IN THE COUNTRY OF THE BROKEN
The soul can be held or trapped in a tree. This is because it was never in your mouth. You were always defined by results. Perhaps this joke can be appreciated after your death.
Take the bell once known known as Obertura. Deprive it of onset and decay. Now a knife keens between the ears. Its period of modulation will be determined by the frequency of the modulus. Now input vox to matrix. Worry its forgotten slivers into speech and inharmonic migraines.
We will wait. There is an afterword no longer bounded by our concerns. For you, sounds were always faithful intermediaries. A footfall, a siren. We heard clearly or indistinctly.
The already-dead Professor swivels in his baronial office during Max’s trite apology for erotic entertainment.
So much bait for McLuhan’s claim that the medium does not substitute means for means…
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