Walking into the room, the electric dream machine was on. Actors posing as journalists were babbling about other actors.
Silent blank faces staring at the electronic dream. Empty faces bathed in the dancing electronic light of hypnotic induction.
Inducted and drafted into the make-believe.
As Pharaoh said, "As it is written so shall it be"
Our masters say "As it is televised, so shall you think"

A dream that echoes in our minds. Half asleep we move together.
At the coffee shop people are talking about the actors talking about actors. We are learning as a culture to redefine evil to make it acceptable. Torture is torture, killing is killing, and calling crimes against life something else does not diminish the depth of its depravity. It does not alter the evil and mortal shame of those who do it in our name.
Those architects are condemned as are those who follow them willingly with arms up raised in salute.
Meanwhile what goes on?
Walking with echoes of actors quoting other actors. Half truths and lies stacked pancake style dripping with the syrup of more actors confirming the half truths and lies of others actors. Arguing, name calling, spreading dissent.

Waking up, clearing the mind, looking past the actors portraying journalists.
Where do you go for truth?
Where do you go for information?
Where do we meet?