Coming up: a measured dose of pity for the latest tragedy, watered down with jokes and weather and tasteful soft-focus slapped on the reconstruction. It's satire in its cruelest, but you'll slepp through it anyway 'cos you're all wall-flies, glazed eyes, byte sighs. Oh, what do I know? A pinhole through the wall. So, what do I care? Cue the violins - I can't hear there anymore. Pick apart the wreckage 'til there's nothing left but dust and fill the gaps with expert guesses. If a car bomb blows in a city but there's no reporters, does the shrapnel fall in silence? I doubt we'd notice either way cos we're all wall-flies. glazed eyes, byte sighs. Grieve for your conscience, I know that I did. Cry yourself to sleep. I won't bat an eyelidFumbled the weight oof the world. Razor shards around my feet. Coming down. Subdtitute compassion with a l*** for spectacle and empathy with voyeurism. Cut the violins - I'm not listening anymore.