On Hamsters

If I ever articulate some wisdom about anything - or a TESCO meal deal - I find that with every permutation, however long or hydroponic, pithy or USB-compatible, there are always well-meaning hamsters ready to perform a dubstep remix just in time for spring. "Our" lexical landscape is so fragmented that the conscious manifestation of N.O.N.S.E.N.S.E has become a sign of health: chatting shit is like a confession or a prayer - a therapeutic abdication from narrative warfare