My view of the Internet and all the various voices using the media available to make their voices heard using it was of a huge arena packed with clamoring voices screaming at various levels of volume on the sand. All of them looking in different directions, few of them talking to each other, all trying to make contact with the humanity in the stands who had come to be amused, titillated, or in hopes of finding a voice that would speak directly to fears, hopes, and desires.We had managed all of the above.
Our little group was excited to say the least. Even I was I have to admit. Our video had pulled us out of the pit and turned the eyes of the arena towards us. That was definitely exciting. What no one else in our group noticed yet was it had also attracted the attention of the box seat holders. Here, the predators sat and waited for the pit to produce product and data for them. Data for which way the masses were trending. The product was their merchandising of it.
I was also aware of the boxes with the darkened windows. Here sat those whose job was to make sure that if what came out of the pit couldn't be merchandised, co-opted, and diffused it was destroyed. Threats could be tolerated because in the end they always took a seat in one of the boxes when it was offered. True movements that couldn't be controlled were handled by killing the heads of it. We were long past the days of lining the roads with the crucified bodies of the foot soldiers of change. We had even moved past assassinations. Now it was surgical strikes with flying robotic machines for the first tier leaders and renditions to trial and official burial in a cell to underline the point being made to the followers. BIC didn't know it but the clock had just started running for how long he had to live.