Some great mind conceived, in times self-obsessed upon creative genius, the horrid comedy unfolding moment by moment around us.

We all, from the chattering masses of giggling girls adorned with glittered cosmetics, cosmo-politan branded attire, handbags and clutches, and fingernails; to the brash and brazen boys with wooden smiles, and plastic, remote controlled personalities; we all bounce and bound off walls in attempt to wrap mind around the big picture, to little avail.

We cannot see the forest entire in all the clutter, noise and business. The message is lost amidst the crossfire of orders given, driven, shouted and whispered, with varying degrees of urgency.

The point is not here, not present in this chaos. One might feel half-compelled to lament the loss of meaning in a fragrant, expensively eye-catching mushroom cloud that mars the landscape of a new enlightenment.

Too busy comparing summer vacations in Vietnam, and winter trips to Vegas, cellular phones, and stylists, or expressing opinions on the artistic merit of the latest series finale – which was, of course, the most important piece of fiction ever captured on screen, and will no doubt live on for eternity.

We won’t bother shedding tears for this latest lame horse, saddled and whipped, and loosed from the gates of Hollywood to batter itself against track and fence to gain praise and favour.

We won’t waste worry or care for the car wreck, loud and destructive it may be, for we know that soon the cacophony will cease, the horse will die, the wreck will be cleared, and we can go about our lives until the next catastrophe goes to camera.