The latest generation of TV hits a spot right in the uncanny valley. The giant canvas takes over our consciousness while the hyper refresh rate and upscale QOMLED display shows every blemish and imperfection. Just like we've been trained in real life. Only the gods can produce watchable content now. Triple-A algorithms conspiring to absolve us.
I stare into the screens on display in the department store, but I can't tell if I'm watching them or if they're watching me.
The Sacred Object at the heart of Shinto shrines is a mirror. A glass darkly, yet so bright. Alice through the screen, at one with a remote control tied to her voice and all its waverings and hesitation. Story narcissism arcs.
I wander off, to the homeware section, to stare at griddle pans. Clarity.