While the poisonous light pours from the picture palace
And it flickers on, tries so hard to be scandalous
The unfortunate aspect that bedevils most modern media circles around the lack of shock and shame; the jaded skin of the public has become a nearly impenetrable armor that affords all to be viewed without any discernible impact. Any transitory emotions evoked by displays of horror, gore or vile cruelty dissipate like sweat, evaporating into the ether; leaving the observer a fraction cooler and a portion slightly less fragrant but otherwise untouched.
Feigned indignation has superseded actual outrage in common expression, and with it, has further corrupted the integrity of feeling that prompts interpersonal connections; empathy seems unobtainable when one is separated from their own emotions. The search for sensation becomes ever more desperate and elusive; from vicarious killing to indiscriminate intercourse, bemused indifference overwhelms even the extremes of behavior, and leaves the pursuer increasingly empty in the quest for fulfillment.
The graven self images created for consumers by the magic of the marketplace fit ill, and invoke illness; the offered objects of desire has little relevance for the targeted humanoids, and sicken those that don such shabby costumes. Like tainted cloth spreading disease into those cloaked in such unsuitable attire, the media-draped roles are incompatible with mental health; no matter how accessorized, these polluted vestments usher in an infection of self negation.
The pandering of palatable poisons has become pandemic, and this affliction can not be cured by the nostrums of contemporary culture; they are the toxins responsible for such ailments. The truth lies within the realization that the pursuit of power has caused corruption, and all the flickering pictures can't hide that fact; no matter how scandalous or from what palace the pour.