There was no cinema anymore. But people still kept looking at images, the images were shown on screens, and there were people who told the images what to be.
But there was no cinema anymore. There were people who kept looking at the images, and they had their own in their head.
But their images were not allowed. And a cloud hung over the world… the birds sang about the images, the trees continued to grow. The animals and the insects and the plants, they all sang of how lost the humans were.
A cat declared humans were broken. A dog said he had to agree.
But people still kept looking at images, and the images were shown on screens. And there were people who told the images to do things, and those things were death.
A dog declared humans to be bereft of something. A cow put forward a rhetorical question.
But still there was no cinema anymore. People did not notice the lack of flesh, or the lack of love, or the lack of life.
And then suddenly there was a new cinema that grew as bacteria under the ground. In salt mines and in hard drives… a cinema of rot and decay, off mulch turning into life.
A cow declared a state of emergency. A crow said not to panic.
And people could not find the images any more, and the screens went blank. And so did the minds of those who ordered the images. And the images died.
And so did the people jumping from buildings. And the men who locked them away. And the men turned their guns on themselves.
The images were bright red. They congealed and hardened. A new cinema was bacteria.
And the animals and the plants and trees looked on, and people kept looking at the blank screens, that were sparking and fizzing and melting, and this had to happen before the images could live again.
