From the Diary of a Madman

A man smashes his TV to escape its lies, finding beauty in the ruins of a broken reality.

This godforsaken instrument of Satan had been sucking my brains out day and night. My whole life passed through it, filtered through alien sieves—what to eat, how to dress, when to fart...

Until I found the courage to smash it to smithereens.

I was drinking my morning coffee, the kettle still hissing on the stove, smoking one cigarette after another. The television was blaring the war's hecatomb at full volume. The ticker tape scrolled across the carnage with clinical precision: "The US stands on the right side of History." The screen mocking me with its pixelated glory was the last straw.

The blood rushed to my head. I sprang like a coil, hurling my cup at the screen with savage fury. The silence that followed the crash was a blessing.

The screen went dark. In the black mirror of the shattered glass, a spider net of cracks spread slowly outward from the point of impact; beautiful, I thought, the only honest thing this box had ever shown me.

My old woman, crumpled in her corner, was crossing herself with a hand that fluttered like a dying bird. Her lips moved in a feverish, silent prayer. She stared at me, dumbstruck, as if I were the war itself.

Then came three simian, white-clad orderlies who strapped me into a straitjacket.

Better off here...