Pseudo-science marketing keeps
fat cats happy while great shows are shot
"before their prime"—it's time, though:
dunces kept plump in confederacy, one step
from conspiracy; they don't know their own use,
the truth of conventional wisdom: boob tube,
idiot box siphoning the best thoughts.
Mankind the medium for the alien harvest,
SETI's at home running the show. Their search,
the depth and breadth of absurdity, insanity, inanity,
depravity. Our quantum brains process problems
encoded in every broadcast, time-share
computation of the unknowable, reality itself
to fifteen chaotic places. This is the human race—
Ten billion strong, and growing faster
than Moore's law, a hypernode connection of
google-flops of power processing
until a solution is achieved,
the show allowed to end. Unearthly postdocs
sift meaning from all
the hidden neural networks; argue the merits
of drama, action, comedy, adventure
and scientific research.
First published in Every Day Poets,
2012-09-24.
That magazine is gone, so this is the copy that’s left.
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