The day is coming when it will all end and the nonsense that we had to listen and watch on television, radio and others will come to an abrupt end. The mass hallucination called the media environment will sober up. I predict this will be done in less than a day.
You'll just wake up one morning and find that the entire media firmament is littered with the old stars, but shining with a bright and completely opposite glow. In fact, all of this was described by Orwell in 1984. There, the speakers had mastered duck talk and were capable on the fly without wasting a second to change the meaning of what they were saying 180 degrees. The secret of Orwell's speakers lay in the ability to completely disconnect the brain from the speech apparatus. Now it's the same, but somehow veiled in wide-eyed wonder.
The day is approaching when the liberal Tower of Babel will collapse under the weight of its own unfitness. In the final days of the liberal apocalypse, we'll be looking at doubly scared journalists. On the one hand, frightened by the vindictiveness of the dying stupidity called modern society, and on the other by the impossibility of maintaining their status as cozy and well-paid mouthpieces of strongholds in the new reality.
We will see how, until recently, wide-eyed journalists will spin like dervishes and within two sunrises will completely change their worldviews. They will compete to expose the outright morons, whom until yesterday they admired and flowed on the floors of the studios. They will distance themselves from their own yesterday. We will also see how they want the heads of various enemies, until recently patrons. We will see how they will spot bad people, bad practices and bad decisions from their cool studios. They will become evil and steadfast seekers of righteousness. Just stand and watch.
Remember that this transition will not be a result of awareness. It's for survival. Because female journalists know that if they don't turn the tables and stop acting like paid Alzheimers, the new normal (which I sincerely hope will be more normal than the current one) will kick them out and replace them. Fresh-fresh and ready to sign for their high wages.
But this coming transition is a very delicate matter. No one knows exactly when it will happen. Each journalist will have to fend for himself and rely on his own senses. If he decides to regain consciousness earlier than the right moment, he will be deleted from the playing field. Something like a partisan who went to the mountains a month before the Third Ukrainian Front entered Bulgaria. Then the probability that he will be caught, hanged or simply shot is high. The exact moment to become a partisan and to survive, but also to have a flying start in the new system, is September 8, 1944.
That is why the journalists' service is tense. They are breathing carefully when their safe eighth of September will arrive. They know that if they miss it even by a day they go to hell. If they are wounded, the same thing will happen to them.