We're in a reality show, Variables put on an LCD platter. But here is the thing With any live attraction for that matter: It's just better Nobody here pretends to know If they're being screened or watching or ******* or smuggling. It's a challenge that's a freedom Of a new democracy. It stands for the swooping shots, and stabbing words, and daring brutes - aye! aye! Come here! Instinctually We're tracing back the roots.
I see it has now turned back on us, Illiterate or book-smart fools. An unprovoked restraint, Lurking too long, Can only be so raw. Like every reality, it’s not without A remote control.
I’m shutting it down as I can’t switch it off. I’m coming in rounds, Fed on good words. I want my control back, My illusion of bliss. Severed head in the clouds, hands are not typing this.
So unimpressed that art is still a meager copy of reality—and reality is unscrupulous. Bows to my referenced pieces, such as Big Brother, G.Orwell OG book included, Truman Show, Severance, Diplomat, and House of Cards.