We were living inside one unending elegy— tunnel beaded with concertina wire, spattered with graffiti: with words like worker for slave, involuntary relocation for slavery, pacification for war. Controlled intake, recalibrate: the long arms of disinformation reached with stump- bristled brushes, relentless battering, a bent to normalize the condition of wounding. Ceilings still hummed with the echo of machines from a million T-shirt and gym shoe factories around the world, with live looping reels of caged animals eating cutely from our hands. Ditches filled with oil- slicked birds. Sadly, we participated. And so what was coming had mostly come. This is what happened. We were so sure we could see it coming until we couldn't. It all happened so fast.
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