We are on the road to ruin. We are going to drown in our own tears. Quivering wrecks perched on the end of our sofas, afraid to move, unsure of what a real emotion feels like, but knowing that we are so very emotional.
Advertisers, TV producers, politicians, anyone out for a quick buck, the holy grain has been found, throw away your original ideas, emotional torture is all you need. Every advert is like a small movie trailer, with some sob story at its centre. LOOK AT HOW OUR WHITE SHINEY PRODUCT HAS DEEP RELEVANCE TO YOUR LIFE!!!! DOESN’T IT MAKE YOU FEEL SAFE, AND WARM, AND BRING BACK MEMORIES OF A HAPPIER TIME. I marvel at the advert for Google with the father putting down a timeline of his daughters life in emails and documents, all set to warm comforting music. Few things in the history of earth are as offensive as that advert. Every TV show now seems to have an emotional slant as well. There is always a back-story, something that the audience can relate to. Something to have them reaching for the tissues. Some mildly attractive seventeen year old future prostitute sitting in an Ikea chair telling her hard luck story, the whole thing sound tracked by Adele.
Best-selling books about abused children. Films about the doomed romance of two plastic faced morons. The Pride of Britain Awards. EVERYTHING SOUNDTRACKED BY ADELE! There is no place to turn without some sort of canned emotion being unleashed on us. And we are lapping it up. Until the day when one tear too many is cried and we all snap. We will dehydrate. Millions will die. The survivors will be weepy vegetables, unable to leave their shit stained beds in fear of hardship and disappointment.
We shall start a breakaway sect. Go feral, like in all good post-apocalyptic films, live in the caves, away from TV screens and billboards, in small groups, fuelled by actual human feelings, experiencing beauty and sadness first hand. Then one day it will all be over, we will be the last ones left, having to start again from scratch. I shall emerge into the light with my eyes glued shut, waving a malnourished fist in the air, wearing the skin of Adele as a cloak.