Interpellation is what it’s about before it’s about anything. If you aint looking or listening you aint buying or being sold. Suck you in and keep you there. Never easy: semiotic nightmare of competition for psyche out there. Warring dream arenas getting hungrier all the time for free-floating mind-fragments – i.e. you and me, pal – to turn into subjects, magic personas conjured into being via a thousand mind-brothels of advanced consumerism, seducing cajoling intriguing their presences on a billion screens, OH HOW – cried this fuckpimp of capital – CAN YOU RESIST IT? Beeswax in my ears and tie myself to the mast. But that snatch won’t work anymore – every wave has an ad on it and back at base Penelope is deep inside the mail order catalogue. So I’m caught. I’m reading. Do it: Make me dream the dream — you’ve got less than a minute. “A revenge tragedy coming to your screen soon. Near electronic future: Lone male hero, shattered by recent encounter with powerful faceless software nasties, numbly angry, dangerous, is cornered and seduced by mysterious erotic even more dangerous female with amazing techno powers. Hero rides on an epic curve of survival, high sex and near wipe outs to a – unbelievably inventive and multiply ejaculatory – climax of retribution against evil and the …” Enough, enough pimp of a thousand and one tarts, it’ll sell. I’ve bought it. But not for long – I’m de-interpellating out of here as I write, knowing that the instant I turn my back you’ll be there shouting Hey YOU!