They're out there right now. If you can't see them you're probably one of them. The room, as seen from the street, looks somehow smaller than it would feel inside it. The window, blinds still open, offers an outline of a table lamp, an easy chair, an exercise bike. The rooms is bathed in intermittent splashes of blueish light. Then darkness, brief and unconvincing. The space between commercials. Then, the blue flares back up and again you see the lamp, the chair, the bike.
House after house after house. Living rooms, bedrooms, dens. Perhaps two or even three rooms give you the glare. If you're in the city you can see it too: just look at the side of any apartment building. You can even see it through drawn curtains and blinds. The black and tv blue.
The sunset of the tv babies.
And we, the living. We walk by, unnoticed by the tv babies. Unheard prowling through garden gnomes and picking the choicest roses from gated gardens. Perhaps the occasional toolbox is misplaced. A snowblower. Some frozen steaks. All your useless toys. Your toys you saw on tv. You even pictured yourselves using them. Pictured yourselves pruning the trees, weeding the gardens. You were never going to use that
chainsaw. (I will.) Well, my dear neighbor, don't worry; all of these knick-knacks are covered on your home-owners policy. That one you bought that had the cute commercial. You'll be okay.
Your tv will hold you through the tough times, bathing you in its cool blue light ... blacking out momentarily only to remind you how much you need it.
Eat. Sleep. Work. Watch.
i hate the tv