by Joani Reese
He bought his zillion-dollar megaphone,
the man who names himself the technoking.
These uber-rich have highjacked the machine.
A rival helms The Post. Truth? His alone.
The man who names himself the technoking
gaze blank to those less fortunate below.
A rival helms The Post. Where does truth go?
Hump spaceships over deserts, wars, disease
gaze blank to those less fortunate below.
Same DNA, same mortal circuitry
humps spaceships over deserts, wars, disease
and chips away at our democracy.
Same DNA, same mortal circuitry
yet somehow their apotheosis takes
and chips away at our democracy.
They only win as long as we believe
deification could be commonplace.
Truth shakes gray rags and hovercrafts away.
They only win as long as we believe
when money screams success, our life's awry.
Truth shakes gray rags and hovercrafts away.
He bought his zillion-dollar megaphone--
when billions scream success, this life's awry.
The uber-rich have highjacked the machine.
a young man locks and loads a magazine.
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"Truth shakes gray rags and hovercrafts away.
They only win as long as we believe
when money screams success, our life's awry."
The crux of it.*
Excellent.
Yes, excellent.
Nice.
Optimistic in the way Mark Blyth was when he said, if this Gilded-Age level plunder of "the real economy" and making-expendible of nearly everyone continues, "eventually they'll come for you---and The Hamptons is not a defensible position."
Save the chickens
free the beeves...
serve the rich
on lettuce leaves...
with mayonnaise
on rye.
*****
Thanks, all.
"Same DNA, same mortal circuitry
humps spaceships over deserts, wars, disease
and chips away at our democracy."
Boom. Great piece, Joani.
*.
;)