There's a show on today in the USA.
With a cast of one, a poorly written script that, unlike Art, does not mirror life, and a garish set covered in red, white and blue, it will attract an audience of millions, millions who, dizzy with disappointment, will tune in to hear the little man reading the prompts reassure them that there is hope still.
These people will be tuning in to the State Of The Union address to be told that everything that they have seen and heard, everything that they have learned in the past year, isn't real.
With the faint brightness of children recovering from a crying fit, they will face the man who gains strength from their inexplicable attention, a man who needs nothing more than the knowledge that people are yet listening to validate his contempt for them.
For who else but the contemptible would tune in to watch this wretch wriggle?
The age of Man is nearly over.
This is the age of belief.
