A pondering

[forsyth]

They stretch along the river, worn relics of another time. Once proud factories, reduced to hollow shells suitable only for supervillain hideouts. The abandoned propaganda mills of the Northeast, whose ancient machines sit rusting, home only to spiders and squirrels. In days gone by, their mighty engines produced high-quality disinformation for the whole world, distilled from only the finest imported implications. But time and progress left them behind. The first blow was the invention of artificial propaganda in the wake of World War II. The final nail in their coffin was the Internet, and the increasing personalization of propaganda.

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