Keep the appliances in working order, clean them, check them, power back on without warning, you never know, not one station is broadcasting, no doubt, communications broken down, stillborn, short-circuited frequencies, sound and images. Walkman, walkie-talkie, cable and tube, satellites, emptied of every reflection, every resonance, each man reduced to his own organ, to being within earshot, last cry of the media.
I can shout myself hoarse, nobody will hear me, narrow target audience, zero percentage of listeners, only the animals, they'll crouch down, lift their noses, taken aback, after some time will grow used to it, won't pay any more attention, will continue along their ways as if nothing had happened.
[Disconnection, Ollier, C.]
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