We're still high on Black Darren, nudged up against the iron binding pigments of Red Darren, staring across the Olchon River, contemplating Offa's Mercia. Of course we are restless, this time it has to do with the Acting Witan of Mercia, their declaration that Middlesex, Berkshire and Buckinghamshire are Mercian lands, and the general unease of our understanding that the genuine business minds of the Industrial Revolution emerged from King Offa's Tamworth. Good solid men of sense, none of this wishy-wash of the cidar drinkers in the south who reckoned it was someone else's job to drove pigs.
More recently our optimizing industrialists have learned to bypass the conscious mind "The data-highwaymen discovered that the quickest way to keep a human eye glued to a glass screen is not to offer them a calm, balanced, worked example of macroeconomics or historical nuance. The fastest way to unlock the brain's attention center is to trigger a primal, somatic spasm—fear, tribal outrage, validation, or lust. The fantasy world isn't a grand ideological project! It’s a global cash-crop harvested from our nervous systems."
Hear me now. Digital Highman want your attention, your peace and your sanity, it's a magic mushroom or a hen-bane they feed us. And guess what? Most of us are engaging the rush, we give them our devotion and give the Highwayman what he wants from us.
