to a new order of the old lie: that technology will save us, somehow, from death.
Instead what we get is a druggy midsummer nap, pumped full of anti-histamines,
the very thing to detach us from all our senses, gone awry.
Yet it's all wrong, they still can't
plug all the holes; atop these shaky mountains
beggar windmills spin and spin. Underneath, unseen fires burn out of control
to the junkie's lament: As sweet as this is, it all has to go.
[Link to Matt Breen's game story, with subhead quote]