television as an agent of moloch

Television as an Agent of Moloch

Bring on the clowns. Bring on the wars and parades and the genocide. Package it all for TV.

Where do these pictures we see on TV of beautiful wide-eyed starving children come from? How is it there are resources to pay salaries and give grants and provide transportation and lodging to photographers to take these pictures, but we can’t feed the children? What’s been trampled out of us that we glide from infomercial pleas for help straight into American Idol without blinking an eye? This should be all the information needed to trigger world-changing action, but nothing changes.

Call it Moloch. A shapeless, nameless force that throughout time has incrementally been devouring the human spirit and is close to completing the task. Ten years ago I manipulated Moloch into taking shape in a novel I called Tire Grabbers, but it made no more impact on the world of Drone Zombies than the pictures of starving children.

Drone Zombies are what the human race is becoming, the spawn of Moloch.

This is not meant to be a poem, Shard or essay. This is an act of defiance, naming Moloch for what it is so that long after the last human has vanished and Moloch reigns over its kingdom of Drone Zombies, it will be haunted by the knowledge that it has been seen and named, and that what has seen and named it is now a phantom as invisible as Moloch once was, and this phantom will devour it.



Two months after I finished Tire Grabbers, as if Moloch was striking back, my iliac arterial system exploded, and I came “this close” to cashing in my chips. Since then I send money every month to two of the millions of starving children in the world–a boy in India and a girl in Indonesia. They write me letters in alphabets I don’t understand, accompanied by awkward translations in English, and I write them back and tell them that in America they’re on national television, right before American Idol.

In his last letter, the boy in India, little Bhaskar, said, “May Krishna rain blessings down on your head!” And I, old fool that I am, found myself laughing and crying simultaneously.

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