<h1> mood modulation...

A signal, destination everywhere. Broadcast like the scent of blood in the water, at propoganda speed and strength.
A transmitter, with its head in the clouds, always sending, obliviously. Advertising like a bitch on heat.
Its sister receiver standing on tippy-toes, neglected, starting to feel demoted. Listening with its heart, but not really listening.
Maybe the answer is to just keep spewing, it defines me. When you're defined by your output, is there room for input?
Where are the bloodthirsty sharks? I don't see their fins pertruding from the cold waters...
Where are the technicians to fix this poor receiver? I can't hear the aluminium clutter their ladders make.
Service requests sent and escalated. Lost in upper management.

*dit dit dit..* Air - Alone in Kyoto, thanks Neill. *dit dit dit..*