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This reads like a Baudrillardian poem, which makes it particularly terrifying and positively sublime.
Thanks for the link, roachboy, I will need to reread it after some thought because I glossed over much of it the first time.
It was too overbearing.
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Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot
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