Too-Much-Ism.

As Wordsworth wrote so many years ago, "The world is too much with us; late and soon/Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;--"

That's a 19th Century way of saying, "we're too fukkin frantic to be human, too busy to be kind, too FOMO'd to be present. Too mad to be decent and moderate." 

There's too much mania for us to be anything but 'insania.'

Some of what feeds this frenzy are the tiny stupid asinine things that we almost all fall-prey to, that is: OTY. 

Any statement ending with "of the year."

I am so fed up with 

agency of the year (but the work sucks and you've fired 51% of your staff.)
network of the year (but your market cap has shrunk by 96%.)
word of the year (says who.)
man of the year (cyber AI rapists.)
color of the year (again, says who and for what?)
food of the year car of the year leaf blower of the year photograph of the year monologue of the year restaurant of the year books of the year newspaper article of the year catch of the year play of the year song of the year all culminating in the giant fartification of every year.

All these and a thousand more my early-morning writing blear cannot summon are mass-produced distractions to all of us in a country where there's no health, no healthcare, no democracy, no paved roads, no schools, no child care, no functioning military, no cops, no way forward, no way ahead, no hope for a better tomorrow.

News is no longer reported.
It's manufactured.

Yet, rather than turning off this bullshit, we play along. We incessant the news and amplify it by our own chattering. We herald the awards and the OTY accolades never remarking that just because you're --------of the year doesn't mean you are or have done something of consequence.

As a nation, we grab for crap and fight over it as if it has worth and meaning. But it's all just mass-produced mayhem to distract us from the utter-meaninglessness of it all.

We produce thousands of always on ads. 
We make 185-page decks.
92% of all people are in back-to-back meetings all-day.
We have been neck-deep in shit for so long we no longer smell the stink.

Once more, with feeling: