators pro-actively seeking reason to steal anothers dream of being alone with ones muse, searching the inner ether for Aiofe and Amergin, the Morrigan circling, mist is all it is, poetical cloak of ancient utterance, hidden, excluded from the airwaves, too longwinded to grasp in bitesize, poetry, life the narrative, lyric eye of a modern I clio or anruth, what are the odds for ollamh today in the nemeton?