There are the words on the lips of God, nodes and fables of the Unsayable, but Godlike lips have been hyper-inflated with collagen, have been altered and impaired by simulation and synthetic progress. God’s lips have been grossly fattened, blubbery dodos on a steady diet of fish and chips. They have been turned into the latest member of the Kardashians. We watched God’s lips enter the show, and they were treated like every other pair of flooded lips … the Unsayable was no longer a relevant topic. Or rather it was a topic buried beneath an avalanche of diversionary patter, a stream-bubble of parroting that, at its milky core, registered a crippling fear of not being seen or being seen but not being seen enough, there weren’t enough eyes to go around, so the order of the day became the eyes of others and how to keep them pinned like frantic butterflies impaled on a cork board … the Unsayable became the Unmarketable. Projected for its lowest ratings since Golgotha, God’s lips packed up and transplanted to an underground face. Meanwhile, on the low road to nowhere, ratings remained higher than ever.